Chapter 7 - The Ticking Clock
Sarah ran to the heavy double doors of the dojo, throwing the wooden deadbolt into place. Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely lock the latch.
"Emma! Someone might have heard that!" Sarah cried out, her eyes wide with terror. "The police—"
"The police won't come, Sarah," Viktor gasped from the floor, coughing heavily as he rolled onto his stomach. He spat a thin line of blood onto the wax. "I own the county sheriff. This property is private... no one comes here without my say-so."
He pushed himself up onto all fours, his eyes burning with red, murderous fury. His silver hair was disheveled, hanging over his sweat-drenched forehead.
"You think you're clever, kid?" Viktor spat, his hand sliding under the lapel of his black gi. "You think this is a tournament?"
Emma’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the faint metallic glint beneath his jacket.
He wasn't reaching for a belt or a knife. Attached to a concealed tactical harness under his gi was a subcompact, matte-black 9mm pistol.
"Emma, look out!" Sarah screamed.
Before Viktor could draw the weapon from its holster, Emma leaped.
She didn't aim for his arm. She drove her knee straight into his sternum with the full momentum of her jumping weight. The force of the strike pinned Viktor back against the floor, knocking the air from his lungs before his fingers could wrap around the grip of the gun.
Emma landed lightly beside him, her small foot stomping down on his right wrist with terrifying force.
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CRACK!
A sickening crunch echoed through the room as the radius bone fractured under her heel. Viktor screamed—a raw, guttural sound of pure agony—as his fingers went limp, releasing the pistol.
