Derek scrambled backward, his sweaty back sliding against the padded cinder block wall. His right arm hung awkwardly at his side. He cradled his elbow against his ribs, his chest heaving violently. The sheer, overwhelming panic that had gripped him moments before was slowly receding, replaced by the hot, toxic flush of humiliation.
His ego, severely wounded in front of his audience, demanded a reaction. He needed to salvage his identity. "You coward!" Derek spat, his voice trembling with a mixture of pain and rage. "You cranked it! You came in here off the street and cranked a submission! That's assault! I could have the cops here in five minutes!"
Cole didn't flinch. He didn't shift his weight. He just looked at Derek the way a man looks at a stubborn stain on the pavement. There was no triumph in his posture, no chest puffing.
"Call them," Cole said, his voice flat. "Tell them you held a dangerous choke on a 26-year-old woman, ignored her tapping, and made her lose consciousness because your feelings were hurt. I'll wait right here." Derek opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked around the room, silently begging for someone, anyone, to back him up.
The software engineers, the accountants, the blue and purple belts who usually laughed at his terrible jokes, all looked away. They suddenly found the texture of the floor mats incredibly interesting. "What the hell's going on here?" The voice boomed from the back office. The heavy wooden door swung open, and Greg marched out.
Greg was the gym owner and head instructor. He was a man in his late 40s with thick cauliflower ears, a barrel chest, and a black belt heavily frayed at the edges, adorned with four red bars. He moved with the heavy, planted steps of a man who owned the ground he walked on. Greg pushed through the crowd of students, taking in the scene. He saw Sarah