“Brad’s right about one thing, Damon,” Vic said, unfolding the paper. “The bank was breathing down my neck when Tommy passed. We owed three hundred grand on the mortgage. They were going to bulldoze this place and build a parking lot.”
Vic walked over and shoved the paper against Damon’s chest.
“Until someone paid it off in full, in cash, the day after the funeral,” Vic continued. “And put the deed in a trust.”
Damon’s eyes scanned the legal document. His face went completely slack. The expensive suit suddenly looked like it was a size too big for him.
“I didn't let a housewife onto the mat, Brad,” Vic said, his voice ringing with absolute finality. “I let the owner of the building stretch in her own gym.”
Chapter 3: The Eviction
The silence that followed was absolute.
Brad looked from his manager’s pale, terrified face to the folded legal document, and finally to the quiet woman standing by the mat. The reality of the situation was struggling to penetrate his massive ego. He had spent the last two years treating Apex Combat Academy like his personal playground, bullying the beginners, trashing the equipment, and acting like a king because his manager wrote a check every month.
He had just threatened to evict the landlord.
“Owner?” Brad stammered, pointing a taped finger at her. “Her? That’s impossible. Damon, tell him that’s impossible.”
Damon didn’t say a word. He was staring at Maya with the kind of primal fear usually reserved for a predator in the wild. He knew exactly what Maya Hayes was capable of, and he knew how fiercely loyal she was to Tommy’s memory.
“I left the gym to Vic to manage,” Maya said, her voice remaining calm, though a sharp edge of authority had finally entered it. She walked slowly toward the center of the room, stopping directly in front of Brad. “I needed time away. But I kept an eye on the books. And I kept an eye on the footage.”
She pointed up at the small, dusty security cameras mounted in the corners of the ceiling.
“I saw you knocking out sparring partners who were seventy pounds lighter than you,” Maya said, looking Brad dead in the eyes. “I saw you talking down to the kids in the beginner classes. I saw you treat my coach, the man who built this place with his bare hands, like a servant.”
“I pay for this place!” Brad yelled, though his voice cracked slightly. He puffed out his chest, stepping into her space, trying to use his height to intimidate her. “Without my five grand a month, you wouldn't be able to pay the property taxes!”
“Brad, step back,” Damon warned frantically, grabbing the back of his fighter’s shirt.
Brad ignored him. He leaned down, his face inches from Maya’s. “You got lucky with a slick submission, grandma. But in a real fight, I would break you in half. You don’t own me.”
“You’re right,” Maya said softly.
Then, she moved.
It happened so fast the human eye could barely track it. She didn’t throw a punch. She didn't grapple.
Maya pivoted on her right heel, her hips generating terrifying rotational force, and drove her left shin directly into Brad’s liver.
The smack of bone against the heavy muscle of Brad’s torso echoed like a baseball bat hitting a wet heavy bag.