Tap Out

by Michele Mannon

  A similar expression must have spread across Caden’s own features, after Sophie’s camera bag nailed him in the back of his head. Hard enough, he was guaranteed an egg-sized knot.

  With one hand, he yanked the bag from her grasp. With his other one, he shot a fully loaded punch into Jaysin’s already-bloodied nose.

  Sophie’s legs swung around as Jaysin jerked sideways beneath the impact. His arm loosened its vicelike hold and, with a gasp, she tumbled backward onto a vacant seat.

  Caden swung an arm around the asshat’s neck and pinned him against the side of a seat in a choke hold. Immediately, Jaysin’s hand tapped the worn vinyl, like this was some kind of organized bout. With organized rules of conduct. Boy, was he in for a rude awakening.

  “Come on. Let’s hear it.” He sounded calm, yet he was struggling to control himself. This guy needed a lesson in manners, and in why it was never wise to underestimate your opponent. “Sing for us.” Man, he wanted to put a hurting on him. It didn’t help that Sophie had composed herself enough to sit up, and was watching the events unfolding before her. Her expression was a complex mixture of surprise, admiration and horror. Definitely horror, Caden was sure of it.

  A horror that mirrored his own when he noticed her red, swollen face.

  Bouvine was a dead man.

  “That bitch is bad luck. You know it...”

  One quick uppercut silenced the fool. This was followed by a vicelike squeeze as Caden pulled his elbow in tighter around Jaysin’s throat. Squeezing harder. And harder still.

  Caden inhaled deeply, desperate to calm his rage and not cross the fine line between leaving him temporary breathless and murdering him. Sophie was watching it all go down—watching him turn into the street thug, the boy with a deep, uncontrollable rage. The boy nobody wanted. A wild kid with a violent streak who lacked of self-discipline and control. But he’d learned his lesson, he’d changed, right? He was no longer that guy, an apple that had fallen from an abusive father’s tree. All that crap about “like father, like son.” Bunch of bullshit he was still coming to terms with.

  Moments like this...the thought of Jaysin manhandling Sophie...He was one firm squeeze of the asshat’s throat away from proving this theory wrong.

  Sophie sang out, off-key and out-of-tune, her face flushed a bright shade of pink, clearly furious. “‘You know, I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it.’ Sing it, bughead. Let’s hear your best Michael Jackson impersonation.”

  Caden felt his temper mellow.

  He almost burst out laughing when the throat pressed up against his arm began to vibrate with song. “Bad, bad, really, really bad.”

  “What have we got going on here? A goddang symphony?” Sal asked, his tone filled with concern.

  “Show’s over,” Caden told him, and the rest of the Boys dispersed. It was a wonder the bus hadn’t been lifted onto its back two wheels under the combined weight of them. “Get your bag. You’re coming with me.” He nodded at Sophie. He turned and spotted the duffel over in the distance by the pumps, exactly where he’d left it. Good.

  She wiggled out of the seat, scooted around Jaysin, and was out the door before Jaysin could finish his next verse.

  Caden relaxed his grip. Here he was, trapped in the desert in one-hundred-twenty-five-degree weather, on a bus with no air-conditioning, with a bunch of overheated fighters ready for a brawl. He’d been close, so close, to finishing Jaysin off. Somehow, he’d managed to rein in his volatile emotions. Somehow he’d managed to avoid killing the fucker. “We’ll finish this in Vegas,” he promised.

  Jaysin coughed, greedily sucking air into his lungs.

  It was over. No one was seriously hurt. Sophie was okay. Caden peered around, thinking how he was more upset than the lot of them. Mimicking Jaysin’s actions, he sucked in a long breath.

  A high, ear-shattering scream rang up from the asphalt.

  “What the hell is she doing on my bus?”

  * * *

  Gone was the easygoing, playful Lothario Sophie had grown to know. Gone too was the viciously brutal fighter. Both sides of this beautiful man seated beside her had been lost somewhere between Kansas and New Mexico.

  Sophie was crossing into Arizona with a total stranger.

  Once more, she found herself speeding along a long stretch of roadway with a driver so quiet the hum of the Aston’s engine, accompanied by the occasional thump of a thumb on the leather steering wheel, were the only breaks in the silence.

  He’d lied to Jerry, telling him the Aston wouldn’t be ready for hours and basically giving the fool no choice but ride on the bus, leaving them alone in the middle of nowhere. A half hour later, they were on the road, but not after a few tense moments when she though he was going to leave her behind.

  Sophie adjusted the a/c vent on the dashboard and was rewarded with a cool blast of air on her face. The lack of air-conditioning on the bus was no surprise. Though, combined with a pack of sweaty, overheated men—who probably didn’t know that you needed antiperspirant-deodorant, not just straight up deodorant, when dealing with unbearable heat—the hell-ride had been toxic.

  Her skin itched more than ever. Her shirt was crumpled. Her pants dirty from Jaysin dragging her down the aisle. Especially her bottom. And, she was exhausted. It must be nerves. And the heat. What she wouldn’t give for a cool bath and a sweet iced tea.

  The journey into Arizona had been as uneventful as the land around them. It seemed urban sprawl hadn’t reached this part of the Southwest. Sophie remembered reading an advertisement in the Arizona Times for free land. Pay the taxes, put in a claim, and the land was yours. Quite alluring, for modern day pioneers. She peered around the vast landscape, thinking how easy it’d be to lose yourself within the great expanse of barren desert, just like the lost pioneers from days gone by.

  It wasn’t until they passed a Welcome to San Carlos Apache Nation billboard and, right next to it, a colorful advertisement for a casino, did Sophie realize just how wrong she’d been. Absolute confirmation came a few miles further, when another billboard loomed indecently overhead—even the desert had been touched by Caden’s charm. Or charms, rather.

  “Fuckin’ A,” Caden growled, accelerating past the sign at an ungodly speed.

  Sophie wanted to laugh. The Ultimate American Man actually grimaced, visibly appalled by his own billboard. Leaving Sophie wondering at his reaction, wondering why the multimillion-dollar endorsement seemed to rub him the wrong way. It wasn’t like Caden had body perception issues, of that she was certain. Though the crotch shot was pretty provocative, he had to have known that ginormous fact during the shoot.

  Still, he refrained from commenting further as the desert swallowed them up.

  The Aston sped along the endless highway in silent solitude. Sophie knew she should take this opportunity to lure Caden back into conversation, get something useful recorded. She just couldn’t muster up the energy.

  Besides, she had no clue what Caden had left for her on that sex tape. In Vegas, she’d soak her weary bones and wash away the day’s troubles. Then, she’d play the tape.

  Did he explain his Houdini act? Doubtful, given his reputation.

  Sophie sat up straighter and smoothed out her pants. Not that it mattered one iota. She could handle a wild night of sex. It wasn’t like she wanted something from him other than an interview and his help in buttering up the Boys. Or fighting them off me.

  They flew by the next sign, announcing the exit to Las Vegas, and continued west.”Um...I hate to interrupt our stimulating conversation,” she offered. “Or is it companionable silence? But you need to turn around. Vegas is north. You missed the turn.”

  Caden rolled his neck, his gaze fixed on the roadway. “Stimulating, huh? I could go for some companionable stimulation about now. Just say the word.”

  Sophie sighed, both pleased and exasper
ated by his response. Memories of Caden between her legs came to mind, his athletic body maneuvering her into positions she’d only read about in Cosmo. “Word,” she said, weakly.

  He rewarded her with a panty-wetting grin.

  “Seriously. Not to be a backseat driver, but you missed the exit to Vegas.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  What was it with men and their addled belief that some internal GPS system was genetically encoded within every member of their gender?

  “Yes, you did,” she shot back, letting Caden know by her tone exactly how she felt on the subject.

  “Nope. We’re—”

  “Listen, double-oh-seven.” Turning in her seat, she leaned over the console and closed the distance between them. It was more like double-O, as in orgasm. “The sign back there—miles ago considering we’re driving like we’re being chased by a crazy desert assassin—said Vegas is 256 miles that way.”

  She pointed at his driver side window, hoping he’d turn around. Hoping the warning bells ringing around in her head were wrong. “You are headed west,” she added weakly.

  “We’re making a pit stop in Phoenix.”

  She stopped glaring at the rearview mirror as if it were responsible for the renewed tension in the car. Her tension, not his.

  “Crapola, I knew it. Phoenix wasn’t on the schedule.” Unbelievable. Just great, she’d be dealing with the Double Mint Jerks—Jerry and Jaysin—sooner than expected. God knew what was in store for her.

  For Caden.

  She ran her hands over the hem of her blouse, but her efforts did nothing to smooth out the wrinkles, or her worries. What if Jerry had another twisted fight planned for tonight? What if, this time, it was Caden carried away in an ambulance? “I can’t believe after what happened in Wichita, you’d agree...”

  “Do you want to drive?” He didn’t wait for her to reply, slowing the Aston to a stop and unwinding his big frame from the bucket seat.

  Sophie felt a surge of excitement. Sliding back into her heels, she climbed out of the car.

  “My only condition is that you keep it over a hundred, chili cheeks.”

  “No problem, butter buns.”

  Caden burst out laughing. “That the best you got? Makes my glutes sound like a flab fest.” He turned and inspected his backside.

  Her hand instinctively—yeah, right! She knew exactly what she was doing!—shot out and gave his butt a pat. Oh boy, she wanted to cop a feel. Wanted to run her hands all over that gorgeous body of his, starting with his taut cheeks. Maybe even work her way around the front of him, where his butter buns met his Ultimate Male Package.

  The midafternoon sun must have scrambled her head. This was Houdini Jr. she was flirting with. She shook her head, just to be safe.

  “I’ve got a long night of training ahead of me. So, try not to be a sissy behind the wheel, okay?”

  The last she’d seen of his player ass was his ass, on the way out. Now he had the gall to insult her driving skills? “Hop on in, cowboy,” she said, in the sexiest voice she could muster.

  He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but did as he was told.

  Sophie took her sweet time adjusting the driver’s seat. She could feel his gaze on her, watching her careful movements. It took her minutes to rearrange the rear view mirror. A futile task, as she preferred looking over her shoulder for signs of trouble. Always waiting to be blindsided once more. Though today, trouble wasn’t behind her but sitting right next to her.

  “First thing I’m doing in Phoenix is showing Jaysin Bouvine an up-close-and-personal view of my haymaker. That’s some job he did on your cheek” she heard him say, dead serious.

  “I’m highly allergic to roses, you jerk.”

  His eyebrows raised.

  She gunned the gas, and was immediately rewarded by the way he tumbled backward in his seat.

  “Oops. How sissy of me.”

  Caden burst out laughing, the sound as attractive as the man sitting next to her. For the moment, her worries of what might or might not happen were erased, like a fading cloud. Replaced by a horizon rich with promises of what just might happen again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  TRIP: What happens when a fighter sports a pair of stilettos—though highly unlikely they’d be caught doing so and even less likely their big feet would fit. But, it would be amusing as heck to watch

  “Can I ask you a personal question? Off the record?” Sophie asked. The clear sky was slowly giving way to a grayish cloud of smog, a sign that Phoenix, the fastest growing city in America, was close.

  Somewhere in between the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation and Mesa, Sophie’d unplugged Caden’s iPhone, abruptly putting an end to his soulful country crooning in the hopes that he’d talk to her. But when she’d pressed him about dodging his interview, he’d given her an odd look, smirked, and then had fallen silent. Miles later, she missed the rich gravelly voice that had plagued her memory since Wichita. Heck, she could so get used to country music.

  Yet, she’d gotten him to open up about his preparations for Tetnus, and he’d given her a glimpse into his world as a fighter.

  His passion for the sport was undeniable. The way he described the detestable diet of chicken and broccoli, and all kinds of “barely edible crap” mixed with an occasional carb boost. Caden had gone a hundred steps beyond all those lame salads she’d consumed to keep herself fit for TV. And his workouts? They made hers seem like a kindergartener warming up for recess. The hours he put into training. The discipline required, and how his rigorous schedule kept him in line from taking a damn drink, from polluting his body. The frustration he felt from his routine being interrupted by the few days of driving, leaving him only two weeks for him to get into top form.

  A vulture cruised overhead, its wings wide and foreboding, momentarily catching her off guard. How could such a magnificent bird be so cruel? A chill ran up her spin, but she ignored it and tried to focus on more pleasant thoughts. Instead, she turned her attention to the hot mess of a man next to her, a myriad of unidentifiable emotions playing across his face. So cruel in his own sexy way. He seemed deep in thought, staring up at the sky.

  He sighed. “Go ahead. I’m not promising you’ll like the answers.”She snorted. “Let me be the judge of that, sweet buns.”

  The slight twitch of his lips caused her heart to race. “How old were you when you had your first fight?”

  “Four.”

  Her foot lifted off the gas and the car decelerated. “What?”

  He grinned, yet it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Are you ever serious?” She quieted and settled back into her seat, well aware of how his carefree demeanor easily mislead a person into believing he was a good ole boy. Except this good ole boy’s six pack was an eight pack, and better suited to licking than chugging. Still, it deflected attention from the serious man within. She’d had a taste of that side in Wichita, and her instincts told her that his street-smart ways had something to do with it. “You get into a lot of brawls, like back there with Jaysin...?”

  “I’m a trained fighter, not some amateur punk, if that’s what you’re getting at.” His tone seemed harder, but not angry. Not playful either.

  Interesting, how Caden seemed to despise the thought, yet Anthony had nothing but respect for Caden’s natural, street-honed instincts. Exactly how street smart was Caden?

  She’d bet her last dollar, which wasn’t saying much, that there was some truth to his words. Something had flashed in his eyes when he’d said it. But what four-year-old was a brawler? Especially one who was cute as a button—which Caden surely had been. It was difficult to fathom that the man beside her was an infant brawler turned street-smart thug.

  She decided on a blunt approach. “You’re the farthest thing from being a punk. But you also hate it whe
n people discuss your playboy good looks.”

  He scowled.

  Point proven, she noted, deciding to change her line of questioning. “Hey. Before you go and get all pissy on me for mentioning it, tell my why the sight of your own billboard makes you grimace, like someone stuffed a lemon in your mouth.”

  “Is this how you conduct all your interviews?” He rolled his neck, then relaxed his shoulders. In an entirely different tone, deeper and with more of a southern drawl to it, he added, “I like lemons. But I’ll tell you, I love blood oranges more. Reminds me of something else I like to stuff my mouth full of.”

  The car accelerated, jerking Caden backward in his seat. Naughty man.

  He laughed.

  “Are you going to answer my question?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Jeez, he was infuriating.

  “My interview with Anthony took less time and was full of interesting information. Plus, I filmed it, so less work is required of me. You, however, have provided me with nothing but shallow promises.”

  Lazily, Caden leaned his head against the headrest and angled his head her way. “That right?” The gravel was fully back in his voice.

  She flushed, the memory of him between her legs proving her wrong. It took all of her willpower to recover. “That is right. He gave me juicy stuff. Ripe and sweet. And he promised me more when we meet up in Vegas.”

  “Guess he’s got nothing better to do than interviews.”

  She shrugged, yet noted how he scoffed at all those interviews when he’d given so many of them. Almost like he was mocking his own livelihood. But why? What had changed for him?

  “I’d say Hank Cawfield’s got some competition.”

  Sophie hit the brake hard. They both flew forward. Only their seat belts prevented them from hitting the windshield.

  “Holy fuck.” Caden braced his palms against the dashboard, cursing a blue streak.

  Sophie clambered out of the car, breathing hard. Damn, oh damn.

  That man’s name coming from Caden’s beautiful lips—it felt like his mighty fist clasped hold of her heart and squeezed it into pulp.