Page 1 of Throne of Secrets

CHAPTER1

Once Ethan Wolf finished wrapping his hands, his gaze swept across the gym as he flexed his fingers and adjusted the tension in the fabric. The scent of sweat and old leather filled the air, grounding him in the familiar routine. Tyson’s Gym was his battleground every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Casey Tyson, a former heavyweight MMA champion, ran the place like a tight ship, and though Ethan had never officially trained under him, the respect between him and Tyson was mutual. Everything Ethan knew had been drilled into him by his father—a man whose skill in combat was more of the assassin brand than MMA.

“There you are,” Mack said, confidently stepping into the ring with him. “Thought you weren’t going to show.”

Ethan smirked. “Right. I’m not the one who skipped last week.”

Mack rolled his shoulders. “Wait until you’re a dad and your kid’s got recitals.”

Ethan chuckled. “How’d she do?”

Mack’s chest swelled with pride. “Brilliant. Prodigy-level.”

They exchanged a few more words, but the atmosphere subtly shifted when Mack finished securing his hands. Mack wasn’t just some guy off the street—he was tough, methodical, and precise. The man blended Muay Thai, Jiu-Jitsu, and Karate like a damn symphony, and Ethan had spent years deciphering his style, anticipating his movements.

As they stepped onto the mats, onlookers began to gather. Their fights were more than just sparring matches—they were technical displays, brutal but controlled. Ethan and Mack didn’t go easy on each other. Every strike was measured, every defense a calculated response.

They tapped gloves, slipping into their stances.

Casey Tyson stood by the ropes and reached over, ringing the bell.

Mack came in fast, testing Ethan’s reaction time with a series of jabs. Ethan batted them away, his forearms absorbing the brunt of the impacts. A sharp left hook flew toward his ribs—he pivoted just in time, the air slicing past his side as he moved away from the hit. Mack adjusted, shifting his weight, and Ethan saw the kick coming before it landed.

Thwack!

Mack’s shin slammed into his outer thigh, the muscle instantly burning from the impact. Ethan gritted his teeth, shifting his weight before the deadened muscle could slow him. He countered with a snap kick to Mack’s midsection. The force sent Mack back a step, his breath hissing through his teeth, but his grin remained.

“Solid hit,” Mack admitted.

“Pulled it,” Ethan shot back.

“Don’t do me any favors.”

Mack lunged, and Ethan barely got his arms up as a right hook came in hot—his forearm caught the brunt of it, sending a shockwave through his bones. The force of it pushed him back, but he used the momentum to roll his shoulder and retaliate with a sharp elbow strike aimed at Mack’s ribs.

Crack.

Mack blocked, but the impact still made his stance falter.

The second round started with no preamble.

Mack shot forward, his footfalls precise as he drove a knee toward Ethan’s ribs. Ethan twisted, but the tip of Mack’s kneecap still caught his side, knocking the wind from his lungs. He exhaled sharply, ignoring the dull ache as he countered with a low sweep.

Mack leaped over it, landing with a wicked smile. “You’ll have to be quicker than that.”

Ethan smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “Don’t get cocky, old man.”

Mack snorted and came at him with a feint—a quick, deceptive movement meant to bait Ethan into committing to a block. Ethan saw it, but Mack was fast.

A real punch followed.

Ethan barely managed to evade the straight right, but Mack twisted into a brutal hook that landed flush against his shoulder. A dull thud echoed in the gym as Ethan staggered, his muscle momentarily going numb. Mack wasn’t pulling as much anymore.

“Felt that one, huh?” Mack taunted.

Ethan rolled his shoulder, smirking. “Not bad.” Then he struck.

A right jab—sharp, quick—snapped Mack’s head back just enough to expose his side. Ethan pivoted and launched a roundhouse kick that connected with Mack’s ribs. A satisfying smack filled the air, and the crowd murmured their approval.

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