Marilyn stopped and adjusted the sports-strap -- again. It took three tries because of shaking. She would carry through on this no matter what. Her stomach ached, her heart pounded. She struggled to control her breathing. Focus. Focus.
Marilyn rounded the corner. He waited by himself, as he said he would, holding her purse. In the bright, noon light his face was beautiful but still ruined.
He held out the purse to her. "I told you," he said.
It happened fast. Marilyn swept an arm over his wrist, cracking down hard. She twisted slightly, following with a slashing sidekick, then an elbow strike to the face, screaming "kiyai," full power, full focus.
He went down, blood everywhere. Marilyn crouched defensively, then dropped her hands.
Her instructor had been right. Revenge has no honor.