Chapter 35

Travis left campus, his footsteps quickening with each passing second. His face was tense, a sense of urgency taking over as he made his way down the familiar streets. The usual walk home, which he often took leisurely, now felt like an obstacle course he needed to conquer.

His stomach grumbled ominously, a sharp reminder of the predicament he found himself in.

"Man, what horrible timing," he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists at his sides as if sheer willpower alone could hold things at bay.

With every step, the pressure in his gut increased, forcing him to speed up. His mind raced, calculating the quickest route home. Travis wasn't concerned about anyone around him or even the possibility of being jumped. His focus was singular—he had to get home, and fast.

Sweat started to bead at his forehead as he weaved through the occasional pedestrian, his pace now almost a jog. Each block felt like it stretched out endlessly, mocking him.

"Just a little farther..." he told himself, gritting his teeth.

Suddenly, Travis's ears picked up the distinct rhythm of multiple footsteps behind him, about ten people moving in sync. He didn't need to turn around to know who they were. The sound of their boots hitting the pavement was all too familiar.

He didn't mind them, not in the slightest. If anything, they were a distraction from his more pressing concern, but that didn't mean he was going to ignore them. A subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he walked down the dimly lit street, their presence getting closer with every step.

As he neared the turn that led to his street, Travis halted abruptly. The air behind him felt heavy with anticipation, but he didn't flinch. Standing there for a moment, his back still turned, he could feel their eyes on him, waiting for his next move.

He stood still for a moment, letting the footsteps grow louder. The group of men closed in, their presence unmistakable. Travis slowly turned his head to the side, a grin spreading across his face as he heard the rustle of jackets and heavy breathing. They were trying to intimidate him, but he was anything but scared.

Travis slowly turned to face the group, his expression unreadable, his eyes scanning each one of them without a hint of fear. Where most would be intimidated by the sight of ten men, all armed and looking for trouble, Travis felt only a dull annoyance.

He wasn't afraid, nor did he feel any particular concern for their numbers. If anything, they were just an obstacle between him and the comfort of his home.

The leader stepped forward, gripping a metal bat tightly in his hand, his eyes filled with a cold intensity.

"Ehh Vato, I heard you like to trouble my sister, that shit's not cool, ese." His voice carried a sharp edge, but Travis barely flinched. The rest of the group closed in, surrounding him as if trying to cage him in.

Travis raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Who's your sister?" he asked, his tone light yet probing.

"My sister? You don't gotta know that," he replied, his voice dripping with a mix of defiance and irritation. "All you gotta know is that you're about to die, pendejo."

With that, he raised his bat, the metal glinting ominously in the light, and swung it down on Travis's head with surprising force. However, without any sign of fear or hesitation, Travis raised his hand and caught the bat mid-swing, the tension in the air palpable as they faced each other.

"I was honestly thinking the same thing about you guys," he said as a smirk appeared on his face, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

With the guy having both hands on the bat, he was pretty much as open as day. Travis seized the opportunity and punched him hard in the gut, the blow landing with a sickening thud.

The guy instantly passed out, his body going limp. Without hesitation, Travis took him by the throat and slammed him onto the ground, the action fueled by a mix of adrenaline and purpose.

"Kill this guy!" another thug shouted, swinging at Travis with a wild swing of a bat. Travis quickly blocked the bat with his forearm, deflecting it away and leaving the attacker momentarily defenseless.

In a swift motion, Travis delivered a powerful side kick to the guy's head, sending him crashing to the ground in a daze.

Suddenly, a bat was hurtling toward the back of his head. Travis ducked just in time, and as it passed, he executed a spinning kick, his foot connecting with the guy's chest and slamming him into the wall with a thud.

'This is fun,' he thought, a rush of exhilaration surging through him. He was really enjoying himself, even though the fight had barely begun. He glanced at the remaining opponents and chuckled softly, finding amusement in their uncertainty.

With a burst of speed, he sprinted forward and landed a solid kick to a guy's stomach, sending him crashing back toward his friends. Without losing momentum, he followed up with a right punch to the one next to him. The impact deformed the thug's face, and Travis couldn't help but laugh internally at the sight.

This night would be marked as their worst ever. Travis had beaten the living daylights out of everyone in under a minute. Dozens of men lay scattered on the ground, some passed out, which were the luckiest among them. The others remained fully conscious, experiencing every agonizing second of the punishment Travis had inflicted.

He went and took his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he walked back home. He didn't bother to threaten or scare them further; he felt he had already done enough damage for one night. The thrill of the fight still pulsed through his veins, but a sense of calm washed over him as he distanced himself from the chaos.

Travis arrived home shortly after, the familiar sights and sounds of his neighborhood offering a comforting contrast to the violence he had just left behind. He pushed open the door, feeling the weight of the evening's events settle on his shoulders, but a small grin played on his lips as he recalled the surprised looks on his attackers' faces.

When he entered the house, an intoxicating aroma hit him—so inviting it could disarm an army. He stepped into the kitchen, where his stepmother, Debbie, stood, radiant and graceful as she prepared dinner. The sight of him entering brought a wide smile to her face, and before he could say a word, she hurried around the counter, wrapping her arms around him in a warm, tight embrace that caught him off guard.

"You're back! Perfect, go get changed—I made your favorite," she said, her voice filled with excitement.

Travis blinked in confusion, pulling back slightly to look at her. "What's the occasion? Did we hit the lottery or something?"

Debbie laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, silly. This morning, you really helped me. I was feeling low, and you made everything easier for me. I wanted to show you how grateful I am. So, I made your favorite dinner. Now, go change quickly. Do you have any plans tonight?"

"Uh, no... not yet," he replied, still taken aback by her enthusiasm.

Her smile grew even brighter, her happiness infectious. "Great! Then hurry up and get ready," she said, giving him a gentle nudge toward the door.

Travis nodded and left the kitchen, heading upstairs to his room. As he gathered his clothes to take a shower, he couldn't help but think,

'I didn't think Debbie would be this happy.'

TO BE CONTINUED.