The first blow came from behind. A sharp jab to my ribs. Then another to my shoulder. I staggered forward slightly, just enough to keep my balance—then snapped around with my fist like a sledgehammer. One man went down with a broken nose, blood spraying.
The room exploded into chaos.
Ten of them. All built, all armed with blunt weapons—batons, iron rods, chains. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t hesitate. Pain was familiar. What they didn’t know was that I was born in it.
One lunged from the side—I ducked low and swept his legs off the floor, hearing the crack of his skull hitting the marble. Another came swinging a metal pipe—I caught it mid-air, twisted his wrist until I heard it pop, and drove my elbow into his throat.
They kept coming.
One tried to blindside me—wrong move. I grabbed him by
