Frank glanced at Dwight’s vile smile even as he tried to play both sides.

“Move.” He growled a single word.

Dwight’s smile stiffened. “You sure you want to do this, kid?”

“You’re asking for it,” Frank retorted as he slowly turned and glared Dwight in the eye. “Move if you want to live.”

His pompous threat only left Dwight laughing. “No one has ever spoken like that to me in this business.”

“Someone has now,” Frank pointed out, impassive.

Dwight was incensed right then and grabbed Frank by the shoulder as he launched a punch at Frank’s abdomen.

“You asked for this!” He flashed a bloodthirsty grin, already envisioning Frank’s stomach bursting apart from his single punch.

Pow!

yet, Dwight’s smile faded, replaced by

ever victorious Crestone Fists—launched at such a short distance—had struck

even his shirt remained unscathed, and Dwight seemed to see

as it deflected the weight of the strike back on Dwight with

Crack.

stared stupid as his knuckles ruptured, his skin and flesh peeling

two seconds,

even as he clutched the stump that was once his

did not

Smack!

that his

elite number thirty-two

“Wait, what?”

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