This here's my friend Doc. And you must be Wyatt Graves. Wyatt's expression tightened slightly. " She mentioned me, huh? Good.
That'll make this easier. This ain't your business, friend. Best take your buddy here and go right back where you came from." Isaiah didn't blink. " My grandma called me home.
That makes this my business. You want to explain why you've been harassing a 93-year-old woman?" Wyatt stepped forward, shoulders squared aggressively. Careful, Freeman. Your grandma's mouth has already caused enough trouble.
Folks around here got rules about respect in your betters. Doc laughed dryly, stepping slightly forward beside Isaiah. " Sounds like you might be the one confused about respect." Wyatt's eyes flared angrily. He motioned behind him, and two of his men stepped quickly from the truck.
All three approached confidently, certain their numbers would intimidate the newcomers. You city boys might think you're tough, Wyatt sneered. But down here, we settle things differently. Maybe it's time someone taught you some manners. Wyatt lunged forward suddenly, throwing a punch, aimed directly at Isaiah's jaw, fully expecting it to land.
Isaiah smoothly sidestepped, countering swiftly with trained precision, his fist connecting sharply with Wyatt's ribs, sending him staggering backward in shock. Wyatt gasped, eyes wide with stunned confusion and rage. He rushed Isaiah again, swinging wildly. Isaiah dodged effortlessly, strategically blocking and landing precise strikes that visibly weakened Wyatt's resolve. Nearby, Doc faced the other two men, calmly stepping into their attacks, deflecting punches fluidly, his movements practiced and decisive.
One thug tried grabbing Doc, but quickly found himself flipped hard onto his back, dust rising around him. The second man landed a solid hit against Doc's jaw, momentarily stunning him. But Doc quickly regained composure, retaliating swiftly, delivering a punishing blow to the man's stomach, dropping him to his knees. Wyatt, breathing heavily, faced Isaiah again, this time approaching wearily, anger overshadoused by hesitation. Isaiah stood confidently, his stance, steady.
Wyatt's knuckles tightened as he squared up once more. The confident swagger now stripped from his face. Dust clung to his boots, and a fresh bruise swelled along his ribs, where Isaiah had landed a clean strike moments before. The other two men were still struggling to regain their footing. But Wyatt wasn't ready to retreat.
Not yet. He hadn't come here to lose a fight to a man he assumed was soft from city life, especially not a black man standing between him and what he believed was his. You think you can come back here and play protector? Wyatt spat, circling slowly. You think you're better than us?
Isaiah didn't answer. He watched Wyatt's posture. The way his right shoulder dropped ever so slightly before each swing. That weakness was a signal. He was favoring his side now, likely cracked a rib.
Isaiah waited. Let him burn his energy. Wyatt lunged again, more cautious this time, trying to faint left and catch Isaiah with a hook. But Isaiah read it easily, blocking low and stepping inside the punch to counter with an elbow straight to Wyatt's sternum. The blow forced a grunt from deep in Wyatt's chest.
He staggered back, gasping for air. But before Isaiah could follow through, one of the thugs lunged in from the side, catching Isaiah with a heavy swing to the back of the neck. Isaiah dropped to one knee, vision flashing white for half a second. The hit heavier than expected. The man followed up, trying to tackle him fully, but Isaiah spun low, hooking his attacker's ankle and twisting sharply.
The man hit the ground hard, landing awkwardly on his shoulder with a yell of pain. " Get up!" Wyatt roared to his men. " Put him down!" Doc, just steps away, was locked in a rough grapple with the other thug.
Both men slick with sweat and dust. The thug landed a punch to Doc's ribs, making him wince, but Doc leaned into the pain, twisting the man's wrist until he screamed and dropped to his knees. Doc didn't hesitate. He drove a knee into the man's jaw, clean and fast, sending him collapsing into the dirt. But before Doc could exhale, Wyatt's first man, the one Isaiah had just tripped, scrambled up with a metal pipe ripped from the side of Wyatt's truck.
He swung it blindly at Doc, grazing the side of his arm. The impact split skin, blood slicking Doc's sleeve. Doc turned sharply, eyes flaring. Not with panic, but with precision. He pivoted, stepped inside the next swing, and drove his fist into the man's throat with practiced control.
The thug dropped the pipe, choking, stumbling back with wide, gasping eyes. Isaiah was back on his feet now, facing Wyatt again. This time, Wyatt had drawn a folding knife, the blade glinting in the sun as it snapped open. I told you, Wyatt growled, chest heaving. I ain't playing.
Isaiah's stance shifted, hands lowered, his tone colder than before. " Then stop talking." Wyatt came at him in a flash, slashing low, fast, and dirty. But Isaiah had seen it before. Dozens of times in tighter corners, worse places.
Under fire, he pivoted, catching Wyatt's wrist mid swing, redirecting the momentum, then driving his own elbow into Wyatt's face. The sound of bone hitting bone cracked through the air. Wyatt dropped the knife, blood streaming from his nose. Isaiah didn't stop. He grabbed Wyatt by the front of his shirt, spun him, and slammed him hard against the hood of his own truck. "
You brought this on yourself," Isaiah said through gritted teeth, pinning Wyatt's face to the metal. You walk into a fight not knowing who you're dealing with. And now you found out. Behind him, Doc stood over the two other men, breathing heavily. Both were down, groaning, bleeding, their aggression beaten out of them with clinical precision.
Isaiah released Wyatt, who collapsed against the truck, barely standing. Blood smeared his shirt and forehead, his breath ragged, his fight gone. " I don't want to see you near this land again," Isaiah said, calm but cutting. " No more visits, no more messages. You show your face here again.
And next time it won't be your nose that breaks." Wyatt wiped blood from his face, hatred burning behind his dazed eyes. " You don't know who you're messing with." Isaiah stepped forward close enough that Wyatt flinched. " No, you didn't.
But now you do." Wyatt stumbled into the driver's seat, shaking. His pride shattered. His men dragged themselves up, clutching their injuries, and piled in silently. The truck peeled out moments later. "
Fishtailing in the dirt as it disappeared down the road." Doc glanced over at Isaiah. His shirt ripped and arm bleeding. " I thought we were just coming to visit your grandma." Isaiah didn't smile.
He stared after the fleeing truck, jaw tight. " This wasn't a visit. This is a war," he turned, walking back toward the porch where Loretta stood silently in the doorway, her eyes full of pride and pain. " We're going to need to prepare," Isaiah said as he passed her, voice steady. Loretta nodded once, her voice low. "
We already are." The next morning broke with no sound, but the rustle of cypress trees and the low creak of Loretta's old screen door swinging open. Isaiah stood near the edge of the porch, eyes scanning the horizon, posture still and tight. Behind him, Doc finished wiping down the gash on his arm from yesterday's pipe hit. Tying a clean bandage tight with practiced ease. "
Anything?" Doc asked, stepping beside him, Isaiah shook his head. " Quiet. Too quiet." Graves isn't the type to sulk.
Doc glanced toward the barn where Loretta had been tending to the livestock like nothing had happened. " She's strong." Isaiah nodded. " She always has been. But this isn't just about her anymore.
He's going to come back. And not just with fists this time." Later that afternoon, Isaiah and Doc drove into town to survey the situation and gather supplies. Whispers followed them wherever they went, some curious, some hostile. At the general store, eyes lingered a little too long.
At the feed shop, conversation quieted when they walked in, but not everyone looked away. Sheriff Hank Grayson caught up to them as they were leaving the hardware store, stepping out from his cruiser parked beneath the shade of an old pecan tree. " Commander Freeman," he said, removing his hat and wiping his brow. " Doc." Isaiah nodded slowly. "
Sheriff Grayson glanced around the quiet street, then leaned in slightly. " You stirred up a hornet's nest, son. Word is Graves limped into the clinic last night swearing he got jumped by outsiders. Doc smirked. " Outsiders is a funny word for a man defending his grandmother."
Grayson gave a dry chuckle, but his eyes stayed sharp. " You boys didn't just knock around a gang leader. You disrupted an arrangement. Isaiah's brow furrowed. " Arrangement?"