My right forearm slid across the back of his neck.
My left hand controlled his wrist.
For half a second, I had a path to a choke.
I released it.
Derek scrambled backward.
The room had gone almost completely silent.
The digital clock mounted above the cage read:
4:11 REMAINING.
Derek stared at me.
“You wrestle?”
“A little.”
That irritated him more than an insult would have.
He rushed forward.
I could see Claire saying something from the edge of the mat, but I couldn’t hear her over the blood pulsing in my ears.
Derek threw a knee.
I stepped inside it.
My palm struck his chest—not hard, merely enough to break his balance.
Then I hooked his ankle.
He hit the mat flat on his back.
The crowd made a collective sound.
Not cheering now.
Confusion.
Derek rolled instantly and jumped up.
His face had gone red.
“Lucky.”
I wiped the blood from my lip.
“Probably.”
He attacked again.
This time he stopped trying to impress anyone.
No flashy combinations.
No spinning kick.
He came to hurt me.
That was his second mistake.
His first had been calling me.
His third would be believing I wanted to beat him.
I didn’t.
I wanted him to expose himself.
There is a difference.
Three days earlier, I had been sitting in my kitchen when everything started.
At least, that was when I thought it started.
The voice note playing from Claire’s phone had filled the room.
“Babe, you left your sports bra in my locker.
Tell your sad sack husband you’re working late tomorrow.
We need to go over your ground game.”
Then came the chuckle.
Wet.
Private.
Cruel.
I had stared at Claire’s phone beside the fruit bowl.
Fourteen years.
That was a long time to know someone.
Long enough to recognize their footsteps in the hallway.
Their breathing in sleep.
The expression they made before lying.
Claire came downstairs wearing a white robe.
She stopped when she saw the phone in my hand.
For perhaps two seconds, neither of us spoke.
I expected denial.
Instead she sighed.
That hurt more.
Not panic.
Not guilt.
Annoyance.
As though I had discovered something inconvenient.
“His name is Derek,” she said.
I put the phone down.
She folded her arms.
“He owns Apex Predator.”
“I gathered that.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That quiet thing.”
I looked at her.
