Chapter 5
The collision of violence and bright, cinematic colors was instantaneous. Miles reached out, his hands grasping for the smartphone, entirely underestimating the lethal capability of the man standing in front of him.
Damon moved with flawless, terrifying precision. Still holding three-year-old Hazel securely against his left side, Damon raised his right arm. He violently blocked Miles’s reaching arm, parrying the aggressive lunge with a brutal, bone-jarring sweep of his forearm.
Before Miles could even register that his attack had been deflected, Damon pivoted perfectly in his polished leather shoes. Channeling the immense, deeply masculine power of his broad shoulders, Damon drove one explosive, devastating punch straight across Miles’s face.
The heavy family signet ring on Damon’s right hand connected squarely with the fair, rosy skin of Miles’s cheekbone.
The sickening, resonant crack of breaking bone echoed like a gunshot across the pristine tennis court.
The sheer kinetic force of the blow was absolute. It lifted the forty-one-year-old man completely out of his leather shoes. Miles’s eyes rolled back in his head instantly as all the air detonated from his lungs in a violent spray of spit and blood.
Miles spun violently backward, completely out of control. His arms flailed uselessly as he was launched across the bright green surface, hurtling directly toward the heavy rolling racket rack stationed near the baseline.
He crashed into the metal structure with the force of a wrecking ball.
The impact was catastrophic. The tall, rolling rack tipped violently sideways, its wheels screeching against the court before it collapsed. Dozens of expensive tennis rackets slid forcefully from their organized slots, clattering loudly against the hard ground. Brightly colored foam racket grips scattered chaotically across the court like confetti. The momentum of the crash knocked into several empty ball baskets, sending the wire cages bouncing away across the perimeter.
Miles crashed heavily onto the court beside the ruined rack. He hit the ground in a tangled, groaning heap of twisted metal and scattered equipment. His tailored jacket was ruined, and blood poured from his shattered face. He lay utterly incapacitated, his reign of arrogance terminated in less than three seconds.
There was no dialogue. The overwhelming, brutal reality of the violence silenced everyone.
Two heavily armed White American bodyguards in professional suits, who had followed Damon out of the VIP lounge, stepped forward instantly. At a subtle nod from Damon, they flanked Cora.
Damon gently set Hazel down on her feet.
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"Stay with her," Damon murmured softly to the trembling attendant.
He placed Hazel safely beside Cora, ensuring the bodyguards formed an impenetrable physical wall around the child and the brave woman who had protected her. Once his bloodline was completely secured, Damon slowly turned his cold, sharp, intimidating eyes back toward his fiancée.
