Thum- thum- thum.
The sound of impact echoed in the private training room.
Brandon's fists slammed into the heavy punching bag with his knuckles wrapped in cloth as sweat dripped down his temples.
The bag rocked back and forth violently and the chains creaked above as if they might snap from the sheer force he was putting into every strike.
"Haa-" he exhaled sharply with each punch and his fists shot out in a steady barrage, left, right, left, right before he pivoted, twisting his hips to deliver a swift roundhouse kick that thudded against the side of the bag.
He didn't stop and flowed right back into motion.
Brandon shifted his stance, bouncing lightly on his feet, driving short, rapid jabs into the bag before leaning low, ducking under an imaginary counterattack, and snapping an uppercut into the underside.
His muscles strained, veins standing out along his forearms, but he pushed through, sweat soaking into his training shirt until it clung to his skin.
Thum! Thum! THUM!
