They came at me fast, a jab-cross-hook I barely blocked, every strike landing with the weight of serious training behind it. I slipped the hook and countered with a low kick they checked. We broke apart and circled, both breathing hard, our breath fogging in the cold air between us.
This wasn't a hired hand. This was someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
They pressed forward with a spinning back fist I ducked under, but their follow-up knee caught me in the ribs, the already damaged ones, and pain whited out my vision for a beat. I stumbled back but they didn't give me space to recover, just kept coming with combination after combination, testing my defense and hunting for openings.
I blocked what I could, took what I couldn't, and let them push me back while I read their rhythm and waited.
They threw a high kick with beautiful technique and I caught their leg, twisted, and used their momentum to take them down. They hit the gravel hard but rolled immediately and came up with a knife in their hand.
Of course they had a fucking knife.
They came at me with fast slashes designed to open me up and I backed away with my hands up, watching the blade. When they lunged, I sidestepped, grabbed their wrist, and drove my elbow into their face. The helmet took most of the impact but their head snapped back, and I twisted their wrist harder until I felt bones grind and the knife fell.
I kicked it away, drove my knee into their midsection, and followed with a punch to the ribs. They absorbed it, grabbed my jacket, and headbutted me.
The helmet turned their skull into a weapon. My nose exploded with the impact, blood pouring down my face as I staggered back. They pressed the advantage and threw me toward an HVAC unit, my back hitting metal, the impact driving the air from my lungs.
They were on me before I could recover, hands around my throat, squeezing and cutting off air. My vision started going gray as I clawed at their hands and couldn't break the grip.
I stopped fighting the hold and went for the helmet instead. My fingers found the edge, dug under the rim, and yanked. The helmet resisted, the chin strap holding, but I yanked harder and felt the strap give.
Dark hair spilled out, and a face I knew appeared.
It was Rafael.
The world stopped. My brain refused to connect the helpful business partner, the concerned friend, the man who'd been part of Declan's life for years, with the person currently choking me to death.
The disbelief cost me everything.
Rafael saw the recognition, saw the shock, saw me freeze, and used all of it. His grip tightened and he drove his knee into my ribs again, the same spot, the already damaged bones. I gasped, my body trying to pull in air that wouldn't come.
Rafael leaned in close, his face calm and almost gentle. “Hello, Troy.”
His voice was normal. Friendly. The same one he'd used at the bar and every time he'd pretended to be something worth trusting.
Fury burned through the shock and replaced it entirely.
I stopped trying to break the choke and went for his eyes instead, thumbs driving toward his face. He jerked his head back and the grip on my throat loosened enough that I could drive my forehead into his face and feel his nose crunch.
He released me and I dropped, catching myself on my hands and knees on the gravel. I sucked in air that tasted like blood and rage, snow melting around me and mixing with what was dripping from my face, turning the pale gravel pink.
Rafael staggered back. Blood poured from his nose. He touched it, looked at his red fingers, and smiled. “There you are. I was wondering when you'd stop being shocked and start being you.”
I got to my feet on shaking legs, vision swimming. “You. This whole time. It was you.”
“Yes.” Simple and unashamed.
“Why?”
“Does it matter?” He wiped blood from his face.
“Fuck you.” I moved toward him, every step deliberate. “You're not walking away from this.”
“I'm not?” His smile widened. “Troy, I've been walking away from things for years. I'm very good at it.”
He moved fast, grabbed a canister from behind one of the HVAC units, and threw it. A smoke grenade hit the gravel and started spewing thick gray smoke that mixed with the falling snow, and within seconds I couldn't see three feet in front of me.
I heard footsteps moving away fast.
