“Three rounds,” I repeated. “One with each of you. If I win, you give me five minutes in the back office. Alone.”
Marcus stared at me, his jaw clenched. He was a proud, arrogant man leading a room full of testosterone. Backing down in front of his entire clientele wasn't an option.
“Damon,” Marcus barked, taking a step back. “Show our guest the door. Don't go easy.”
The crowd scrambled backward, forming a wide, tense circle. Damon cracked his knuckles, a thick, brutal smile stretching across his face. He outweighed me by at least sixty pounds.
The timer on the wall buzzed.
Damon didn't wait. He lunged, swinging a massive right hook aimed directly at my jaw.
I didn't block. I ducked beneath it, feeling the wind of his fist breeze past my ear. I stepped into his guard, using my momentum to drive my palm upward into the bottom of his chin. The crack of the impact echoed through the silent gym.
Damon stumbled back, blinking rapidly, his equilibrium rattled. I didn’t give him time to recover. I swept his front leg, and as his heavy frame crashed onto the mat, I dropped my weight onto his chest, securing his arm in a brutal lock. I leaned back, applying pressure just shy of snapping the joint.
Damon tapped the mat frantically with his free hand.
It took less than fifteen seconds.
I stood up, breathing evenly, and looked at Marcus. The gym was graveyard silent.
Marcus wasn’t smiling anymore. His face was flushed with embarrassment and sudden, deep anger. He looked at Cole, but before the second fighter could step up, Marcus held up his hand.
“Wait,” Marcus snapped.
He walked toward a gym bag resting against the mirrored wall. He unzipped a side pocket and pulled out a folded piece of yellow, heavy-stock paper. He walked back to the edge of the mat, holding it up so the fluorescent lights caught the faded ink.
“You think you’re fighting for honor, Maya?” Marcus spat, his voice echoing. “You think your dad was some kind of martyr? You want the contract so bad, I’ll save you the trouble of looking in the safe.”
My chest tightened. “What is that?”
“This is the blackmail you came looking for,” Marcus said smoothly, enjoying the look of panic crossing my face. “The reason your daddy threw his career away. But I didn’t force him, Maya. I didn’t have to.”
He tossed the paper onto the mat between us.
I hesitated, my eyes darting to Cole, who was still standing nearby, before I knelt and snatched the paper.
I unfolded it. It was a promissory note, dated six years ago. It confessed to a massive theft of funds from the gym’s accounts, demanding total surrender of the business to Marcus Vance as restitution.
But it wasn't my father’s signature at the bottom.
My eyes locked onto the looping, messy ink on the co-signer line. My lungs stopped working. The room seemed to tilt sideways.
It was a signature I had seen on a thousand birthday cards and permission slips.
It was my older brother’s signature. Leo.
“Your brother stole from me, Maya,” Marcus said, his voice a cruel whisper that carried across the quiet room. “Your dad took the fall in the ring to keep his boy out of federal prison. Your own blood sold you out.”
I stared at the letters, my vision blurring, completely failing to notice that Cole had stepped into my blind spot until his shadow fell over me.
CHAPTER 2
“Time for round two,” Marcus said coldly.
I barely registered the words before Cole moved.