CHAPTER 2
Chase smiled and stepped backward. You need rules already. Rules are what separate training from anger. Darius turned toward the guests holding phones. "No close recordings of my daughter.
Anyone who ignores that leaves. " Something in his voice made several people lower their cameras. Clare moved closer. You do not owe him this. I know that was the part Darius could not escape. He was not stepping onto the mat only to calm Chase or protect the crowd from another outburst.
The event manager restarted the portable lights from the control table. One fixture flickered, then another. Darius stepped onto the wet mat and tested the surface beneath his boots. The first person who loses control loses the round, he said. Chase raised his hands again.
"Then you have already lost. " behind them. The generator coughed once, low and uneven, but the crowd was too focused on the two men to hear it. Chase moved first. His front foot snapped across the mat, fast and controlled, followed by a turning kick aimed at Darius's ribs. Darius shifted just far enough for the heel to pass his shirt, but the speed forced him backward.
Water pressed beneath his boots. The mat was slicker than it looked. Chase saw the adjustment and attacked again, combining two straight punches with a low sweep that made the crowd gasp. Darius blocked the first strike, redirected the second, and lifted his weight before the sweep could take his legs. Chase was skilled, more skilled than Darius had expected.
Years of training showed in the way he recovered his balance and refused to overextend, but anger was changing his rhythm. Each miss strike made the next one harder, faster, less patient. Clare stood near the edge of the mat with both hands clenched at her sides. "Chase, slow down," she said. He ignored her.
Naomi held Darius's jacket against her chest, watching his face instead of the fight. She knew the look in his eyes. He was counting. Distance, breath, timing. Darius circled left.
Chase followed, breathing through his mouth now. His right shoulder lifted a fraction before every powerful strike. His back heel turned too early whenever frustration took over. Darius could see the opening, but he refused to use it. Not yet.
Chase threw a side kick that landed against Darius's forearm with enough force to drive him two steps toward the edge. Applause broke out from several guests. Chase heard it and smiled. "You can stop whenever you want," he said. Darius flexed his fingers.
The impact had numbed them. "So can you. " The smile disappeared. Chase rushed forward with a combination that belonged in competition, not controlled practice. Darius caught his wrist, but Chase twisted free and drove a shoulder into his chest. They separated.
Darius felt the old instinct rise again, sharp and immediate. End the threat, control the hands, break the balance, finish before the next attack. For one second, the wet pavilion vanished. He heard boots on metal, a radio cutting through darkness, and a voice asking for direction that had never made it home. His breathing stopped.
Chase saw the hesitation and attacked. His heel cut toward Darius's jaw. Naomi whispered, "Dad. " That single word brought the pavilion back. Darius shifted half a step. He trapped Chase's wrist, turned beneath the extended arm, and guided the younger man face down onto the mat.
Seven seconds had passed since Chase launched the final attack. Darius placed his forearm across Chase's shoulder and controlled the wrist without twisting it farther. The crowd went silent. Chase struggled once. Darius tightened only enough to stop him.
"Do not fight the joint," he said quietly. "I'm not trying to hurt you. Get off me. " Darius could have ended the round there. He could have held chase down until the young man admitted defeat in front of every guest, every sponsor, and every camera. He felt the temptation.
Then a sour chemical smell reached him through the rain. Propane. Darius lifted his head. The generator near the boathouse gave a deep, uneven cough. A thin blue spark flashed beneath the edge of the outdoor rug.
He released Chase immediately and rose. Several guests mistook the movement for mercy. Chase mistook it for disrespect. He pushed himself up, his face burning. We are not finished.
Darius raised one hand, listening. The generator coughed again. This time, the pavilion lights flickered. Somewhere inside the boathouse, metal struck metal. Darius looked toward the emergency door and saw smoke slip through the narrow gap beneath it.
Clare, he said, his voice suddenly flat. Get everyone away from the dock. Chase stepped toward him. Do not turn your back on me. Then the lights went out.
The gas alarm began to scream and a child shouted from behind the locked steel door.
The fight was over, but something far more dangerous had begun. In the darkness, Darius would have to reveal the leader he had tried so hard to leave behind.