More on this book
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“I heard there was a fight going on,” I said, turning to Marx. “Turns out I was mistaken.”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up my palms. “I had no idea what a tough guy you were. I bet you could cold cock a blond chick at the grocery store.”
“What the fuck is The Labyrinth?” “It’s . . . I don’t know!” he said. “It’s on the darkweb. You need a code. It’s real man. The money’s real!”
I levelled my gaze at them, daring one or ten or fifty to try me. All three hundred lumberjacks fled, stampeding for the exit. I smiled. “Why do you think they call me Sledge?”
“He’s a cat,” I said. “You’re beneath him.” “He can sense a fellow predator.” “That, or he likes being scratched behind the ears.”
Either he was telling the truth or he was so used to lying it came out like truth.
I stomped down the second time, crushing the guy’s skull. Kiira flew from her chair, hands over her mouth, screaming incoherently. I looked at Gow. “Well,” he said. “At least we know what happened to the mayor.”
FUCK ME. I’D murdered the mayor. The Labyrinth assholes had set me up. And now they had me on Murder One.
“Everyone’s a tough guy until they meet a real one,” I said between gritted teeth. “Let ‘em come.”
One of my big advantages in hand-to-hand combat is my adamantine bone density. The systematic strengthening of bones under tension, bending, torsion, fatigue, and sheer was a key element of my grandfather’s unorthodox training regimen. Bones respond to stress the same way muscles do. Injure them slightly, and they heal back stronger. Continue that process systematically for twenty-five years, and what you get is a skeleton made of drastically different stuff than yours. Think of the difference between you and the winner of last year’s World Strongest Man competition. Can you flip an 8,000
...more
Put simply, I punch you, you break. You punch me, you break.
I learned something vital: somewhere, lurking deep within my brain, was the key to unlocking my true physical potential. I call it The Leviathan. Since then, I’ve systematically trained myself to consciously trigger my sympathetic nervous system. It’s by no means easy, and it comes with a heavy price tag, but it really is that simple: Flick the switch . . . and The Leviathan awakes.
“You’re a junky. Except your drug isn’t heroin. It’s manslaughter.”
And that’s when I saw him. The Dzhaggernaut. It took only a momentary glimpse for one thing to become blood-chillingly clear: I was about to die.
