1.25 kilometers northwest, 7:59 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest
Diamonte blinked, and before he could fully open his eyes, Yakota had sprinted across the clearing and was just inches away from his face. In a fraction of a second, Diamonte ducked, narrowly avoiding Yakota’s fist as it sailed past his head, grazing the air with a sharp whistle. The fight had shifted into a blur of motion—fists, feet, and bodies clashing, but neither of them managed to land a solid hit.
“You’re clever one aren’t you,” Yakota said between strikes, his voice calm despite the fury of movement. “I can see why your friends followed you.”
Diamonte didn’t respond, focused entirely on Yakota’s movements. Every step, every twitch of muscle, every shift in Yakota’s stance could signal an attack. But no matter how fast he was, Yakota was always a step ahead—just out of reach.
“You’re too clever to risk your life for mere profit,” Yakota continued, his voice light but probing. “There has to be a deeper purpose behind all of this.”
Diamonte remained silent, throwing a quick jab, then a kick aimed at Yakota’s midsection. Both were dodged effortlessly. Yakota was playing with him, testing his limits, and Diamonte knew it. But he couldn’t let himself get frustrated—not yet. He charged again, feigning a high punch before ducking low, attempting to sweep Yakota’s legs. But Yakota anticipated the move, leaping over Diamonte’s leg and spinning around to deliver a quick backhand aimed at Diamonte’s jaw. Diamonte barely had time to evade it, stumbling back as he caught his breath.
“You’ve got heart kid,” Yakota admitted, “but heart alone won’t win this.” Without warning, Yakota lunged again, this time faster than before. Diamonte barely dodged the first strike, but Yakota pressed on, each punch coming faster and more precise, forcing Diamonte to retreat step by step. The world around them seemed to close in—trees, shadows, and the distant rustle of leaves blending into a blur of background noise as the fight escalated.
Yakota’s expression remained calm, almost amused, as he pressed on with his relentless attack. “What are you trying to achieve?” he inquired again, his tone sharpening, as if the answer were something he could extract from Diamonte with enough pressure. “Or is there something—or someone—you’re trying to protect?”
In that moment, Diamonte’s expression shifted, a fleeting flash of emotion darting across his face that didn’t go unnoticed by Yakota. The hint of vulnerability was telling; he had struck a nerve. But Diamonte quickly concealed it, dodging another blow before twisting his body to launch a roundhouse kick aimed at Yakota’s ribs. Yakota barely sidestepped in time, but this time, Diamonte saw a flicker of surprise cross Yakota’s face. He was close—closer than before.
With renewed determination, Diamonte pressed forward, unleashing a barrage of punches and kicks, each one faster and harder than the last. But Yakota was like water, flowing around every strike, evading with an almost supernatural grace.
Then, unexpectedly, Diamonte found his rhythm. He began to push Yakota back, surprising him with a series of feints. The adrenaline surged through Diamonte as he pressed on, each movement becoming more fluid, his confidence building. He swung a low kick that forced Yakota to jump back, and as Yakota landed, Diamonte saw the slightest shift in his balance—a moment of vulnerability.
Diamonte shifted his weight, coiling like a spring ready to unleash a powerful right hook that would send Yakota flying. But just as his fist began its arc toward victory, a chilling scream from a young girl cut through the forest like a knife, punctuating the tension like a clap of thunder. Yakota stopped mid-dodge, his hand darting out to catch Diamonte’s fist with a grip that was blindingly quick. In that instant, the trees, once blurs in the background, sharpened, the whispers of the forest grew louder, and the world around them began to come back into focus.
With their hearts pounding like war drums, the two stood in a tense standoff, each man breathing heavily as the intensity of the moment enveloped them. Time felt suspended, the haunting echoes of the girl’s scream reverberating through the trees like a dire alarm.
1.25 kilometers southeast, 8:06 p.m. EST — Prentice Cooper State Forest
Oprea let out another scream as Tusk yanked her by the hair, pulling her roughly toward him. “Alright, here’s the deal, Mary,” he sneered. “Take off your clothes, and we’ll call it a fair trade.”
“Are you serious?” America snapped, twisting Tomith’s arm back even harder. “You’re outta of your mind!”
Tusk smirked. “Seems fair to me, considering how you humiliated my brothers after tricking them into that rigged arrow competition of yours.”
“So that’s what this is all about?” America said, her voice sharp with disbelief. “You’re doing all this because I beat your brothers in some dumb contest? Is your ego that fragile, Tusk? Seriously?”
“My father always told me: never let anyone disrespect the Turnbull name. So yeah, it might seem like a small thing to you, but it’s a big deal to me.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” America shot back. “You shot up my family’s festival, set our ranch on fire, and now you’ve kidnapped my sister—all because your brothers lost to a girl in a silly little game?”
“All to defend my family’s honor!”
“Your family never had any honor to begin with!”
“Enough talk, Mary! What’s it gonna be?”
“You’re insane! This is psychotic, Tusk!”
“Stop wasting time and make a choice. Either strip, or watch your sister get clipped!”
“Get the heck out of here!”
“Hold her down, boys.” Tusk ordered, his voice cold and steady.
“Tusk, don’t!” America yelled, tightening her grip around Tomith’s neck. “You really think I won’t do the same to him?”
“Go ahead,” Tusk taunted. “But let’s be honest—you’re not gonna hurt him as much as I’m about to hurt her.”
“America stayed silent, her expression hardening as she tightened the chokehold around Tomith’s neck.
“Guess you need a demonstration, huh?” Tusk said with a cruel smile. “Tim, hold her arms. Tex, get her legs.”
“Tusk pressed his crossbow against Opera’s ear, then slowly lowered the aim down her body, stopping at her ankle. “Here’s good.”
“Okay, alright!” America shouted, kicking Tomith behind the knees and sending him crashing to the ground. She let out a shaky breath as she lowered her hands, reaching for the hem of her shirt. “You win.”
“Finally, came to your senses.” Tusk beamed as he took a seat on the edge of his 4-wheeler. “Relax boys. It’s time we see ourselves a little peep show.”
Oprea’s terrified eyes darted between her sister and Tusk, her heart racing as she struggled against the grips of the boys holding her down. “Mary don’t!” she cried out, her voice quaking. “You don’t have to do this!”
But America’s gaze remained fixed on Tusk, her expression a blend of defiance and desperation. “Just hold on, Oprea. I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”
Tusk leaned back against the four-wheeler, a sinister smile on his lips as he watched America reluctantly pull her shirt over her head revealing her bra. “That’s right. Just a little more. It’s not so hard, is it? All for your sister.”
America’s heart raced as she fought against the wave of anger rising within her. She could feel the heat of shame creeping up her neck, but she couldn’t let them see her fear. “You think this makes you a man, Tusk?” she spat, her voice steadier than she felt. “You’re just a coward hiding behind a crossbow and your pathetic brothers.”
Tusk’s smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “You’ll pay for that remark, Mary,” he warned, springing to his feet and leveling his crossbow at her.
“Go ahead and shoot me, you pathetic loser,” America spat, her voice dripping with contempt as she tossed her shirt to the ground, revealing her bra.
In a fit of rage, Tusk yanked the trigger, and the bowstring twanged sharply as the arrow shot forth, cutting through the air with lethal precision. America’s heart plummeted as she caught sight of the arrowhead, its cruel metallic sheen glimmering in the dwindling light. Instinct kicked in, and she recoiled, preparing for impact—but just before it could reach her—bang!
The sharp crack of a gunshot erupted through the forest. A bullet zipped through the twilight, colliding with the arrow mid-flight, sending it splintering into a flurry of harmless debris around America. She blinked in disbelief, the sound of the gunfire echoing in her ears as she turned her head toward the source.
Standing at the forest’s edge was a winded Diamonte, bent over and wheezing. “Sheesh, I barely made it,” he panted, as though he had just run a marathon to get there.
Then suddenly a dark figure surged from the depths of the trees behind him propelled by a force that seemed almost otherworldly. It was Yakota, who soared through the air, clearing Diamonte with ease, and landed smoothly next to America. Without missing a beat, he noticed her discarded shirt lying on the ground. Yakota quickly picked it up, extending it toward her with a reassuring nod. “Your shirt, my grace,” he said.
“What took you so long?” she asked, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she slipped through her shirt.
“Traffic was brutal,” he replied, a smirk ghosting his lips before he sprang into action. In an instant, Yakota surged forward, tackling Tusk to the ground with a ferocity that took everyone by surprise. The crossbow clattered from Tusk’s hands, skidding across the forest floor. “Scum,” Yakota growled, pinning Tusk beneath him.
The two brothers holding Oprea suddenly turned at the commotion, their faces registering shock. But Yakota was already in motion, fluid and relentless. He spun around, launching a powerful kick that caught Tim square in the chest, sending him crashing into a tree. Tex, scrambled back, but Yakota closed the distance in a heartbeat. With a swift jab, he knocked Tex off his feet, leaving him sprawled in the underbrush.
Yakota turned to Oprea and bent down, his arms open wide. “Hey, it’s okay now. You’re safe,” he said gently, ready to comfort her.
Ignoring him, Opera darted past Yakota with a burst of energy, her small feet pounding against the forest floor as she sprinted straight into America’s embrace. “Mary!” she cried, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister, tears streaming down her cheeks.
America knelt to meet her, relief flooding her expression as she held Oprea close, whispering reassurances. “I’m here, baby girl. I’ve got you. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Yakota straightened up, a smile breaking through the tension on his face as he watched the sisters reunite. Then his gaze shifted to where Diamonte had been standing, only to find that he had quietly slipped away. “Good luck, kid,” he whispered with a faint smile, glad to see the boy had taken his chance to escape. Reaching into a pocket on his vest, he pulled out a flare gun and fired it into the sky. The bright orange flare shot upward, bursting forth like a beacon of hope illuminating the dark forest.
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