Chapter 4 - The Owner’s Blind Eye
The drive to my new apartment was dead silent except for the low hum of Cole’s old truck engine and the rattling of cardboard boxes in the back. My throat felt like it had been scraped with broken glass, and every swallow sent a sharp ache radiating into my ears.
"I shouldn't have brought you there," I said finally, staring out the passenger window at the passing neon signs of strip malls and gas stations.
Cole kept his eyes on the road, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel at ten and two. "You didn't do anything wrong, Sarah."
"You don't understand how these people operate," I whispered. "Derek isn't just a meathead. His uncle is on the zoning board, and Marcus has half the local patrol officers training at Apex for free. They own that strip. If they want to cause trouble, they can."
"Let them try," Cole replied quietly.
"Cole, please," I pleaded, turning to look at his profile. The harsh glare of the streetlights revealed the faint, jagged scar along his jawline—a remnant of a roadside blast in the Kunar Province that he never talked about. "You spent five years decompressing from the military. You promised Mom you were done with violence. You bought a house out in the county specifically to avoid people like this."
Cole glanced at me, his expression softening with deep, protective warmth. "I promised Mom I wouldn't seek out trouble. I never promised her I’d let some bully choke my sister into a coma while ten grown men watched and laughed."
He pulled the truck into the driveway of my new rental townhouse. The street was quiet, lined with overgrown oak trees and dim municipal streetlamps. It was supposed to be a fresh start—my first place without roommates, close to my design firm downtown. Now, the shadow of Apex Grappling hung over it like a poisoned cloud.
We unloaded the heavy dressers and kitchen boxes in steady, mechanical silence. Cole worked with effortless stamina, lifting solid oak dressers by himself without breaking a sweat, his military conditioning showing in every economical movement. By 9:30 PM, the living room was filled with taped boxes, and the old sofa was set in place.
"You need to ice your neck," Cole said, handing me a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a kitchen towel. "Take some ibuprofen and go to sleep. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight."
"You don't have to stay, Cole. You have work tomorrow."
"I’m staying," he said, leaving no room for argument.
Around midnight, my phone buzzed violently on the bedside table. I jumped, my heart hammering against my ribs.
It was a text from an unknown number:
Nice truck your brother drives. 2018 Tacoma, right? Grey with the dent on the rear tailgate. Hope he has good insurance. See you soon, Sarah.
My breath hitched. I dropped the phone onto the blanket as if it had burned my palm.
They had followed us. Or worse, Marcus had pulled my emergency contact information and address from the gym’s member management software before banning me.
I crept out of the bedroom into the dark living room. The couch was empty.
Panic spiked through my chest. "Cole?"
A silhouette moved by the front window. Cole was standing in the shadows, perfectly still, peeling the edge of the blind back by half an inch. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and in the faint street lighting, the topography of his scars was fully visible across his broad back and shoulders.
"Cole," I whispered, holding up the phone with trembling fingers. "They texted me. They know your truck."
"I know," Cole answered quietly, never taking his eyes off the street.
"What do you mean, you know?"
"A black Dodge Charger with tinted windows has driven past this house three times in the last forty-five minutes," Cole said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "They’re parked at the corner right now under the broken streetlight. Two occupants."
"We have to call the police!"
Cole shook his head slightly. "The police won't do anything about a car parked on a public street, Sarah. And if Marcus has friends in the department, a call just lets them know we’re scared."
"Then what are we going to do?"
May you like
Cole let the blind drop back into place and turned to face me in the dark. For the first time since he had stepped onto the mat at Apex Grappling, I saw the ghost of the soldier he used to be—cold, precise, and completely without fear.
"We aren't going to do anything," Cole said softly. "They are."
