Chapter 5 - THE FIRST ATTEMPT
Blake’s arrogant expression faltered for a fraction of a second as he took in Damon’s physical presence, but his pride as a state kickboxing champion quickly reclaimed control. He bounced lightly on his toes, raising his gloved fists into a tight, professional guard, his white gi snapping as he moved.
"Ready, maintenance man?" Blake taunted, trying to mask his sudden uneasiness with bravado.
Damon stood in the center of the mat, completely still. He didn't drop into a traditional martial arts stance; he didn't raise his hands into a guard. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, his knees slightly bent, his gaze focused entirely on Blake’s throat and sternum—the center of gravity.
"Whenever you are," Damon replied softly.
Frustrated by Damon’s utter lack of fear, Blake exploded forward with maximum speed.
He closed the distance instantly, throwing a blinding, high-velocity jab-cross combination aimed directly at Damon’s jaw. It was the same lethal speed that had won him five state titles—a strike designed to end fights before an opponent could even react.
Damon barely moved.
He didn't jump back; he didn't raise a block. At the last possible millisecond, as Blake’s right fist cut through the air inches from his face, Damon tilted his head back less than an inch.
The fist whistled harmlessly past his cheek, brushing through the air where Damon’s chin had been a split-second prior.
The absolute precision of the slip carried Blake’s momentum forward. Before Blake could retract his arm or reset his feet, Damon’s right hand moved like a striking copperhead snake.
May you like
Damon reached out, his thick, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around Blake’s wrist while his elbow drove smoothly into Blake’s inner arm joint, trapping the attacking limb in a vice-like grip.
Blake’s eyes widened in sudden, absolute panic as he realized his strike had not only missed, but his entire right side had been instantly neutralized.
