Infinite Cashback System

Chapter 180: 180 | Enter the Dragon(fruit)

Jordan pulled into the parking lot of Iron Coast MMA at four twenty-seven, three minutes ahead of schedule. Kyle sat shotgun scrolling through his phone, while Leo occupied the backseat like a man condemned to execution.

"I’m just saying." Leo’s voice had taken on the whiny quality of a child being dragged to the dentist. "My stomach really does hurt. This isn’t fake. I think I ate something bad last night."

"You ate pizza rolls at two AM while watching Alexis’s Instagram stories." Kyle did not look up from his phone. "That’s not food poisoning. That’s consequences."

"How do you know what I ate?"

"Because you posted it to your story, dipshit. Fourteen pizza rolls arranged in a heart shape with the caption ’thinking about her.’ You tagged Alexis’s account and then deleted it after three minutes."

Leo made a sound like a deflating balloon. "She didn’t see it. I checked."

Jordan parked the Civic and killed the engine. The gym occupied a strip mall unit between a nail salon and a vape shop, its windows covered with faded posters advertising boxing classes and MMA training. The sign above the door read IRON COAST MMA in blocky letters that had probably been white twenty years ago but had aged into a dingy cream color.

"This place looks like a health code violation." Leo peered through the window with undisguised horror. "There’s actual rust on that sign. Rust. On the sign."

"Gyms like this build character." Kyle popped his door open and stepped out into the afternoon sun. "The fancy places with their smoothie bars and towel service? Those are for people who want to feel like they worked out. Places like this are for people who actually want to learn something."

Jordan climbed out and stretched, his back cracking pleasantly after the drive from campus. Leo remained in the backseat, making no move to exit.

"I could just wait in the car." Leo’s face appeared in the gap between the front seats. "You guys go ahead. Learn to punch things. I’ll be here. Supporting you spiritually."

"Get out of the car, Leo."

"But—"

"Now."

Leo groaned with the full-bodied despair of a man facing his doom and extracted himself from the backseat with agonizing slowness. His outfit suggested someone who had never exercised intentionally in his life: designer sweatpants that cost more than Jordan’s entire wardrobe from three weeks ago, a Gucci hoodie that would probably be ruined by the first drop of sweat, and pristine white sneakers that had clearly never touched a gym floor.

"You know," Leo said as they approached the entrance, "there’s actually scientific evidence that too much exercise is bad for you. I read an article. Very reputable source. Instagram infographic."

"Fascinating." Jordan pulled open the door and was immediately hit with the smell of old sweat, rubber mats, and something that might have been industrial cleaner. "Tell me more while we sign up."

The interior of Iron Coast MMA matched its exterior perfectly. Concrete floors covered with worn black mats. Walls lined with heavy bags that bore the evidence of thousands of strikes. A boxing ring occupied the far corner, its ropes slightly frayed and its canvas stained with history. Motivational posters featuring quotes from fighters Jordan had never heard of hung at irregular intervals.

The place looked like it had been punching people in the face since before Jordan was born.

A reception desk sat near the entrance, currently unmanned. Beyond it, the main training area spread out in organized chaos. A few people worked bags with varying degrees of competence. Others stretched or shadowboxed in the open space. The afternoon light filtered through grimy windows and cast everything in a warm, hazy glow.

"See?" Kyle gestured at the space with obvious appreciation. "Character."

"I see tetanus." Leo edged closer to Jordan as if the gym might physically attack him. "I see so much tetanus."

Jordan was about to respond when he heard it.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound cut through the ambient noise of the gym like a blade. Three impacts in rapid succession, each one crisp and clean and absolutely devastating. Jordan’s head turned toward the source automatically.

And then his brain stopped working.

She stood at the far end of the bag room, her back partially turned as she worked a heavy bag with a combination that made Jordan’s chest tight just watching. Her body moved with the kind of control that came from years of discipline, each strike landing exactly where she wanted it to land. No wasted motion. No unnecessary flourish. Just pure, devastating efficiency.

But that wasn’t what made Jordan forget how to breathe.

She was tall. Five foot eight at least, maybe more. Her build was unlike anything Jordan had seen outside of professional athletics. Lean muscle wrapped around her frame like armor, visible through the sports bra and compression shorts that served as her training gear. Her abs were carved from obsidian, each ridge visible as she twisted into her punches. Her obliques cut sharp lines down her sides. Her shoulders were sculpted. Her back was a topographical map of hard-earned strength.

And her ass.

God help him, her ass.

The compression shorts clung to her like a second skin, outlining every curve of what had to be the most perfect posterior Jordan had ever witnessed. Round and firm and absolutely devastating, moving with controlled power as she shifted her weight from strike to strike.

Her hair was jet black and pulled back in a tight braid that fell down her back like a whip. Her face was sharp, almost aristocratic, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw that softened into something almost elegant around her mouth. Her eyes were dark and intense, focused entirely on the bag in front of her as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist.

Thwack.

Her fist connected with the bag and the entire apparatus shuddered.

Thwack.

A follow-up hook that Jordan felt in his teeth.

Thwack.

A body shot that would have cracked ribs if the bag had any.

She finished her combination with a spinning back kick that snapped against the leather with a sound like a gunshot. The bag swung violently on its chain, and she watched it with the same expression a predator might give wounded prey.

"Holy shit." Kyle’s voice came from somewhere far away. "Is she real?"

"Dibs."

Jordan and Kyle both turned to stare at Leo.

Leo, who had been complaining about stomach pain thirty seconds ago. Leo, who had been ready to wait in the car. Leo, who looked like he had never seen a woman work out in his entire life and had just experienced a religious conversion.

"I called it." Leo’s eyes had not left the woman’s form. "You both heard me. Dibs. That’s legally binding."

"That’s not how dibs works," Jordan said.

"It absolutely is. I said it first. She’s mine."

Kyle made a sound that was half laugh and half disbelief. "Leo. Buddy. Look at her. Then look at yourself. Then look at her again."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means she could literally kill you with her bare hands and you just announced you’re going to pursue her romantically."

"Love conquers all."

"Her fist would conquer your face."

"Worth it."