Hostage (Bodyguard #1)(5)
Connor ignored the warning and strode towards them. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’
‘This loser ain’t got no friends,’ the boy said, spitting at his victim’s feet, clearly not believing Connor’s bluff.
Drawing level with the gang, Connor eyeballed the leader. Dressed in baggy jeans and a Dr Dre T-shirt, the lad was a good few inches taller than him and well built. With a broad chest, bulging biceps and fists like hammers, the boy could easily play front row in the school rugby team. If he still goes to school, Connor thought.
The rest of the gang – two boys and a girl – were less intimidating but still dangerous as a pack. One boy in Converse trainers, baggy jeans and a grey hoodie held a skateboard, his face pockmarked with spots. The other wore carbon-copy baggy jeans, a puffer jacket and a red Nike baseball cap, tipped at a ‘too cool for you’ angle on his bleached blond hair. The girl, who was Chinese with a jet-black bob and a piercing through her nose, wore dark eyeshadow, emo-style, and Dr Marten boots. She shot Connor a hard stare.
‘Let’s go,’ said Connor to his new friend, keeping his voice low and even. He didn’t want to show how nervous he really was. He might be trained in kickboxing and jujitsu, but he wasn’t looking for a fight. His jujitsu teacher had drilled into him that violence was the last resort. Especially when outnumbered four to one – that was just asking for trouble.
The Indian boy took a hesitant step towards him, but the gang leader planted a hand on his chest. ‘You’re going nowhere.’
Frozen to the spot with fear, the boy looked to Connor in wide-eyed desperation.
A tense stand-off now ensued between Connor and the gang. Connor’s eyes flicked to each gang member, his kitbag at the ready to protect himself in case one of them pulled a knife.
‘I said, leave him alone,’ he repeated, edging between the gang and their victim.
‘And I said, mind your own business,’ replied the leader, launching a fist straight at the boy’s face.
As the terrified boy let out a yelp, Connor moved in and deflected the punch with a forearm block. Then he took up a fighting stance, fists raised, defying the gang to come any closer.
Glaring at Connor, the leader broke into a mocking laugh. ‘Watch out, everyone! It’s the Karate Kid!’
Don’t laugh too soon, thought Connor, unshouldering his kitbag.
The leader sized up Connor. Then he swung a wild right hook at Connor’s head. With lightning reflexes, Connor ducked, drove forwards and delivered a powerful punch to the gut in return.
The unexpected strike should have floored the gang leader, but he was much stronger than he looked. Instead of collapsing, he merely grunted and came back at Connor with a combination of jab, cross and upper cut. Connor went on the defensive. As he blocked each attack, it became blindingly obvious the lad was a trained boxer. Having underestimated his opponent, Connor rapidly reassessed his tactics. Although Connor was faster, the gang leader had the advantage of power and reach. And, without gloves, this fight had the potential to be deadly – just one of those sledgehammer fists could land him in hospital.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall, thought Connor, recalling how in jujitsu a larger opponent could be defeated by using their strength against themselves.
As the gang leader let loose a vicious roundhouse punch to his head, Connor entered inside its arc and spun his body into his attacker. Redirecting the force of the strike, he flung the lad over his hip and body-dropped him to the concrete. The leader hit the ground so hard all the breath was knocked out of him. The gang stared in disbelief at their fallen leader, while the Indian boy could barely suppress a grin of delight at seeing his tormentor squirm in the dirt.
‘Get … him!’ the leader wheezed, unable to rise.
The boy with the Nike baseball cap charged in, executing a flying side-kick. Connor leapt to one side before realizing his new friend was right behind him. With no time to spare, Connor shoved him out of the kick’s path.
Nike’s foot struck the wall instead. Incensed, he turned on Connor and launched a furious succession of spinning kicks. Surprised at the boy’s skill, Connor was forced to retreat. As he backed away, only instinct – born from hours of sparring – warned him of a simultaneous attack from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Hoodie step forward and swing the skateboard at his head.
At the last second, Connor ducked. The tail of the deck missed him by a whisker and struck Nike full in the face instead. The boy fell to his knees, semi-concussed.
Hoodie, horrified at his mistake, was now an open target. Connor took advantage and shot out a side-kick. But the boy reacted faster than Connor expected and held up his deck as a shield. Having broken wooden blocks to pass his black-belt grading, Connor knew the right technique. Gritting his teeth, he drove on through – the board shattering rather than his foot. From there, it took Connor a simple palm strike to floor Hoodie.
With all three boys out of action, the girl now advanced on him.
Connor held up his hands in peace. ‘Listen, I don’t fight girls. Just walk away and we can forget all about this.’
The girl stopped, tilted her head and smiled sweetly at him. ‘How nice of you.’
Then she punched Connor straight in the mouth, splitting his lip. With barely a pause, the girl followed through with a kick to the thigh, her heavy Dr Martens giving him a dead leg exactly where Jet had struck him earlier in the bout. He crumpled against the wall.