Chapter 5
Sterling charged across the clinical tile like a raging bull, his heavy riding boots stomping loudly. He had significantly more mass and experience than the fifteen-year-old, and his intention was purely destructive. He reached his heavy hands out, aiming to tackle Jamal directly to the floor.
Jamal braced himself, raising his guard, fully prepared to take the hit.
But Elijah intercepted him first.
Moving with a terrifying, explosive speed that completely defied his calm demeanor, Elijah stepped directly into Sterling's path. He didn't bother throwing a punch. He simply shifted his weight onto his back leg, raised his knee, and drove one immensely powerful, piston-like front kick squarely into the center of Sterling’s torso.
The flat sole of Elijah’s polished tall leather riding boot connected perfectly with the heavy zipper of Sterling’s high-end performance equestrian jacket. The impact sounded like a heavy wooden bat striking a thick mattress. All the air was violently and instantly expelled from Sterling’s lungs in a loud, sickening whoosh.
The kinetic force of the kick was absolute. Sterling was literally lifted entirely off his feet. He shot backward through the air with terrifying velocity, completely unable to stop his own momentum.
He crashed violently, back-first, into the massive riding-boot fitting rack lining the far wall of the clinic.
The collision was spectacular and utterly destructive. The heavy wooden shelving unit shuddered violently under the impact before giving way entirely. Dozens of tall, empty wooden and plastic boot forms toppled like bowling pins, raining down upon Sterling’s head and shoulders. Heavy, embroidered saddle pads slid rapidly from the neighboring shelves, blanketing the man as he collapsed heavily to the floor.
Two large, reinforced equipment cases resting on the top tier of the rack lost their balance and crashed down heavily onto the padded floor right next to Sterling’s head, bursting open and scattering leather reins and metal bits everywhere.
Sterling lay groaning weakly among the scattered saddle pads and wooden boot forms, clutching his crushed ribs, entirely incapacitated.
There was no dialogue. The absolute, terrifying efficiency of the violence had silenced the entire room. In less than ten seconds, Elijah had completely dismantled a highly trained security detail and physically broken his own cousin without taking a single hit, without breaking a sweat, and without losing the cold, dead calm that radiated from his deep mahogany skin.
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Elijah slowly lowered his leg, adjusting the cuffs of his custom-tailored navy equestrian blazer with terrifying elegance. The refined, sharp tattoos on his hands flexed slightly as he smoothed the expensive fabric. He didn't spare a second glance at the groaning security man buried under the riding equipment.
He turned slowly, his black riding boots crunching softly over a discarded metal measuring tool, and walked deliberately toward the wreckage of the rolling orthotic cart where Preston was currently struggling to regain consciousness.
