Chapter 2 - The Removed Boots
Blake stared down at the forty-two-year-old maintenance man and let out a loud, mocking laugh that echoed through the gym.
"Apologize?" Blake sneered, gesturing dismissively toward Damon’s faded, stained work clothes. "This is a full-contact martial arts dojo, buddy. If you want to coddle your kid, take him to a ballet class. Now get off my mat before I have you thrown out."
Damon didn't argue. He didn't raise his voice.
He gently wrapped his arm around Evan’s shoulders and helped his trembling son walk toward the very edge of the blue mat.
"Sit right here, Evan," Damon whispered softly. "I'll be right back."
Evan nodded, his frightened eyes watching his father. He loved his dad, but he knew him only as a quiet, exhausted man who fixed broken pipes and kept his head down. He had absolutely no idea about the life Damon had violently buried nine years ago.
Damon stood up. He slowly bent down and began unlacing his heavy, battered leather work boots. He pulled them off, placing them neatly beside his son.
Damon stepped back onto the mat wearing only his dark socks.
He walked directly toward the arrogant instructor, stopping exactly five feet away. He didn't raise his fists. He didn't puff out his chest. He stood completely relaxed, his breathing perfectly, chillingly even.
Sitting high up in the metal bleachers, a sixty-seven-year-old Marine veteran named Walter Briggs suddenly stopped drinking his coffee.
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Walter’s weathered face tightened. He recognized the exact way Damon shifted his weight. It wasn't the stance of a brawler. It was the stance of a highly lethal ghost.
👉 Blake bounced confidently on his toes, entirely blind to the veteran in the bleachers who had just realized the terrifying truth.
