Chapter 8 - THE FIGHT ETHAN WANTEDThe Challenger stopped in the middle of the street.
Ethan stepped out.
No cameras this time.
No manager.
No security.
No performance.
Just rage.
“Stay inside,” I told Lily.
She shook her head.
“Dad—”
“Inside.”
Marco locked the front entrance.
Ethan walked toward it.
He looked terrible.
Unshaven.
Eyes red.
Hands trembling.
He began pounding on the glass.
“LILY!”
People across the street took out phones.
Of course they did.
Marco whispered, “Police?”
“Already calling.”
Lily stood behind us.
Ethan saw her.
His face softened instantly.
The transformation was disturbing.
“Baby.”
Lily stiffened.
“Please.”
He pressed both palms to the glass.
“I need to talk to you.”
She stepped forward.
I caught her arm gently.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She looked at Ethan.
Then said through the door, “Go away.”
His expression cracked.
“Just five minutes.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“I love you.”
Lily’s voice trembled.
“You don’t get to call what you did love.”
Ethan stepped back.
“You ruined me.”
Marco closed his eyes.
There it was.
Lily said nothing.
“You stole everything.”
“I stole nothing.”
“My title.”
“You cheated.”
“My sponsors.”
“You lied.”
“My name.”
“You did that.”
Each answer made him angrier.
Finally he screamed.
“YOU DID THIS!”
He kicked the glass.
It held.
Barely.
Marco stepped backward.
“He’s going to break it.”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“We keep him away from Lily.”
Ethan picked up a metal trash can and hurled it.
The glass cracked.
People screamed.
Police sirens sounded somewhere distant.
Not close enough.
He struck the door again.
The glass shattered.
Marco moved toward him.
I grabbed Marco’s shoulder.
“No.”
“He’ll get inside.”
“I know.”
Ethan climbed through.
Blood streaked his forearm.
He barely noticed.
“Lily.”
I stepped in front of him.
“Stop.”
His eyes found mine.
“I should have finished you the first night.”
“Probably would have been a bad career move.”
“My career is gone.”
“Yes.”
“Because of you.”
“No.”
His fists tightened.
“Move.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“I want her.”
“She doesn’t want you.”
“You don’t speak for her.”
I stepped aside just enough that Lily could see him clearly.
“Tell him.”
Lily swallowed.
Then said, “I never want to see you again.”
Something died behind Ethan’s eyes.
Not love.
Ownership.
He charged me.
This time there was no restraint in him.
No public image.
He threw a right cross designed to knock me unconscious.
I slipped outside.
He followed with a left hook.
I blocked.
Knee.
I turned.
It grazed my hip.
Fast.
Powerful.
You don’t become champion by accident.
Even corrupted careers require skill.
Ethan was twenty-nine years younger than me.
Stronger.
Quicker.
Better conditioned.
If I tried to outfight him, I would lose.
So I didn’t.
He attacked again.
I retreated around the ring posts.
Made him turn.
Made him miss.
Made him think.
“You running?”
“Yes.”
That confused him.
Ego wants resistance.
I gave him inconvenience.
He kicked.
I moved.
He punched.
I framed.
He tried to clinch.
I broke grip and circled.
Thirty seconds.
Forty.
His breathing changed.
Not fatigue.
Frustration.
He rushed.
I used a foot sweep.
He stumbled into the ropes.
The spectators outside screamed.
Ethan turned red.
“Fight me!”
“I am.”
“Then hit me!”
“No.”
That enraged him more than a punch would.
He wanted violence to prove I was the monster he had described.
I refused.
He tackled.
Good shot.
His shoulder caught my waist.
We crashed onto the mat.
Pain shot through my old knee.
Ethan mounted.
Marco started forward.
I shouted, “Stay back!”
Ethan raised his fist.
I trapped his arm, bridged, turned, created space, and rolled.
He recovered.
We scrambled.
He landed one punch against my ribs.
Pain exploded.
Another grazed my cheek.
I trapped his wrist.
He elbowed.
Missed.
We separated.
I stood slower than he did.
He smiled.
“Old man.”
“Accurate.”
He rushed again.
This time I saw the weakness.
Right knee.
Tiny hesitation.
Old injury.
I remembered him mentioning ACL surgery during an interview years earlier.
I stepped outside his attack.
Not toward the knee.
Away from it.
Forced him to pivot.
His injured leg buckled slightly.
There.
Information.
Again.
He came forward.
I circled same direction.
He adjusted.
Too late.
Foot slipped.
I caught his arm and used his own momentum.
Ethan hit the mat hard.
Before he could recover, I controlled his wrist, pressed his shoulder, and pinned him face-down.
Almost exactly like the first night.
Except now he was exhausted.
Bleeding.
Broken emotionally.
“Get off me!”
“No.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“Police are listening.”
Sirens screamed outside.
Ethan struggled.
I tightened control without injuring him.
Then Lily walked closer.
He saw her shoes.
Stopped struggling.
“Lily.”
She stared down at him.
I expected anger.
Instead she looked sad.
Not for him.
For whatever she once believed he was.
“You need help, Ethan.”
He started crying.
Actually crying.
“You did this to me.”
Lily shook her head.
“No.”
She crouched several feet away.
“You keep saying that because you can’t survive the idea that your life is made of your choices.”
Officers stormed into the gym.
Guns drawn.
“Hands!”
I immediately released Ethan and backed away.
He didn’t move.
They cuffed him.
As officers pulled him upright, Ethan looked at me.
The hatred was gone.
So was the champion.
He looked small.
“What are you?” he whispered.
I considered the question.
“Her father.”
That was enough.
Ethan was arrested for violating the protective order, burglary-related property damage, assault, and several other charges prosecutors would sort through later.
But the larger federal investigation continued.
Victor remained missing.
For forty-eight hours.
Then Trevor remembered something.
Victor had once taken him to a storage facility under another name.
Price obtained records.
Agents searched three units.
Two were empty.
The third contained equipment, cash, passports, and encrypted servers.
Still no Victor.
Then security footage showed him entering the facility twelve hours earlier.
No footage showed him leaving.
Agents returned.
A second search found a false wall.
Behind it was a narrow maintenance corridor connecting to an abandoned industrial building.
And inside that building, they found Victor.
Alive.
Armed.
Preparing to disappear.
He surrendered after a four-hour standoff.
No dramatic shootout.
No heroic final battle.
Just a frightened man realizing the exits were gone.
Sometimes that is what justice looks like.
May you like
Not revenge.
A locked door.
