“Ribs bothering you?”
That caught my attention.
The medical examination had taken place away from the spectators.
“How'd you know?”
His grin came back.
“Everybody knows everything here.”
The referee gave the signal.
We started.
Briggs moved forward immediately.
I stepped back.
He reached for my upper body.
I shifted to the side.
The crowd reacted.
He reset his stance.
“Running already?”
I didn't respond.
He attacked again.
This time I met him directly.
Our arms locked.
For several seconds, his body weight drove me backward.
He was extremely strong.
May you like
That part of him had never been exaggerated.
My boots slid several inches across the mat.
He smiled through the mouthguard.
“There it is.”
I altered the angle.
The pressure he was using suddenly worked against him.
He stumbled sideways.
Not enough to fall.
Enough to anger him.
We broke apart.
The crowd grew louder.
Briggs' expression tightened.
He came at me again.
I blocked.
He shoved.
The referee called out, “Control.”
Briggs gave a short nod.
Then he leaned close enough for only me to hear clearly.
“You're nothing but a little girl pretending to be a soldier.”
Phones clicked around us.
Whispers spread through the audience.
I stared directly at him.
“Then why are you trying so hard?”
His entire expression shifted.
Then he moved.
The kick came low.
Far too low.
Far too hard.
My knee was the target.
I caught his leg before the boot connected.
Five hundred people watched it happen.
Briggs' eyes widened.
His arms flew outward as he suddenly lost balance.
I could have sent him crashing down.
I didn't.
Instead, I rotated his ankle, stepped through his center line, and guided his body toward the mat.
His hands hit first.
I followed him down, maintaining control of his leg.
He attempted to turn.
I changed position.
He tried to force his way out.
There was nowhere for him to go.
“Tap,” I said quietly.
His face turned red.
The referee leaned closer.
Briggs refused.
I added pressure—not enough to cause injury, only enough to make the position unavoidable.
“Tap.”
The crowd had become almost completely silent.
Briggs looked past my shoulder.
At the phones.
At the officers.
At Hayes.
Panic appeared in his eyes.
Then his palm struck the mat.
Once.
Twice.
The referee seized my shoulder.
“Release!”
I did immediately.
I stood.
The field erupted.
The sound came from everywhere at once.
People shouted.
Some laughed.
Someone near the rear screamed, “LET'S GO!”
I didn't raise my fists.
I didn't smile.
I simply looked down at Briggs.
He remained on one knee.
His face had turned bright red.
He stared at the ground.
The referee moved toward me.
“Winner—”
Briggs suddenly surged upward.
He shoved the referee out of the way.
Then he came toward me.
The cheers vanished instantly.
I shifted backward into position.
Two instructors began moving toward the mat.
Briggs pointed directly at my face.
“You think you're better than me?”
I didn't answer.
“You think this proves something?”
Commander Hayes' voice cut across the field.
“Briggs!”
He stopped.
For a single second, everything around us seemed frozen.
Briggs turned toward Hayes.
Hayes' face was furious.
“Stand down.”
Briggs' chest rose and fell heavily.
Then, slowly, he lowered his hands.
Military police were already approaching from the edge of the crowd.
Briggs looked at me again.
The hatred in his expression was different now.
It was no longer superiority.
It was humiliation.
And humiliation had made him reckless.
“This isn't over.”