“Get Off My Mat!” Black Belt Shoved a Hotel Cleaner — Then She Recognized His Fighting Stance
Chapter 7
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"You wanted a show," Saffron whispered into his ear, her voice cold and hollow.Darby panicked. He thrashed, trying to buck her off, but she squeezed. She compressed her chest into his back, expanding her lungs, closing off the blood flow to his brain in a matter of milliseconds. He didn't even have time to tap.Three seconds later, Darby Caulfield's eyes rolled back into his head, his heavy arms going completely limp, flopping uselessly onto the black mat.Silence slammed back into the room. It was absolute. 40 men stood paralyzed, their phones recording as the small housekeeper gently, almost respectfully, lowered their unconscious 240-pound instructor flat onto the mat.Saffron stood up. She didn't celebrate; she didn't look at the cameras. She calmly walked to the edge of the mat, picked up her maroon apron, and walked out the side door.The service elevator was agonizingly slow. Saffron ripped the tape off her knuckles as the metal box descended toward the basement levels. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by cold, hard reality: she had just dismantled a minor celebrity in front of 40 streaming cell phones. The footage was likely already blowing up on Reddit and martial arts forums; the algorithm would push it; Terrell Adams's men would see it. Her three years of agonizing, lonely peace were over in the span of 45 seconds. She needed to get to her locker, grab her emergency bag, $5,000 in cash, and a fake Canadian passport she had paid a fortune for, and get on a bus to Toronto before nightfall.The elevator dinged on the basement level. The doors slid open to the massive subterranean laundry facility of the Grand Olympia Hotel. Rows of industrial washing machines churned, filling the humid air with the overpowering scent of industrial bleach and hot cotton. Saffron stepped out, jogging toward the employee locker room at the far end of the concrete corridor."Impressive hip toss."Saffron stopped dead. The voice echoed over the hum of the washing machines.Stepping out from behind a massive cage of folded linens were two men. They didn't wear hotel uniforms; they wore tailored dark charcoal suits that struggled to contain the thick, heavily muscled bulk of their shoulders. Both men possessed the flattened noses and thickened ears of career fighters.Saffron recognized the man who had spoken. It was Marcus. No. Wait, she couldn't use that name. It was Julian. No, forbidden. It was Silas. No. It was Leon. Leon was Terrell Adams's chief enforcer, a former bare-knuckle brawler who had been disqualified from the sport for biting an opponent's ear off."Tommy is a huge investor in this grappling expo," Leon said, a cruel, lazy smile stretching across his scarred face. He held up a smartphone. On the screen, a looped video of Saffron choking Darby unconscious played on a social media feed. "We were up in the VIP suite enjoying the catered shrimp when one of the boys showed me this. Imagine my surprise to see the Ghost of Vegas cleaning toilets in the basement."The second man, a silent behemoth with a shaved head, reached into his jacket and pulled out a heavy, suppressed pistol, letting it rest casually against his thigh.