A few guys in muscle shirts caught on. “KAN. KAN. KAN” echoed softly. One by one, the spectators seemed to stand up straighter, preening at the chance of being filmed for a newscast.
Now that was progress.
Until one big-bodied brute who was attempting to flip his hair moved too aggressively and slammed into her. She struggled to hold onto her camera.
“Hey.”
“Sorry,” the enormous guy, six feet five or more, apologized. Surprising from someone sporting a worn leather jacket and a matching leather bracelet with metal spikes protruding from it.
Turning, she cocked her head and pretended to consider his camera-worthiness. “Ever been on television?” she demanded, knowing full well the answer. No one wanted to flip on the television and be scared silly by this guy.
The man looked surprised. “No. What gives?”
“An interview. A die-hard fan’s take on tonight’s bouts. With you, after this is all over, when I’m not screaming to be heard. In return, a favor?”
He grinned.
Bingo. Lauren would be so proud of her resourcefulness. By bribing this beast with a fake interview in exchange for his protection, those Amanpour genes were kicking in all right.
“Will I be on the nightly news? Gotta call my girl and let her know to TiVo my shit.”
“I really need to get this footage and am having a heck of a time recording the fight with this crowd. If you’ll be my bodyguard for the next few hours, I’ll guarantee an interview later on.”
His elbow shot out and hit the man next to her. The one guy in the entire parking lot who’d been minding his own business and focused on guzzling his beer had been laid out flat.
Her bodyguard grinned manically at her, looking for approval.
Crapola. She’d better think of a smooth way out of this. No predicting what this brute might do if he figured out she was full of it.
Yet, his actions were confirmation enough of his helpfulness. She offered him a weak smile, and feeling slightly more at ease with the situation, shifted her attention back to the ring.
Piles of crimson colored towels littered the mat, soaking up the blood from the latest battle. Brutal evidence of what had gone down seconds ago, all that she’d mercifully missed. She grimaced. Better develop a thicker skin or she’d never make it through the night. As if to prove her point, she focused in on the bloody mess.
This wasn’t normal, right? Jeez, no way had Caden’s handsome face seen this kind of brutality, men carried off by stretchers, broken and in serious pain. His type of fighting was probably just like him. Edgy yet slightly sweet, like lemon ice. Wholesome.
Don’t forget naughty. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of their kiss. Yep, he’d probably smirk his opponent into submission. Well, his female opponents, anyway. Was he out here and watching this bloodbath unfold? She scanned the crowd with her camcorder, trying to get a visual on him.
“What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?” Jerry’s ugly mug filled the lens from inside the cage. Great. The last thing she wanted was for him to suspect she’d caught him counting his blood money red-handed.
Keeping her camera rolling so it picked up their conversation, she shot off a question to him. “Don’t you care that your Boys’ chances at Tetnus might be ruined because of all this? Why would you organize such a bloodbath?” Because you’re charging locals money for a chance to fight an MMA superstar? She pressed her lips together, and waited for him to sink his own ship.
His face flushed deep red. Bingo.
“Jaysin Bouvine is a fan favorite. Will he recover in time to fight in Tetnus? Or have you ruined his chances?” She prayed the smugness in her voice didn’t translate in the video’s audio. Jaysin was a jerk who well deserved the beating he’d gotten.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. So, a few guys had an off fight. Not my fault. I’m warning you, better get outta here or you’re gonna get hurt.” Jerry raised the bullhorn and pressed the red button.
The giant next to her spoke. “You wanna see a wicked fighter? The dirtiest street thug around? Thrives on putting a hurting on his enemies. Paralyzed one kid. Knifed another to death. He just got out of the penitentiary.” He paused dramatically, pointing at a huge thug who’d appeared by the side of the cage. Sophie couldn’t tell if her bodyguard was stating the truth or exaggerating, until he added, “You got that on tape?”
“Sure did.”
Still, a shiver ran up her spine.
The thug now prowling around the outside of the cage was bigger than the giant next to her, in all senses of the word: his belly massively round, his arms like tree stumps, his neck equally thick. Badass was written all over him.
Jerry sounded the horn once more.
Instinct told her to head back to her room. Watching this giant kick butt was going to give her nightmares, and it wasn’t like she needed any more of them. The ramshackle cage screeched in protest as the brute climbed the stairs, entered the cage, and stalked around the interior, kicking away the bloody towels that obstructed his path. He didn’t seem to mind that the mat was a breeding ground for blood-borne pathogens or that the worst of Wichita had drawn in closer, blocking his exit.
Sophie could feel rivulets of sweat running down her neck and the humid air reeked with body odor. Her bodyguard was the only thing in between her and the masses of men whose every breath was spiked with violence.
Once more, she shook off the instinct to flee. Instead, she raised her camera and angled it toward the inside of the cage. This introduction into the evolution of MMA from the streets to a professionally organized championship was the real deal. She’d missed two bouts and despite her fears, she was determined to film this one from start to finish. She just hoped no one got too hurt. Or died.
Sure, the networks would love the drama of it all, but she needed to reposition herself over by the steps, where there was a gap in the chain link. Fans at home had short attention spans, and would predictably grow tired of watching a fight obscured by a metal cage. Easy viewing pleasure—that was the name of the game.
She waved the giant on. “Need to get over there.”
“Better lights for the interview?”
What part about later did this guy miss? Even if Sophie’s later was non-existent. “Yep. Bigger spotlight.”
The giant plowed through the crowd. Sophie tucked herself safely in behind him and followed. The crowd parted angrily. Ready to fight for their position by the cage, until they realized the magnitude of the man pushing his way through.
“Things are about to get ugly,” her bodyguard remarked. As if the entire spectacle unfolding out here in the motel parking lot wasn’t ugly enough.
Sophie moved up onto the steps and angled her camera toward the massive bald fighter stalking around the Octagon cage.
He prowled toward the stairs, his mug filling the frame.
Sophie held position, swallowing hard. Breathless. Waiting for him to tell her he was going to kill someone and eat their liver with fava beans and red wine. Meanness personified.
Jerry paced around the outside of the cage, looking like he wanted to kill someone as well. His earlier greedy gaze was gone. Every bit of his tall, lanky body was stiff and furious.
Jerking the horn over his head, he kept his finger on the red button. The blasted horn blared endlessly, further upsetting the crowd. Not that Jerry cared. To him, the hyped-up spectators were like rowdy students, and he, the unpopular professor from hell, was demanding their attention.
Great footage. Her camera captured it all.
“Freakin’ shit on a brick.”
Sophie jumped at the snarl, so close she felt the heat of his breath on her ear. A memory. Nothing more. He wasn’t close enough for that. Caden...Caden? What was he doing here?
“What the fuck a
re you doing? Do you have some sort of death wish?” She felt his warm hand on her elbow. Briefly.
Then, it was gone.
The sound of flesh connecting with flesh, followed by a long groan, made her jump and turn.
Her bodyguard was on the ground, cupping his side.
She focused on Caden, standing at the foot of the steps, now eye level with her. His body language was relaxed, like he’d just crawled out of bed and was limbering up. Except his fist was clenched. Did he just knock her bodyguard on his back with one punch?
His eyes told a different story. Hard. Piercing. Full of some unidentifiable emotion. Disappointment? Anger? It couldn’t be good. Whatever it was, it affected him deeply. But the second she realized it, it was gone.
He was wearing a tight, black Ultimate American Male T-shirt, gray shorts, and ratty sneakers. Even dressed down, the sight of him caused a surge of pleasure deep within her. The sight of him...Oh Crapola. No.
Common sense seemed to reach out, grab her by the throat and shake her until logic sank in. “What are you doing?” The answer hit her like a three-hundred-pound weight, stealing her breath and making her head spin. No, this was not happening.
“For fuck’s sake, go back to your room.”
“I’ve been pounding on my wall for hours. Where the heck have you been? And more importantly, what do you think you’re doing?” She repeated, this time with more force.
Caden grunted, looking past her to the fighter prowling around the cage.
“You’re not stupid enough to fight that man? Jeez, he just got out of jail.”
Ignoring her, he grabbed hold of the bottom of his black T-shirt and stripped it up and over his head. Every muscle in his abdomen and chest flexed.
He climbed the steps until he was beside her. Somehow, he seemed bigger. Bigger in every sense of the word—his entire being, not just the packaging.
His fingers touched her arm and gave a gentle squeeze. Sure, there was lust but it was quickly overwhelmed by the tight knot that had formed in her stomach, leaving her breathless. Talk about conflicting emotions. Which, in truth, was how she always felt around Caden. Confused. Turned on. Worried.
“You’re a well-respected champion in the making. Not someone who fights in some ramshackle ring, in some thug fest. I didn’t peg you for being the kind of athlete who’d participate in this kind of brutal bloodbath.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t know the first thing about me. If you don’t head back to the room, forget about me helping you. Fuck, forget that you know me at all,” he literally growled into her ear.
Releasing her, he moved up the stairs and into the ring.
Sophie descended, hoping to give the appearance that she was actually listening to him and following orders. But the last thing she wanted to do was abandon Caden to that beast, without knowing the extent of the beating he’d received. How many broken bones needed resetting, or the depth of medical attention he would require. If he survived the fight.
She paused, and looked around for the EMTs, all the while muttering to herself. “Foolish. What is he thinking? He’s going to get throttled, ruin his beautiful face, end his modeling career for good. Disappoint women across the country. Get himself killed. Damn. Damn. Damn.”
Her bodyguard snorted as he got to his feet to stand beside her. “About our interview, can it wait? Gotta go place a bet. No one’s gonna expect this. I’ll make a killing. Meet up with you by the bus out front—the yellow one, can’t miss that hunk of junk. Okay?”
Sophie ignored the comment. Something had to be done about this fight, and fast. Her bodyguard was turning out to be more useful than expected.
“Organized betting? Sounds shady to me. Who’s collecting the money?” She already knew the answer. This was for the camera alone.
He pointed in Jerry’s direction. Darn. She needed him to say it. Quickly.
“Joseph somebody?”
“No, the tall guy inside the cage. The one with the horn in his hand.”
Terrific.
“Jerry Batelli? The promoter,” she emphasized, making sure the censure in her voice translated well. She glanced toward the cage and met Caden’s glare.
The knot in her stomach tightened in a death grip.
Knowing he was going to lose was heartbreaking, an unexpected elephant on her chest, pinning the breath within her lungs. Aside from lusting after the hunk, she was surprised to discover she liked him. Liked the protectiveness he’d displayed earlier, with his insistence she knock on the wall if she needed him. Liked how he was sensitive enough to know when he’d hit a nerve and backed off without going for blood. Heck, he’d probably agreed to help her simply because he felt sorry for her.
There was much more to Caden Kelly than jaw-dropping good looks. Charisma. Humor. A keen sense of intelligence. The elephant bore down to the point where pain welled up in her chest. He was better than this ramshackle ring, this brutal bloodbath. He should have his comeback without having to lower himself to Jerry’s unorthodox level of chaos in order to do it. Caden was going to ruin his good looks and his chance to compete in Tetnus, big time.
She shook her head at him. No. Don’t do it.
He scowled, then nodded toward the motel. A short, sharp gesture.
Abruptly, he turned and sauntered toward the far corner, effectively dismissing her.
“Yep, that’s right,” her bodyguard continued, oblivious to the wave of emotion playing havoc with her heart. He moved toward the ring and shouted, “Hey, Jerry. Hold up!” Without waiting for the shady promoter’s reply, he hustled off, leaving Sophie feeling anything but victorious, despite having recorded confirmation of Jerry’s wrongdoings.
She knew moving away from the ring wasn’t an option. Escaping the mass of testosterone-infused bodies, safeguarding her exclusive interview, shielding herself from the drama about to unfold, none of it was important. What mattered was the fighter in the cage.
The bullhorn sounded. Sophie pushed until she managed to squeeze right up next to the metal fence.
Caden sauntered forward, offering his fists in greeting to the bald prison escapee. The classy gesture was lost on the man. Instead, he took a pot shot at Caden, who ducked and narrowly missed being slammed in the side of his head.
Then he smirked.
Sophie cringed. Madman.
Glancing around, she waved to the EMT guys, clearly identifiable within this crowd, their white uniforms like cream in an Oreo cookie, surrounded by black and brown. They responded by waving back. She noted their proximity to the cage, close enough to reach Caden when the time came. Judging by Caden’s reckless, nonchalant behavior, it would be sooner rather than later. Couldn’t he tell the guy wanted to kill him, and would resort to any means necessary to do so?
Baldy charged across the ring, fists raised and shouting like a wild man.
Caden didn’t budge. His arms hung loosely by his sides, his stance relaxed and unthreatening. Quiet movements, so unlike the man himself.
The oversized beast threw his entire body weight at Caden, and ended up face-first against the cage. She zoomed in on Baldy’s very pissed-off response. The indentations from the cage’s wiring looked like deep-set frown marks on his face.
She would have laughed, if it hadn’t been for Caden turning and slowly heading across the cage. Toward her. His back was to Baldy. Any fool knew what a huge mistake that was.
He didn’t seem to notice her. Three choices: duck out of sight, brazen it out and watch Baldy pummel him, or...warn him?
Once more, Baldy charged.
Sophie opened her mouth. “Caden,” she shouted, “watch—” Her words were interrupted by a gasp, as Caden turned at the last second and swung his leg around full throttle.
They connected with Baldy’s side, smack in the kidney. Baldy bellowed in rage.
Caden leaned in toward his opponent, saying something. Sophie didn’t need to hear his words to figure it out, having been on the receiving end of Caden’s wry humor. Something provocative, for sure.
Judging by Baldy’s snarling curses in English, Spanish, and surprisingly, Chinese, the word provocative was putting it mildly.
Baldy whipped a shiny object out of his pants.
A mixture of admonition and admiration rumbled through the crowd like dark, treacherous wave. Light flickered off the object, and Sophie gasped.
A knife.
Not a butter knife, either. She refocused the camera lens for a closer look. A curved blade the length of a large banana. Baldy must have had it sheathed within his sweatpants. Holding the camcorder steady, she looked around the parking lot. Someone had to stop this. Brass knuckles were bad enough. Now knives?
Didn’t Sal warn you there are no rules tonight? Her nervous mind scolded.
Her windpipe constricted, making her lightheaded. No one had stepped forward to help. And she felt...helpless, a feeling so long buried that it took her a second to recognize it.
Where was her bodyguard? He was big enough to end it.
Caden gestured with his hands, drawing her attention back to him.
Oh. Crapola. He was taunting Baldy. “Bring it on,” his hands motioned.
Helplessly, she looked around once more. Someone had to stop this fight before Caden goaded his opponent into committing murder.
The crowd’s attention was fixed on the fighters. Sophie’s hands shook so hard she was forced to lower her camera. Tucking it beneath her armpit, she angled it up toward the cage and left it running.
Baldy charged, forcing Caden’s back against the cage. Sophie swallowed hard; the rage on Baldy’s face was purely animalistic. In one swift motion, the knife swung through the air and sliced Caden’s arm. Blood sprayed from the cut like from a lawn sprinkler, showering the cage and the spectators below. A fist came sailing from the other direction, connecting hard with Caden’s cheekbone with a resounding crack.
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