Chapter 3 - The Owner Steps In
The gym door swung open with a loud, aggressive squeak, and Marcus Vance—the owner of Apex Grappling and Derek’s closest confidant—strode onto the mats. Marcus was built like a fire hydrant, sporting a freshly inked chest tattoo and a permanent expression of righteous grievance.
He had been watching from his glass-walled office upstairs.
"What the hell is going on here?" Marcus barked, his voice booming across the padded floor as he glared at Derek, who was still clutching his bruised arm on the mat. "Derek! What happened?"
Derek scrambled to his feet, his face crimson with a mixture of humiliation and blind fury. He pointed a trembling finger directly at my brother.
"This psycho just jumped me!" Derek lied, his voice cracking slightly as his ego scrambled to salvage his reputation. "I was minding my own business teaching class, and this guy walked onto the mat, grabbed me by the throat, and cheap-shotted me! He doesn't even go here!"
Marcus turned his hostile glare onto Cole. I forced myself up to my feet, my legs still trembling slightly from the oxygen deprivation.
"Hey! Listen to me, pal," Marcus snarled, marching right up to Cole. "You don't walk into my gym, assault my head instructor, and think you're walking out. We have rules here. You're trespassing, and you just committed assault. I’m calling the police right now."
I stepped between them, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Marcus, don't you dare! Derek choked me out after I tapped three times! Everyone saw it! He kept squeezing until I passed out!"
"Shut up, Sarah," Marcus snapped, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. "You're clumsy, you don't know how to handle the pressure, and you're covering for your loser brother. I don't know who this meathead thinks he is, but—"
Cole didn't let Marcus finish.
Without raising his voice, without taking a single aggressive step, Cole reached into his back pocket, pulled out a small, laminated card, and held it out for Marcus to see.
"My name is Master Sergeant Cole Callahan, United States Navy," Cole said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "I’m on leave from Naval Special Warfare Command in Coronado. Before I came here, I checked the local ordinances regarding commercial liability, assault waivers, and reckless endangerment under state athletic codes."
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes flicked down to the military identification card, then up to Cole’s cold, unwavering gaze.
"Furthermore," Cole continued, stepping forward so that Marcus was forced to back up a half-step, "every single second of what your star instructor did to my sister was captured by the wide-angle security camera mounted directly above the mat. The one pointing right at us."
Marcus blinked, his bluster instantly deflating like a punctured tire. He glanced up at the dome camera blinking a soft green light in the corner.
"Look... man... let's not get cops involved," Marcus stammered, suddenly changing his tune as the reality of a civil lawsuit and a federal negligence investigation slammed into his business-oriented brain. "It was just a sparring misunderstanding. Tempers flare."
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"A misunderstanding is when someone misjudges a sweep," Cole said, his eyes narrowing into twin slits of ice. "What happened here was targeted bullying and professional misconduct. And it's finished."
Cole turned to me, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. "Come on, Sarah. Pack your bag. You're never setting foot in this toxic waste dump again."
