Chapter 1 

This absolutely wasn’t supposed to be stressful. It was supposed to be a nice, relaxing picnic in the park with a loved one. And then somehow, Mateo ended up witnessing a fight go down. Of course, his first instinct was to make sure that his sister was safe. 

He quickly grabbed Carla’s wrist, pulling her in the direction of the closed food truck at the edge of the park. At least here, she’d be out of sight. “What’s going on?!” She whispered loudly, peering around the edge of the van.

Mateo pulled her back, pressing a finger to his lips. “Ssh, hermana. What if they come over?” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line, nodding grimly as she leaned back against the van, curling in to Mateo’s side. Tragically, the two had had to abandon their picnic, including their checkered picnic blanket. But crazily enough, their safety was more important than a blanket and some sandwiches.

Even if the sandwiches were really nice. 

Mateo and Carla waited in rapt silence, with Mateo occasionally peeking around the side of the van to see if the fight was still going on. “Joder,” he breathed out, unable to tear his gaze away from the scene occurring on the other side of the park.

To begin with, there had been one person sitting on a bench. He’d been reading a book, minding his own business whilst Mateo and Carla ate their lunch on the grass a little distance away from him, beneath the dappled rays of glowing liquid gold sunlight which filtered down through the leaves of the maple tree shading them.

And also hiding them.

And then a car had pulled up next to bench-guy, and Mateo had instantly felt a sinking feeling. As soon as two rather…suspicious-looking men got out of the car and threw a punch at bench-guy, Mateo had taken Carla and hidden. 

He was just hoping that the maple tree hid him and Carla from the gangsters’ immediate view, so that they wouldn’t try and find whoever might have seen them attack bench-guy.

And they were definitely gangsters; Mateo knew one when he saw one. Or two. Back in Spain, he and his family had lived in some…questionable parts of town, and those kinds of people were familiar to him now, even if this wasn’t Spain. 

Different country, same modus operandi. 

It was one of the reasons he first took up kickboxing; living in a slightly dangerous place made his parents want to be sure that he and his sister were safe. And although Carla gave up the martial art once they moved to England, Mateo had kept at it.

Turns out, it was a spectacular decision; kids in English schools weren’t a massive fan of their new transfer student who neither spoke their language well nor conformed to their gender expectations. 

But, that was all in the past; Mateo had long since finished school, sixth form college and even university, and he didn’t have any need to use his kickboxing skills in any context other than at his kickboxing classes and sparring with his peers.

Until he witnessed some random guy reading a book on a bench get completely ambushed by a second van full of people. 

Mateo didn’t make it his business to interfere with random people’s fights, but this was just plain old unfair. And that’s one thing which Mateo hated with a burning passion. 

So, he stepped in to help. 

Arguably, he didn’t need to. Bench-guy was holding up surprisingly well, fighting back impressively well against the mob throwing punches at him. But still, all it took was a well-aimed hit and he’d be passed out on the floor. Who knows what the men planned to do to the guy after that?

Mateo really didn’t fancy witnessing a murder.

“Mat! What the hell?! Don’t intervene, what if you get hurt?!” Carla grabbed his wrist, jerking him back. Mateo glanced at his sister, patting her head gently. “I’ll be back soon. I promise I won’t get hurt.”

Carla reluctantly let go of her brother’s hand, but she knew that he could hold his own in a fight, so she wasn’t too worried for his safety. She also wasn’t worried for her own either; she may not practice martial arts anymore but she and Mateo would still spar occasionally to stop her getting rusty.

You never know when you might need to jab someone in the head.

Mateo rushed out from behind the van, heading straight towards the two black cars parked behind the bench. He arrived in perfect timing to watch as bench-guy received a punch to the back of the head, sending him staggering to the ground. 

After that, the gangsters practically pounced at him.

Mateo acted quickly. He instantly hooked his arm around the side of one of the men’s heads, bringing his fist straight into the man’s skull. It hurt; punching someone barehanded is never a good feel, but it’s not like this was the first time Mateo had ever punched someone without boxing gloves on.

He followed up the hook with a knee strike, bringing his knee into his opponent’s stomach, aiming for the solar plexus. He did that just to be a dick, honestly. It hurts like hell for the guy, after all. 

Mateo had moved fast, but at this point the others were starting to realise that there was another person present; probably because he’d just successfully felled the closest guy, now giving Mateo a view of bench-guy on the ground, still conscious but looking worse for wear.

He had a head injury, and depending on how hard he’d been hit in the past few moments, could possibly be concussed. Mateo needed these other guys to back off quickly so as to get this guy some medical help. 

“Who the fuck is this little shithead?!” One of the men bellowed, reaching out towards Mateo, most likely to hit him. He never got the chance though, because Mateo ducked out of the way, clicking his tongue with a ‘que cabrón’ under his breath. 

He then quickly followed up his lovely swear with a charming uppercut straight into his attacker’s chin, sending the guy stumbling back in surprise at the strong hit. 

They were going to have to try harder than that if these idiots had any chance of actually beating Mateo. 

Hermana - sister

Joder - fuck

Modus operandi - an M.O

Que cabrón - what a bastard