Chapter 2 - Six Taps into the Dark
When consciousness dragged me back to the surface, the sensation was violent and disorienting.
I was curled tightly on the cold vinyl mat, my body racked by a series of ragged, explosive coughs that tore through my bruised throat like shards of glass.
Air rushed back into my collapsed lungs, burning every alveoli and making my chest heave with agonizing effort.
Through watery, blurred eyes, I saw Derek standing casually nearby, adjusting his black belt with maddening nonchalance as though he had merely finished tying his shoelaces.
You need to tap earlier if you want to survive out here, he said, his voice dripping with condescending instruction.
I did, I rasped out, my voice sounding like crushed gravel as I clutched my burning neck with trembling fingers.
Six times, I forced the words past my swollen vocal cords, glaring up at him with every ounce of remaining defiance.
A ripple of uneasy laughter passed among his close circle of friends standing near the equipment racks.
In a real fight on the street, nobody cares if you are uncomfortable, Derek announced to the room, playing to his audience with a sickening grin.
My throat throbbed with every pulse of my racing heart, and the humiliation stung far worse than the lack of oxygen had moments prior.
Before Derek could offer another sarcastic remark about my technique, a voice cut through the ambient noise of the gym like a scalpel.
She tapped.
The single, flat sentence hit the room with the kinetic force of a concussion grenade.
My blood ran instantly cold in my veins, freezing every nerve ending from my fingertips down to my toes.
Cole.
Every single person in the vicinity turned their heads toward the entrance in synchronized alarm.
My husband stood just past the threshold, wearing dark, tailored trousers and a fitted black shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and lethal posture.
There was no expensive suit jacket to soften his appearance.
There was no visible entourage of armed bodyguards swarming the doorway.
To any casual observer stumbling off the Chicago pavement, he simply looked like an irritated husband who had arrived early to pick up his wife.
I knew the terrifying reality hidden behind that composed exterior.
Cole crossed the matted floor with long, silent strides, his leather shoes making barely a sound against the rubberized ground.
He crouched beside me immediately, his dark, penetrating eyes scanning my pale face and the bruised red marks encircling my neck.
Can you breathe, Sarah? he asked, his voice low, steady, and utterly devoid of casual warmth.
My throat hurts, I whispered, clutching his forearm as a wave of dizziness threatened to pull me back under.
A muscle twitched violently along Cole's clenched jaw, betraying the cataclysmic fury boiling just beneath his ice-cold demeanor.
He stood up slowly, his towering six-foot-three frame casting a long, ominous shadow over the brightly lit mats.
He turned his gaze toward Derek Vaughn, who was still smirking with arrogant ignorance.
You heard her tap, Cole stated, his voice carrying an unnatural, quiet resonance that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Derek laughed, waving a dismissive hand in the air.
Maybe you should teach your wife how to tap properly instead of whining when she gets caught in a choke, Derek shot back, stepping forward to close the distance.
An absolute, suffocating silence descended over Apex Grappling.
Even the ceiling fans overhead seemed to stop humming as the atmosphere grew thick with impending violence.
Cole calmly unstrapped his luxury timepiece from his wrist, placing the heavy metal watch with meticulous care beside my gym bag on the bench.
I want an apology, Cole said, his tone flat, reasonable, and profoundly terrifying.
Not happening, snorted Derek, crossing his arms over his chest and puffing out his shoulder blades.
Derek then pointed a thick, calloused finger directly toward the center of the mat where I lay.
If you want to play the tough husband, step up here and prove something instead of standing around looking miserable, Derek challenged, his voice echoing off the concrete walls.
My stomach twisted into a violent knot of pure dread.
Cole, I managed to whisper, reaching out a trembling hand toward his pant leg.
He looked down at me for a fraction of a second, and I immediately recognized that specific, chilling expression in his eyes.
May you like
He was no longer angry.
That was infinitely worse.
