Chapter 2 - Dismantling the Syndicate
Dustin’s arrogance evaporated in a heartbeat. Realizing he was facing a completely different breed of predator, he panicked, dropping his sportsmanship entirely. He lunged forward, abandoning all technique, and threw a wild, haymaker punch aimed right at my jaw.
It was amateurish, slow, and entirely predictable.
I ducked beneath the swing effortlessly, pivoted on my heel, and delivered a devastating elbow strike directly to his ribs. I heard the distinct crack of cartilage fracturing under the impact. Dustin shrieked in agony, stumbling backward and clutching his side. Before he could hit the floor, I grabbed him by the back of his collar, drove a swift knee into his thigh to buckle his stance, and slammed him face-first onto the canvas.
He lay there whimpering, blood trickling from his nose, his arrogant demeanor completely shattered.
Bruno, realizing his star fighter had been dismantled in under ten seconds, reached slowly toward his waistband where a heavy steel collapsible baton was tucked. "You just signed your death warrant, old man," Bruno snarled, snapping the baton open with a metallic click. "Victor Vance owns this town. You touch his nephew, and you and your entire family are dead meat."
I didn't blink. I stepped toward Bruno, ignoring the weapon entirely. In close-quarters combat, a baton is only as good as the space the wielder has to swing it. Bruno reared back, swinging for my head with murderous intent.
I stepped directly into the swing, letting the metal strike glance harmlessly off my thick shoulder muscle, and drove the heel of my palm upward beneath his chin. The snap of his jaw echoed through the rafters. As Bruno staggered backward, dazed and disoriented, I swept his legs out from under him and planted my boot squarely on his chest, pinning him to the mat with crushing weight.
"Tell Victor Vance that Sergeant Miller wants to talk," I said, leaning down until my face was inches from the terrified coach. "Tell him I'll be waiting at my house. If he sends anyone else, I won't just break bones next time."
I stepped off Bruno, turned around, and walked out of the gym without looking back. The entire room watched in petrified silence, paralyzed by a man they had dismissed as a harmless old carpenter.
When I got into my truck, my hands finally began to shake—not from fear, but from the terrifying adrenaline crash of holding back my lethal training. I knew this wasn't over. By hitting Dustin, I had kicked a hornet's nest. Victor Vance wasn't going to let an assault on his bloodline go unpunished. But that was exactly what I wanted. I wanted them to come to me, on my terms, away from my family.
I drove straight to the hospital, stopping by Marcy’s room first. She was resting, her bruised face pale against the white pillows, but when she saw me, a tiny, relieved smile touched her lips. My wife, Sarah, caught my eye from across the room, reading the quiet intensity in my stance.
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"Did you...?" Sarah whispered softly when we stepped out into the hallway.
"I handled it," I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder. "And now, we prepare for what comes next."
