Her Black Belt Ex Tried to Humiliate Me at the Dojo — He Didn’t Know Who I Was
Chapter 8
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I didn't let go. I didn't snap the bone, but I held the pressure right at the breaking point; the joint groaned."We aren't playing a game, Brandon," I said, leaning down so my mouth was inches from his ear. My voice was completely flat, a jarring contrast to his screaming panic. "There are no points here. There are no referees. You built a kingdom in a padded room and convinced yourself you were dangerous. You aren't. You're a bully.""Let me go! My shoulder!" he gasped, squirming futilely under my knee."I've watched men die over less than a piece of jewelry," I whispered, the cold reality of my past bleeding into the words. "I have survived places where the violence doesn't end until someone is in a bag. Do not mistake my patience for weakness. You will stand up. You will walk to the back. You will give Sarah the watch. Or I will tear this arm out of its socket and beat you with it. Nod if you understand."He nodded frantically, his cheek grinding against the blue mat.I released the pressure instantly and stood up, taking two steps back to give him space.The gym was a graveyard. A collective breath was being held by 40 different people. The young kid Brandon had been torturing earlier was staring at me with wide, terrified eyes; the guy with the camera had dropped his phone. The illusion was dead: the master had been dismantled in less than 10 seconds by a guy wearing jeans who hadn't even broken a sweat.Brandon rolled over slowly, cradling his right arm against his chest. He looked up at me, and for the first time, there was no anger—there was only the hollow, vacant look of a man who had just realized the ocean was much, much deeper than he ever knew. He struggled to his feet, not looking at his students; he couldn't meet their eyes. His authority had evaporated."The safe," I reminded him quietly.Brandon didn't say a word. He turned and shuffled toward the back hallway, his posture slumped, his right arm pressed tightly against his stomach.I walked over to the half-wall where Sarah was standing. She was frozen, clutching my gray T-shirt to her chest like a shield, her eyes wide, darting between me and the retreating figure of her ex-boyfriend. "Let's go get it," I said softly.She nodded mechanically, falling into step beside me. We followed Brandon down a narrow, brightly lit corridor that smelled heavily of bleach. He pushed open the door to a small, messy office. The walls were covered in framed certificates, medals, and photos of Brandon posing aggressively with various fighters—it was a shrine to his own ego.In the corner sat a heavy black steel safe. Brandon knelt in front of it. His hands were shaking so badly it took him three tries to punch in the combination. The heavy door clicked and swung open. He reached inside, moving awkwardly with his non-dominant hand, and pulled out a small, faded velvet box. He stood up and held it out. He didn't look at Sarah; he looked at the floor.Sarah reached out and took the box. She popped it open. I caught a glimpse of a scratched silver Seiko watch resting on a small white cushion. She snapped the box shut and gripped it tightly in her fist.