Chapter 2 - The Sound of Impact
The noise was not a scream or a shatter of glass. It was a dense, concussive crack—the precise sound of two hundred and thirty pounds of arrogance hitting hand-laid flagstone at terminal velocity.
Before Derek’s brain could even register that he had lost his grip on my wrist, I stepped inside his guard. I didn't swing a fist or hurl an insult. I used his own reckless forward momentum, dipping beneath his center of gravity, grabbing his overextended elbow, and executing a flawless hip throw that sent his massive frame airborne over my shoulder.
He hit the patio with a force that rattled the beer cans on the nearby folding tables. The glowing metal tongs flew from his hand, spinning across the lawn before hissingly extinguishing themselves in the shallow water of a plastic cooler.
The entire backyard went dead silent.
The hum of the lawnmowers two houses down seemed to amplify the shock in the air. My father-in-law, Arthur, froze with a half-eaten burger halfway to his mouth. My mother-in-law, Evelyn, stood paralyzed by the punch bowl, her hand hovering over a paper cup. Derek’s wife, Vanessa, dropped her smartphone into the grass, her lower jaw slacked in total disbelief.
Derek lay on his back, gasping like a fish pulled onto a dry dock. The impact had knocked every cubic inch of air out of his lungs. His eyes rolled frantically, trying to process how the pastel-dressed florist had just turned him into a projectile.
I didn't pause to celebrate. I paid no attention to Derek at all.
I dropped to my knees beside Leo, my voice immediately shifting back to its calm, gentle tone. "Leo, look at me. Don't touch the burn."
Leo was staring up at me, his eyes wide behind his one remaining intact lens. His arm was blistering badly where it had clipped the side of the 400-degree smoker. The cotton of his button-down shirt was scorched black. He was trembling from shock, but he managed to croak out, "Maya... what... how did you..."
"Breathe, sweetie," I said, my fingers pressing gently against the side of his neck to check his pulse. "It's a second-degree burn. We need cool running water right now. No ice, just clean water."
"You... you crazy bitch!"
A roar erupted behind me as Derek finally recovered his wind. He scrambled up onto his knees, his face flushed a deep, dangerous crimson. The humiliation of being flattened in front of his entire family had completely wiped away any residual alcohol stupor, replacing it with pure, unbridled rage.
"Derek, stay down," I said without turning around. My back was completely exposed to him, but my posture was loose, balanced, ready to pivot at the slightest whisper of movement.
"I'm going to break your neck!" Derek roared, pushing himself to his feet and lunging forward with his arms outstretched.
He moved like a charging bull—reckless, wide open, completely ignorant of distance and leverage.
I stood up slowly, turning on my heel. I didn't raise my hands in a defensive guard. I just watched his shoulder girdle shift, identifying the exact moment his weight crossed his lead foot.
When he reached for my neck, I stepped off his line of attack by three inches. My left hand caught his reaching forearm, directing his momentum past my shoulder, while my right palm struck his solar plexus with a sharp, explosive burst of force.
Derek folded in half with a choked gasp. Before he could fall, I stepped behind his right leg, wrapped my forearm around his throat in a tight standing choke, and leaned my hips back.
"I said stay down," I whispered directly into his ear.
May you like
Within three seconds, his violent thrashing slowed. Within five, his eyes began to roll back. I eased my grip just enough to keep him conscious, holding him suspended in mid-air like a ragdoll while looking straight at my father-in-law.
"Arthur," I said, my voice steady and completely devoid of emotion. "Call an ambulance for Leo. Now."
