The Bag That Hits Back
Irreparably destroyed.
I rolled the sharp edge between my thumb and forefinger, feeling its bite, and locked my eyes on Tom. My smile evaporated.
“I was just wondering,” I said, my voice dropping into an icy register, “if this is what hitting her until she learns is supposed to look like.”
Before the last syllable cleared my mouth, I shifted my weight. Right foot back, center of gravity dropping, and I launched a mae-geri — a front kick, surgical and explosive.
My heel connected dead center with his solar plexus.
It felt like kicking a sack of wet cement.