Chapter 13 Accident
Zayd
I stood there, hands loose at my sides, watching the six sports cars form a perfect circle around me.
The engines rumbled for a while before finally going off. I counted twelve men stepping out with their expensive sneakers hitting the floor in an intimidating manner.
I knew immediately that they were not sent by that old man nor Steff, obviously a student of Minaret Towers trying to show me ‘my place’.
Being a scholarship student amidst the heirs and heiresses of the rich and powerful families in the country came with ‘perks’ like this.
I wasn't scared. If anything, I felt that familiar buzz of anticipation humming beneath my skin.
"To think that you will deliver yourself to me so soon," Jack's voice cut through the evening air as he emerged from the lead car, a cherry-red Porsche that probably cost 7 figures.
He had that smug smile plastered across his face, the kind only money and privilege could buy. "I'm just going to teach you a lesson."
I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips.
“To think that you think so highly of me," I said, letting my gaze sweep across his assembled men and their weapons.
“Bring twelve trained men to teach me a lesson."
No guns, that's much better.
The mockery in my voice was deliberate. I watched Jack's jaw tighten, the veins popping on his forehead showed how angry he was.
Beautiful. I rolled my shoulders, feeling loose and ready. If they didn't have guns, this might actually be fun.
"I heard you can fight pretty well," Jack said, stepping closer.
His designer cologne reached me before he did, something expensive and overwhelming.
And familiar.
Chris used that scent as well.
“I was told by those who tried to... educate you about knowing your place some interesting stories."
"Did they tell you how it ended for them?" I asked casually.
His smile turned predatory.
“Here's what's going to happen, Zayd. You're going to apologize for embarrassing me in front of Chris and admit to him that you were the one who provoked me first. Then you're going to agree to work with my family. Do those two simple things, and you walk away with all your bones intact."
I actually laughed at that. "Work with your family? What a joke. Even Chris couldn't convince me to work with the Montgomery family. What makes you think you have a chance?"
The words hit exactly as I intended. I watched Jack's face flush red, his hands clenching into fists.
The Montgomery name alone held real power and here I was, casually dismissing them while dismissing him in the same breath.
He was well aware that I rejected Chris and his family's offer as I had rejected everyone else’s.
"You arrogant fool!”Jack's voice shook with rage.
“With no real background, you think you're untouchable? You think because you made a stupid blueprint and can throw a few punches, you're special?" He turned to his men, raising his hand.
"Show him what happens to people who don't know their place. Attack!"
They came at me in a rush, twelve against one, hockey sticks and bats raised high. Time seemed to slow down the way it always did when the fight started.
I saw everything from the gap between the first two attackers to the overconfident swing of the third and the nervous hesitation of the one in the back.
I moved.
The first guy came in too fast, too eager. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and used his momentum to send him crashing into the man behind him.
Two down.
"Come on!" Jack's voice screamed from somewhere to my left.
"There are twelve of you!"
A bat whistled toward my head. I ducked, feeling the air displacement above me, and drove my elbow into the attacker's solar plexus. He went down gasping. Three.
My training kicked in completely now, every movement economical, efficient, brutal when it needed to be.
Years of discipline made my body move like water, flowing around their attacks, finding the weak points, exploiting every mistake they made.
A hockey stick caught my shoulder in a fleeting blow, painful but not tiring. I grabbed the stick, yanked it forward, and headbutted its owner. The crack was satisfying.
Four.
"He's just one person!" Jack's voice had lost its confidence, replaced by something approaching panic.
They tried to surround me, but I kept moving, never letting them pin me down. I caught a bat mid-swing, twisted it away, and used it to sweep two sets of legs out from under their owners. Six down.
My knuckles were bleeding now, my breath coming faster but still controlled. Adrenaline sang through my veins. This was one of the things I was good at.
Three men rushed me at once. I feinted left, went right, and caught one with a spinning kick that dropped him hard. Eight.
The other two hesitated, and I didn't give them time to reconsider. Nine. Ten.
Two were left besides Jack, who had wisely stayed back near his Porsche.
They came at me together, coordinated this time, learning from their fallen friends' mistakes. A bat swung low while a hockey stick came high. I jumped the bat, but the stick caught my ribs in a solid hit that would leave a bruise.
I grunted, shifted, and dropped them both with quick, precise strikes. Eleven down.
One remained—a big guy, probably gym-trained, all muscles and no technique. He charged like a bull, hockey stick raised high.
Then the thought hit me.
An opportunity. A way to make this work even better.
I could dodge this easily because he was still a mile away. But instead, I stepped into the swing, deliberately raising my right hand to block.
The hockey stick connected with a crack that sent pain exploding up my arm.
I gasped, genuinely this time, feeling something in my hand give way. Probably a fracture. Definitely going to swell.
Perfect.
The big guy stared at me, shocked he'd actually landed a hit. I used his confusion to sweep his legs and finish him. Twelve.
"You're insane," Jack breathed, backing toward his car.
"You're actually insane." he fled without thinking.
I said nothing, just walked toward my motorcycle, cradling my injured hand. Behind me, I heard car doors slamming, engines roaring to life, tires squealing as Jack’s men fled after him.
I took out my helmet from the compartment and clipped it on before climbing onto my bike, and started the engine with my left hand. My right hand throbbed, swelling already, but it would serve its purpose.
Three blocks away, I found what I was looking for, a sturdy oak tree with a thick trunk.
I took a breath, aimed, and rode straight into it.
The impact sent me flying, the bike crumpling against the tree. I hit the ground hard, rolling, protecting my injured hand even as fresh pain bloomed everywhere else. My helmet cracked against the pavement.
Lying there, staring up at the darkening sky, I couldn't help but smile despite the pain.
Sometimes you had to create your own opportunities.