Chapter 13: The First Strike
Mason charged. He threw a heavy, looping right hook aimed squarely at my jaw. He put all his
weight behind it, aiming for a theatrical knockout. I didn't block it. I simply stepped slightly off
the centerline.
The punch caught nothing but air. Mason stumbled forward, his momentum betraying him.
Before he could recover, I swept his lead leg. He hit the grass hard, the breath rushing from his
lungs in a sharp gasp. The neighborhood gasped in unison.
He scrambled up, his face red with rage and embarrassment. He threw a flurry of kicks and
punches, screaming with effort. To my trained eye, he was moving in slow motion. I deflected his
strikes with minimal effort, letting him exhaust himself.
When he overcommitted on a spinning back kick—turning his back to me just as I had observed
weeks ago—I stepped in, clamped onto his shoulder, and applied a restraining hold that locked