The construction site was massive, likely the foundation for a school or small sports complex. Some of the smaller buildings were nearly complete, but scaffolding still surrounded them. In the center lay a vast open space, cluttered with construction materials and various work vehicles.
"Run!"
At Reacher's command, the five of them sprinted toward the steel wire fence at the site's entrance. Reacher eyed the thick chain securing the gate, then crouched down. Dixon stepped onto his arm and effortlessly vaulted over.
Jack followed suit, boosting Nigeli over. He turned to help O'Donnell, but the guy—shorter than Nigeli—jumped twice and barely reached the top of the fence.
Before Jack could step in, Reacher grabbed O'Donnell's belt like a child's and flung him over the fence as if tossing a sack of flour.
"You need help?" Reacher turned toward Jack with a less-than-friendly smirk.
Jack responded by leaping straight up, gripping the top of the fence with one hand, and pulling himself over in a smooth, controlled motion. As he cleared the fence, he flicked his coat with his free hand to keep it from catching. He landed with a textbook superhero pose, graceful as ever.
"Whoa. Kung fu!" O'Donnell, still dusting off his coat, let out an impressed whistle.
Reacher vaulted over the fence with surprising agility for his size. "Looks like they had the same idea as us—three guys got out of the car, and only one has a gun."
That meant this fight would be settled with fists.
Jack toed a piece of rebar lying on the ground, kicked it up, and caught it midair before tossing it to Nigeli.
"Much appreciated," Nigeli said, giving it a few test swings. The air vibrated with a menacing hum.
They took cover behind an excavator, watching as seven thugs climbed over the fence, scanning the area before drawing spring-loaded knives.
Jack frowned. These guys look like street thugs—not terrorists. Sure, they had the whole 'mean and scarred' look going on, but they didn't seem like professionals.
He pulled out his Glock 20, screwed on the Osprey suppressor, then stepped out from behind the excavator. The gangsters barely had time to register what was happening before—pop!
The scar-faced leader screamed as Jack's bullet slammed into his right shoulder, his silenced handgun falling to the ground. He dropped to one knee, clutching his bleeding wound.
"Alright. Now it's a fair fight." Jack smirked, holstering his gun. Reacher and the others stepped out beside him.
"Tell us who sent you, and you might get the chance to rethink your life choices from behind bars," Reacher said coldly.
The six remaining goons hesitated at first, intimidated by the group's confidence. But when they saw Jack holster his gun, their bravado returned. No one spoke—instead, they tightened their grips on their knives and shifted into fighting stances.
Six against five. Two of them are women. That big guy looks tough, but we can take them.
The streetlights cast long shadows as the fight erupted in an instant.
To Jack, dealing with a regular tough guy was easier than preparing a complicated dish. He smoothly sidestepped a stabbing attack, caught the thug's wrist, and squeezed.
The guy's face twisted in pain—it felt like his arm was caught in a hydraulic press. He looked up, horrified, at Jack's strange, square-jawed face.
Jack didn't go overboard. He simply twisted the knife from the guy's grasp, then flipped him onto the ground with a brutal over-the-shoulder throw. A quick palm strike to the neck knocked him out cold.
He glanced up.
Reacher had just headbutted a guy so hard that the man's nose shattered. Nigeli swung the rebar like a baseball bat, sending her opponent rolling across the ground in agony.
O'Donnell fought dirty—his right hand wore brass knuckles, his left held a spring knife, but he moved like a boxer.
Despite his short stature, he was fast. His brass-knuckled punches hammered into his opponent's ribs, forcing the guy to drop his guard. In a flash, his knife flicked out, delivering quick, controlled stabs to precisely the right arteries.
The weakest among them, Dixon, still held her own. Her moves were well-practiced, but fighting knives with bare hands wasn't ideal. She was at a disadvantage until Nigeli, having finished her fight, tossed her the rebar. From then on, Dixon dominated.
A sickening crack echoed as Reacher snapped another man's arm. He looked up just in time to see Jack pulling out his Glock again.
Alarm bells went off in Reacher's mind. He spun toward Jack's line of sight—
Scarface.
The man Jack had shot earlier had managed to pick up his fallen pistol with his left hand. He was aiming—at Dixon.
Reacher launched himself forward, tackling the last thug in front of Dixon and shoving her down.
Pop!
A small red hole appeared in Scarface's forehead. He dropped instantly, his brainstem obliterated by Jack's bullet.
Almost simultaneously, a knife whipped through the air and buried itself in Scarface's chest—someone else had been keeping an eye on the battlefield.
"You guys good?" Reacher asked, pulling Dixon to her feet.
Dixon's expression was… odd. Her eyes flickered, her lips parted slightly. It wasn't the look of someone who had just survived a fight. It was something else.
It was the kind of look that suggested a different kind of fight was about to happen—one with fewer clothes involved.
"This was nothing," O'Donnell scoffed, wiping his knife on Scarface's shirt. "Hell, my wife makes more noise in the kitchen."
Reacher's eyes flicked down—Dixon had a shallow knife wound on her chest. Instinctively, he reached out to check it, then thought better of it and pulled his hand back.
Jack had already walked over, grabbed the rebar from the ground, and strode toward the last conscious thug—the one Reacher had knocked flying.
Jack placed his foot on the guy's chest and drove the rebar into the dirt—right beside his temple.
The thug nearly passed out from fear.
"Who sent you?" Jack asked, slowly pulling the rebar free and pointing it at the man's right eye.
"I-I don't know! It was him!" The thug pointed a shaking finger at Scarface's corpse. "He hired us! We're just locals!"
Jack tilted his head. "And?"
"He gave us twenty grand each up front! Said if we killed all of you, we'd get another thirty grand each!"
The man was trembling now, his eyes wide with terror. "Please! I have kids to feed!"
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