Being Cheated On

Torin furrowed his brows, his mind wrestling with the bitter truth Martha had just unveiled. Did the Hayes family really sink that low? He remembered Chloe clutching the bars of his holding cell three years ago. Her face had been stained with tears, her voice cracking as she swore she would wait for him. She had promised to marry him the moment he stepped free. The memory now tasted like ash in his mouth. How could the woman he loved discard him and his parents without a second thought? He squared his shoulders, making a silent vow to track Chloe down, stand before her, and rip the truth from her lips.

Before he could take a single step toward the door, a deafening crash shook the walls of the small house. Someone was pounding on the frail wooden front door, the heavy blows threatening to splinter the frame into pieces.

Martha’s frail body jerked in her seat. The blood drained from her scarred face, leaving her pale as a sheet. Panic seized her delicate features.

"Mom, who is it?" Torin asked, his voice sharp as he noticed her sheer terror.

"Don't get involved," Martha pleaded, her blind eyes wide with fear as she scrambled toward him. Her shaking hands grabbed his shirt, shoving him toward his cramped bedroom. "Go inside. Do not come out, Torin! No matter what happens, stay in there!"

He let her push him into the dark hallway but kept the door cracked, watching through the narrow gap. Martha took a shaky breath, smoothed her worn dress, and fumbled with the deadbolt.

The door flew open before she could turn the knob. A towering bald man barged into the small living room. He was flanked by three heavy-set men, their thick arms and necks covered in jagged tattoos. Their heavy boots tracked mud onto the worn floorboards, disrespecting the home they were invading.

"You got the cash, old lady?" the bald man demanded, scanning the dilapidated room with a sneer.

Martha nodded, her hands trembling as she reached into a battered tin on the corner side table. She pulled out a pathetic, worn pouch. "Yes, Chop. I have it. It's right here."

Outside, a small crowd of neighbors had gathered in the alley, drawn by the loud commotion. They muttered in hushed tones, keeping a safe distance from the doorway.

"Those guys come asking for money every single month," an old man whispered. "What a ruthless bunch."

"Taking blood money from a blind widow," another neighbor chimed in. "Where is the rule of law?"

"Keep your voice down," a woman warned. "They are sent by the Thorne family to collect on schedule. Do you want them to break your legs next?"

Chop snatched the pouch from Martha’s hands. He squeezed it, his expression twisting in disgust. He turned the bag upside down, dumping the contents onto the floor. A flurry of crumpled one-dollar bills, a few fifties, and a rain of pennies and quarters scattered across the floorboards.

"What the hell is this trash?" Chop roared, pointing a thick finger at the loose change. "Does this pile of garbage even add up to ten thousand?"

"It's all there, Chop, I swear it," Martha whimpered, forcing a desperate, obsequious smile. "We counted every cent before you arrived. If you don't believe me, you can count it yourself."

"You think I have time to count pennies?" Chop spat. Without warning, he drew his leg back and drove his heavy work boot directly into Martha’s abdomen.

The frail woman folded over, gasping for air, and crashed hard onto the rough floor.

"Get this sorted into hundreds by tomorrow!" Chop barked, standing over her crumpled form.

"Mom!"

Torin kicked his bedroom door wide open, sprinting across the room. He dropped to his knees, carefully wrapping his arms around his mother and lifting her bruised body off the floor. He set her gently onto a nearby wooden chair, checking her face for bleeding.

Then, Torin turned. His gaze locked onto Chop, burning with a lethal, icy calm.

"Torin, you shouldn't be out here!" Martha cried out, clutching his sleeve in a panic. "Go back! Please, don't get involved!"

"Sit tight, Mom," Torin said, his voice a low rumble. "I’m home now. Let me deal with this."

Chop sized up the young man standing in front of him. A cruel, mocking grin spread across his face as recognition set in.

"Well, look who it is," Chop sneered, crossing his thick arms. "The brave little hero who put a brick to Mr. Declan Thorne’s head. Out of your cage already? You picked a hell of a day to come home, convict."

Torin narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.

"You don't know?" Chop laughed, a harsh, grating sound that his tattooed thugs quickly echoed. "Today is the big day. Your sweet little girlfriend, Chloe, and Mr. Thorne are getting married."

Torin’s breath caught in his throat. His hands balled into fists, his fingernails digging so deep into his palms that blood threatened to draw.

"What did you say?" Torin asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"I said the girl you went to prison for is marrying Mr. Thorne today," Chop gloated, taking a step closer. "The wedding is happening at the Prestige Hotel right now. Biggest party of the year. Ice sculptures, champagne, the works. As her pathetic ex-boyfriend, aren't you going to drop by and give your blessing?"

Martha let out a broken wail, her entire body shaking. The horror of Chloe's betrayal crashed over the old woman, confirming her worst nightmares. The enemy who had bankrupted them, blinded her, and beaten her husband was now marrying the very woman her son went to prison to protect.

A suffocating aura radiated from Torin. The air in the room grew heavy, dropping in temperature. He took one deliberate step toward the intruders.

"Get on your knees," Torin commanded. His tone held no anger, only a chilling, mechanical certainty. "Apologize to my mother. Do it, and I will spare your miserable lives."

The thugs blinked, exchanging confused glances. Then, Chop burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"You want me to kneel?" Chop wiped a tear from his eye, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. "You scrawny little punk. Three years in the joint and you think you're a tough guy."

Chop shifted his weight, winding up his massive right shoulder. He threw a heavy, brutal haymaker aimed straight for Torin's jaw, intending to shatter his skull with a single blow.

Torin did not flinch.

As the fist closed the distance, Torin shifted his stance. He snapped his leg upward in a blindingly fast arc. His foot bypassed Chop's guard and slammed square into the enforcer's groin. The impact was precise and devastating, crushing Chop's testicles against his pelvic bone.

Chop’s eyes bulged from their sockets. The color drained from his face, replaced by a deep, choking purple. He dropped his arms, clutching his crotch with both hands, and crumpled to the floor. He let out a high-pitched, breathless wheeze, writhing in agonizing pain as sweat poured down his bald scalp.

Martha screamed, her hands flying to her face. "Torin! You can't afford to get into a fight again!" The fear of her son returning to a cold cell overrode her physical pain.

Through his suffocating agony, Chop rolled onto his side, glaring up with bloodshot eyes. "Kill him!" he roared, spitting saliva onto the floor. "Beat this bastard to death!"

The three tattooed thugs charged at Torin with mindless aggression.

Torin remained rooted to the spot. He took a steadying breath, channeling the raw energy Titus had unlocked within his meridians. As the first thug swung, Torin raised his hands.

He flicked his wrists in a simple, dismissive motion.

Multiple rapid flashes of pale light shot from his fingertips, slicing through the dusty air. The mysterious energy struck the thugs precisely.

The effect was instantaneous. The attackers’ legs turned to jelly. Their momentum vanished as their knees buckled simultaneously, sending all three crashing hard onto the wooden floor right at Torin's feet.

The arrogant bravado vanished from the room. Chop stopped groaning, staring in stark terror at the young man towering over them.

Torin stared down with piercing, god-like intensity. The invisible weight of his presence pinned the thugs to the floor. They tried to stand, but their muscles refused to obey. They had no choice but to remain kneeling, trembling under his gaze.

"We're sorry," one of the tattooed men stammered, his teeth chattering in fear.

"Forgive us," another begged, expressing his desperate remorse.

Torin glanced at his blind, terrified mother, then at the neighbors peeking through the shattered doorframe. He knew he could snap their necks with a single thought, but he refused to turn his living room into a slaughterhouse and traumatize Martha further.

With a flick of his wrist, Torin released the paralyzing pressure holding them down.

"Get lost," Torin snapped.

The thugs scrambled over each other, tripping and stumbling as they hauled the groaning Chop up by his armpits. They dragged the incapacitated enforcer toward the broken doorway, desperate to escape.

As they crossed the threshold into the alleyway, Chop forced his head up. He cast a final, insidious glare over his shoulder, his eyes burning with a silent promise of bloody vengeance.

Torin stood perfectly still in the center of the ruined room, his expression locked in cold indifference, unfazed by the threat.