“Daddy, please help her!” — In a quiet parking lot, a retired Navy SEAL makes a split-second decision that changes everything. By the next morning, there’s a knock on his door… and a Navy Admiral is standing on the other side.

Threat one: the man holding the woman with the knife. Thirty-something years old, about six feet tall, roughly 200 pounds, wearing a brown leather jacket. The knife was a cheap switchblade, maybe four inches long, held in his right hand against the woman’s ribs. Primary threat.

Threat two: the man on the other side of the woman, corralling her. Mid-twenties, average build, wearing a gray hoodie and dark jeans. No visible weapon. Secondary threat.

Threat three: the lookout near the driver’s door. Early forties, stocky build, wearing a denim jacket. He was the one Ryan needed to neutralize first because he would see Ryan coming.

Ryan got within three meters before Threat Three noticed him. The man’s head snapped around, eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing with suspicion.

“Hey buddy,” Threat Three said, forcing a grin. “You lost?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down. He just kept walking straight at him.

Threat Three’s hand moved toward his waistband.

Too slow.

Ryan’s left hand shot out, clamping down on the man’s wrist and pinning it against his body before he could draw anything. His right hand followed with a short, brutal palm strike to the man’s chin.

The impact snapped Threat Three’s head back.

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