“No, really. It’s her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend now, I guess.”
“Who is he, some dickhead that hates the tech industry or something?”
“I think you should sit down,” she said softly.
“Why? I don’t care about some liberal arts pussy. Just tell me his name and I’ll take care of him.”
“His name,” she said slowly, “is Trent.”
I blinked at her. “Okay. That’s a weird coincidence.”
“It’s not a coincidence, Cole. Well, it is, but not how you’re thinking.”
I stared at her for a second, a strange feeling wheeling around in my gut. “Spit it out, Alex.”
“Madison used to work PR for UFC, which I guess is the company that runs MMA fights.”
I nodded, confirming what she said. I thought the room might begin spinning.
“Well,” she said, “Madison met Trent while she was doing that job. Your Trent. Then she got the job as Cindy’s assistant, basically by accident, and lucked into those pictures.”
“You mean she didn’t pay for them?”
“No, she did, but she wasn’t coming after us. She was just looking for some pictures to sell to some tech blogs in the area.”
“Trent . . .” I said, trailing off.
“Trent was her boyfriend. He saw the pictures and knew what he had. Trent is the one blackmailing us, Cole.”
I stared at her for a second and then shook my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’m sorry, Cole, but it’s really him.”
I felt rage rush through me then, a rage I’d never experienced before. “That motherfucker,” I said. “He’s doing this just to distract me, to make this fight easier. That fucking piece of shit. That’s why he wants to rush in to it.”
“Cole, calm down,” Alexa said, standing up.
“That snake cunt,” I said, grabbing the end of the weight rack and tearing it to the ground. Weights smashed to the floor and went toppling.
Alexa backed up, her eyes wide. “Cole,” she said.
I couldn’t control myself. Every bit of my carefully built self-restraint was suddenly gone as I ripped off another rack of weights and pushed over a machine, my muscles flexing. Rage flowed through me freely, and I wanted to kill Trent, kill him with my bare hands. I wanted to tear his skull to bits and drink his blood.
It wasn’t that he had hurt me. I didn’t fucking care about that. Fighters did dirty shit all the time to try to get in their opponent’s head. I didn’t fucking care about that shit. Trent was a snake fuck, and he’d do whatever he had to do to win, including some dirty as fuck tricks.
But I was pissed that he had dragged Alexa into the whole thing. Alexa and her family had been nothing but kind to me since everything had started. Alexa was mine, my fucking wife, my fucking woman, and Trent had dared messed with that.
He had gone too far. He had stepped across a line, and I would make him pay. I was going to find him and I was going to kill him. Fuck the fight. Fuck everything else. I was going to murder him.
“Cole,” Alexa said loudly. “Please, calm down.”
“I’m going to murder him,” I said. “Right now.”
I stormed upstairs. I could hear her following me, yelling my name, but I couldn’t understand a word she said. The only thing on my mind was finding Trent and ripping him to pieces. I would end it, end the blackmail, end the stress, end it all.
I grabbed the keys to my bike and my helmet and headed outside. I knew where I could find him, or at least someone who could help me. I’d dial up Ronnie soon, and together we’d smash Trent’s face in with steel pipes.
“Cole, please listen to me,” Alexa said.
I found where I had parked my bike and climbed on. Alexa grabbed my arms, looking into my eyes wildly.
“Cole, you’re scaring me,” she said.
That pulled me up short. I looked back at her seriously and saw the real fear in her eyes, the real terror. And I realized that despite everything that had happened, she had never once looked like that.
“Please, stop.” She was begging me.
“I have to kill him,” I said simply.
“Not like this. Don’t throw your life away on that asshole.”
I gripped my bike’s handlebars and ground my teeth. “He hurt you.”
“And you’re hurting me right now if you do this.”
That hit me like a blow to the chest, and my eyes widened. “I’m trying to fix this.”
“No,” she said harshly, “you’re being immature. You’re throwing a fucking tantrum.”
I bit my tongue and stared at her for a second. “What do you want me to do?” I asked finally.