He met his wife’s pleading eyes and said nothing. Some promises he couldn’t make.
Two weeks crawled by. Shane watched and waited, his surveillance training from Force Recon kicking in with an old, familiar hum. He drove past Titan’s Forge three times, memorizing the layout, the patterns, the faces. Dustin’s coach was a loudmouth named Perry Cox, a man in his forties with a shaved head and neck tattoos, the kind of trainer who confused brutality with discipline.
Shane also made calls. His old Marine buddy, Gabriel Stevenson, now a private investigator in San Diego, ran background checks.
“Your daughter’s boyfriend is dirty, brother,” Gabriel reported over the phone, his voice grim. “Three assault charges that got pleaded down to misdemeanors. A restraining order from an ex-girlfriend. And here’s the kicker: his uncle is Royce Clark.”
Shane’s blood ran cold. Royce Clark ran the Southside Vipers, an organization that controlled illicit markets and underground fighting circuits across three counties. They weren’t street-level punks; they were organized criminals with legitimate business fronts and dirty cops on their payroll.
“Freeman is their prize fighter,” Gabriel continued. “They use him in illegal prize fights, betting hundreds of thousands. If he loses, people get hurt. He’s a monster in the ring, Shane. Three opponents hospitalized, one with permanent brain damage.”
“Send me everything,” Shane said, his voice flat.
“Shane, these people aren’t some drunk Marines you can straighten out. They’re—”
“Send me everything.”
That night, Marcy came for dinner. She wore long sleeves again and moved even more carefully than before. Lisa tried to draw her out, but Marcy just picked at her food, her body tensing every time her phone buzzed. She checked it constantly with barely concealed fear.
After dinner, Shane walked Marcy to her car. “Baby girl,” he said softly. “I know what’s happening.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Dad, please don’t.”
“Has he hit you?”
“It’s complicated. He gets stressed with training, with his uncle’s expectations. It’s not always—”
“Has. He. Hit. You?”
The tears spilled over. “He says he loves me. He apologizes every time. He’s just… he’s under so much pressure from his family
