Stone Fist by J. D. Weston

Author:J. D. Weston [Weston, J. D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Weston Media
Published: 2018-11-25T07:00:00+00:00

Left to his own devices, Tyler sat on the end of the bench press that John had provided. He let his head drop into his hands and fought back the hot tears that reddened his eyes. Ahead of him, thirty metres away at the far side of the room, the two double doors invited him to leave. But his fight had gone. While John Cooper had his mum holed up, he needed to do everything he could to get her back safe.

His fat fingers covered his face, but he opened his eyes and stared at the doors, then exhaled, long and slow.

“You can make a try for them if you want,” said a voice.

Tyler looked up. His eyes were foggy but allowed him to focus on a man of average build standing a few feet away.

“The doors,” he said. “You can make a run for it if you want.”

“What’s the point?” replied Tyler, and he let his head fall back into his hands.

“So stop thinking about it.”

“How would you know what I’m thinking about?”

“Intuition,” the man replied in a whisper.

“Where did you even come from?” asked Tyler. “I didn’t hear-”

“How could you have heard me?” the man replied. “You were too busy listening to the demons in your head argue over running for the doors or killing yourself.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” said Tyler.

“You will be when I’m finished with you.”

Before Tyler could respond, a hammer-like punch caught him on the side of his jaw, knocking him from the bench to the mat, where he rolled to his knees and held his face, working his jaw to test for damage.

“What the-”

A kick to his gut doubled him over and he rolled to his side sucking in air.

“Get up,” said the man. The order wasn’t barked or shouted. There was no emotion whatsoever in the words.

“Who are you?” asked Tyler, as he scrambled across the floor away from the man.

“You haven’t earned my name yet,” the man replied. “Come on. Fight me.”

Pulling himself to his feet, Tyler straightened. But he wasn’t ready for the three-punch combo to his kidneys. A crippling backache set in with immediate effect. Tyler tried to walk it off with his hands on his kidneys and his spine arched back, but another blow came from nowhere. The man’s fist connected with the side of Tyler’s head, rocking his vision into a dizzying swirl of white tiles and early morning sunlight beaming through the frosted windows high on the walls.

He dropped to his knees then fell to his side and assumed the foetal position, waiting for the world around him to stop spinning.

Not a sound was made by the man’s feet, but Tyler heard him from the far side of the room, talking on his phone.

“You’ve got yourself a dead boy, John.”

Tyler closed his eyes. A wave of nausea flowed through him and hung at the back of his throat, threatening to advance if he moved even a finger.

“No. There’s no fight in him. He might be big, but he’s soft,” the man continued to say.

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