Chapter 5 - An Unwanted Challenge
Derek stood up, his face an ugly tapestry of shame, fury, and prescription painkillers.
“You ruined my life, bitch,” Derek spat, staying safely behind the massive frame of Stryker. “My boss saw the video. The guys at the firm are printing out stills of me on the deck and taping them to my cubicle. You made me a goddamn meme.”
“You made yourself a meme when you hit Ryan,” I said, stepping onto the first gravel tier of the walkway. “Take your friend and leave.”
Mark Stryker took two heavy steps forward. His eyes swept over me—not the way a normal man looks at a woman, but the way a veteran fighter sizes up an opponent. He looked at the width of my hips, the symmetry of my stance, the complete absence of nervous blinking.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Stryker said, his voice gravelly and thick. “It really is the Quiet Storm. I thought you were dead, Carter. Or fat and broke somewhere in Florida.”
“I’m doing just fine, Mark. Still running unlicensed smokers in the back of your gym?”
Stryker’s jaw tightened. That hit a nerve. “My gym produces champions. Real ones. Not paper icons who ducked the Silva rematch to go balance checkbooks.”
“I beat Silva,” I replied, unblinking. “And I left on my own terms. What terms did you leave on? A failed drug test and a three-year ban in Nevada?”
Derek looked between us, startled that we knew each other.
“Listen to me, Carter,” Stryker stepped closer, invading my space. He was six-foot-two, two hundred and thirty pounds. He tried to loom. Most people step back when someone looms. I didn't move a millimeter. “You broke my student’s wrist. Derek here is an amateur prospect in my program.”
“Prospect?” I let out a dry, quiet laugh. “He’s a thirty-two-year-old project manager who doesn't know how to keep his elbows in when he throws a hook. If that’s your best prospect, Mark, close your doors.”
“You humiliated him,” Stryker growled, his face reddening. “And by extension, you humiliated Apex. The internet is clowning my gym because one of my guys got folded by a housewife.”
“Then teach your guys not to assault women at family barbecues.”
“Here’s how this goes,” Stryker said, ignoring me, leaning down so his mouth was level with my ear. “Next month is the Midwest Regional Charity Gala at the convention center. Apex is hosting the exhibition card. Derek wants satisfaction. But since he’s hurt, we do a mixed exhibition. Or... better yet, you put on the gloves against my head female trainer, Tara Cruz. Five rounds. Box-office charity.”
“No,” I said.
“No?” Stryker chuckled. “You scared, Evelyn? Word gets around that you’re washed. Word gets around that your architect husband likes to hide behind a retired broad who can’t back up her old belts anymore.”
“I don't care about your word, Mark. And if you or Derek set foot on this property again, I won’t call the police. I’ll call the county prosecutor and show him the surveillance footage of your car idling here while Derek violates a verbal trespass warning.”
I reached into my purse, pulled out my phone, and showed him the screen. It was connected to the perimeter cameras; red recording dots were blinking brightly.
Stryker glared at me, the predatory amusement vanishing into cold, ugly malice.
May you like
“This isn't over, Carter,” Stryker said, turning toward his truck. “You can hide behind your garden and your little country house, but this town isn't that big. Ryan has clients in this city. Derek’s firm does business with his partners. We’ll see how quiet you stay when your husband’s career starts drying up.”
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