Chapter 2
## THE FIRST MAN WHO REFUSED TO LOOK AWAY
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The first thing Dererick noticed was my boots.
He glanced down at them, then up at me, taking in my black T-shirt, faded jeans, and the small scar cutting through my left eyebrow.
His smirk widened.
“Spectators stay off the mats.”
I stopped three feet away from him.
“She's having trouble breathing.”
“She's fine.”
Chloe made another awful, rattling sound behind him.
I looked at her. Her hands were trembling against the mat, and she was trying to push herself upright without putting pressure on her neck.
“Chloe, don't move.”
My sister's eyes found mine.
For one second, the fear in them disappeared. Beneath it was something worse.
Shame.
She was ashamed that I had seen her like this.
That nearly broke my composure.
Dererick stepped between us. “You her babysitter?”
“No.”
“Then get off my mat.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed 911.
His expression changed.
“Seriously?”
“Adult female, unconscious during a chokehold, now experiencing respiratory distress,” I told the dispatcher. “Possible neck injury. We're at a martial arts facility in San Diego. I'll provide the address.”
The gym's front desk was visible through the open doorway. I'd read the address on the way in.
Dererick laughed loudly enough for the room to hear.
“This is Brazilian jiu-jitsu, sweetheart. People get choked. Maybe you should try yoga.”
A couple of men chuckled.
I ended the call only after confirming that emergency responders were on their way.
Then I turned toward the thirty men who had watched my sister go limp.
“Does anybody here have first-aid training?”
Silence.
“Anybody?”
A man near the heavy bags finally raised his hand halfway.
“I'm a paramedic,” he said. “Off duty.”
“What's your name?”
“Marcus.”
“Marcus, come here. Don't manipulate her neck. Help me keep the area clear until the ambulance arrives.”
He hesitated.
Dererick looked at him.
“You work for me, Marcus.”
The paramedic's hand dropped.
That was when I understood how thoroughly this man had trained the room.
He didn't need to hit everybody. He only needed to make them believe that standing up for someone else would cost them something.
I looked directly at Marcus.
“Your certification means nothing if you're too afraid to use your judgment when somebody needs help.”
His face reddened.
For a moment, I thought he'd back down.
Then he stepped forward.
“Move, Dererick.”
The gym went silent again, but this time, the silence had changed.
Dererick stared at Marcus as if he'd just committed a personal betrayal.
I crouched beside Chloe without touching her throat. Her breathing remained harsh and irregular.
“Hey, kiddo,” I whispered.
She was twenty-six, three years younger than me, and she'd hated that nickname since high school.
Now, her fingers caught my wrist.
“Amy.”
“I'm here.”
“He knew.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Who knew what?”
Her eyes shifted toward Dererick.
He was watching us.
Chloe swallowed painfully and winced.
“He knew I tapped.”
My expression didn't change.
“I saw.”
“No.” Her fingers tightened around my wrist. “Before that. He knew about the recording.”
A muscle jumped in Dererick's jaw.
It was small. Almost invisible.
But I'd spent years learning to notice the things people tried hardest to conceal.
“What recording?” I asked.
Chloe opened her mouth.
Before she could answer, Dererick kicked a folded towel across the mat.
“Get her out of here,” he said. “She's confused. Probably concussed herself.”
I stood.
“Don't come near her.”
His smile vanished.
“Listen carefully. This is my academy. My rules. You walk in here acting like some military tough girl, and you think everybody's supposed to be scared?”
“No.”
I took one step closer.
“I think you're counting on everybody being scared of you.”
For the first time, I saw uncertainty in his eyes.
Then a door opened behind the reception desk.
A tall man in an expensive charcoal suit walked into the gym. He had silver hair, a square jaw, and the kind of polished appearance that came from never having to clean up his own messes.
I'd seen his face before.
On a framed photograph beside the entrance.
VICTOR HALE — FOUNDER, PACIFIC COMBAT ACADEMY.
He looked at Chloe on the mat, then at Dererick.
“What happened?”
Dererick answered before anyone else could speak.
“Training accident. She refused to tap.”
Chloe tried to lift her head.
“That isn't—”
“Don't,” Dererick snapped.
Victor raised one hand, silencing her.
Then he looked at me.
“Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
I pulled my military identification from my wallet, not because it gave me authority over the gym, but because I wanted him to understand that I wasn't going to be intimidated into disappearing.
“I'm her sister. Emergency services are on the way.”
Victor barely glanced at the identification.
“Then let the professionals handle it.”
“They will.”
I returned the ID to my wallet.
“And the police can handle the assault.”
His expression hardened.
“Careful. You don't know what you're accusing people of.”
Behind him, a young employee slipped out of the office holding a laptop.
She was perhaps twenty-two, with dark hair pulled into a messy bun.
Her eyes met mine.
Then she looked at Chloe.
And shook her head.
Not at me.
At Chloe.
As if she were warning my sister not to say another word.
I recognized the look immediately.
Fear.
The same fear I'd seen in villages where people knew who had killed their neighbors but refused to name the killers.
The ambulance siren sounded outside.
Marcus helped the paramedics reach Chloe. I walked beside the stretcher as they carefully assessed her breathing.
Just before they wheeled her through the front doors, she caught my hand again.
“Locker seventeen,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Don't let them get there first.”
Then the paramedics took her away.
I turned back toward the gym.
Dererick was standing beside Victor, both men watching me.
The young employee had disappeared.
And the office door was locked.
I could have followed the ambulance.
Every instinct told me to stay beside my sister.
But Chloe had spent months telling me that the academy was the first place where she felt strong enough to rebuild her life.
If she'd risked her health to uncover something hidden inside it, leaving without understanding what she meant could put her in danger all over again.
I walked to the front desk.
“Where are the lockers?”
Victor stepped into my path.
“Those are private.”
I looked at the wall behind him.
Seventeen.
A brass number on a narrow metal door.
Then I looked back at Victor.
“Funny,” I said. “My sister just told me to find it.”
May you like
His face went pale.
And for the first time since I'd entered the building, he stopped pretending he didn't know who I was.
