Leo crossed his arms.
“Keep your hands up, Jax.”
Jackson laughed.
His hands remained behind his back.
The crowd pressed closer.
Then something changed.
The sound near the back of the crowd became strange.
Confused.
“Hey!”
“Watch where you’re going!”
“Lady, you can’t go up there.”
The people began moving aside.
Slowly, a path opened through the crowd.
Leo narrowed his eyes against the sunlight.
The first thing he saw was a faded canvas tote bag.
Then he saw the woman carrying it.
She stepped over the caution tape carefully.
One orthopedic shoe.
Then the other.
She was small.
Thin.
Her gray hair was pulled tightly into a bun. She wore dark slacks, a plain white blouse, and a beige knitted cardigan.
She looked like someone who should have been visiting a library.
Not stepping into a challenge against a heavyweight champion.
Jackson stared at her.
Then he looked toward his social media manager, Toby.
“Is this your idea?”
Toby shook his head immediately.
“Not mine.”
The woman stopped several feet from the acrylic box.
She did not look at the cameras.
She did not look at Jackson.
She looked only at the money.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Her voice was soft and dry.
“The sign says ten thousand dollars.”
Jackson smiled.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
He stepped closer.
“But you have to punch me in the face to get it.”
A few teenagers laughed.
Jackson continued.
“The farmers market is three blocks away.”
The woman looked up at him.
Her eyes were pale blue.
They should have looked weak.
They did not.
There was something flat inside them.
Cold.
Still.
“I need the money,” she said.
The laughter stopped.
Leo immediately pushed himself away from the fence.
He understood something the crowd did not.
This woman was not here for attention.
She was desperate.
And desperate people were unpredictable.
“All right,” Leo said, stepping forward. “Show’s over.”
The woman did not move.
“I read the rules.”
Jackson grinned.
“Grandma did her homework.”
Leo ignored him.
“One strike,” the woman continued. “If he steps backward, I take the money.”
Leo studied her.
“Ma’am, you need to leave.”
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
“You could break your wrist,” Leo said. “The last man who hit him injured his hand.”
The woman finally turned toward Leo.
Their eyes met.
For reasons Leo could not explain, a cold sensation moved across his shoulders.
She looked at his taped hands.
His broken nose.
The way he stood.
Then she asked one question.
“Are you his corner?”
Leo froze.
Most civilians would have said coach.
Trainer.
Instructor.
She had said corner.
“Yes,” Leo answered carefully. “I’m his trainer.”
“Then teach him to tuck his chin,” she said.
Leo stared at her.
The crowd laughed again.
Jackson laughed the loudest.
“He talks too much,” the woman continued calmly. “It leaves his mandible exposed.”
This time, Leo did not laugh.
Because he understood exactly what she had said.
And exactly what she meant.
Jackson, however, only saw an old woman.
He had no idea what was standing in front of him.
“My name is Jackson,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“Beatrice.”
“Well, Beatrice,” Jackson said, spreading his arms, “you want the ten thousand? Take your shot.”
Leo stepped between them.
“Jax, stop this.”
Jackson rolled his eyes.
“Leo, this is going to go viral.”
Toby rushed forward with an electronic waiver.
Beatrice signed it without hesitation.
Her handwriting was precise.
Elegant.
Beatrice Gallagher.
Then she handed the device back.
Jackson walked to the center of the mats.
He planted his feet.
Placed his hands behind his back.
And pushed his jaw forward.
“Right here.”
Beatrice removed her cardigan.
She folded it carefully.
Placed it on top of her tote bag.
Then she walked toward Jackson.
Leo prepared himself to catch her.
He expected her to swing wildly.
He expected her to hurt herself.
He expected the entire ridiculous stunt to end with an ambulance.
Instead—
Beatrice moved her left foot.
And Leo forgot how to breathe.
It was only a small movement.
Almost invisible.
But Leo had spent forty years studying bodies.
He understood what he was seeing.
Her foot slid across the mat.
Her weight dropped.
Her hips aligned.
Her spine changed position.
The old woman disappeared.
In her place stood something else.
Something rooted.
Something balanced.
Something dangerous.
Leo’s mouth went dry.
“That’s not boxing,” he whispered.
Beatrice moved her right foot.
Her body narrowed.
Her hips sank lower.
She did not bend like an old woman trying to squat.
She settled into the ground.
Jackson continued laughing.
“Come on, Bea. I’ve got a podcast in an hour.”
Beatrice slowly tucked her chin.
Her shoulder turned.
Her right hand closed.
Not into an ordinary fist.
Leo suddenly felt genuine fear.
He knew that hand position.