Tap Out

by Michele Mannon

  Sophie in a simple T-shirt was downright breathtaking.

  Man, she was gorgeous, in a wholesome, natural way. He wanted to make the words on her shirt ring true. Make her tap out in submission as he pinned her to the floor. Hear her moan his name. Over and over. Until he found himself completely tapped out as well.

  Stick to the plan, he reminded himself. One that doesn’t include her.

  Sophie shifted on her feet. Nervous?

  Good. “Get that freakin’ light outta my eyes,” he hollered down to Sal, who was still holding the huge light fixture on Caden. Turning, Caden pinned his gaze back onto Sophie. “You filming me?” he demanded.

  Her chin rose up a notch. “Yes.”

  “Gonna smack me over the head with your camera, sweet thing? Ruin another chance at me winning the title?”

  “I thought we’d worked that out, darn it. It was an accident. Besides, you promised you’d help me. You promised me an exclu—”

  “Exclusive? Shit on a brick. What more do you want from me?” He paused, and scowled.

  “Aw, come on, Caden,” Sal interrupted, “don’t know what happened between you two out there in the desert. Bit by a rattler or something, with all the melodrama.”

  Caden snorted.

  “Melodrama?” Sophie said, her voice high and sounding offended. “I haven’t seen him in two nights.”

  “Oh, she’s seen enough of me, alright. Seems like she’s looking for another eyeful.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Jeez, every woman in America is hoping for an eyeful of you and your baby jewels. Looks can be deceiving, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

  “All you need to do, sweetheart, is open your eyes. The truth is staring right back at you.”

  She flipped her hair off her face. “Are you telling me I got it all wrong?”

  Her voice was hoarse but it was the doubtfulness of her tone that felt like a kick to the kidneys. Caden leaned into the cage. “I never lied to you,” he ground out, his own voice raw and vibrating with frustration.

  She gasped. For a moment, they studied each other. Her eyes thoughtful. His, for sure, brimming with anger.

  “Baby jewels? Is that what all this melodrama is about?” Sal demanded. “Sophie, honey, there’s nothing baby about him. I’ve seen him in the showers, ya know. Caden, you do much better with the women when there’s sugar in your tone. Want some advice?”

  “No,” Sophie quickly shot out, and stomped her foot.

  “Sal,” he warned.

  The desire to pound a fist into the cage changed to a feeling of disbelief. The old-timer was either clueless, or had a death wish. Judging by the way Sophie stood glaring at him, Caden wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty.

  In his typical, oblivious fashion, Sal continued, “A nice bottle of wine, some candles, and soft music. Did the maid clean up your room, Sophie? Clothes tossed all over the place could ruin the mood I’m aiming for. And, come to think of it, Caden is in training...”

  Man, she was gorgeous, with her hands on her hips and her eyes throwing daggers at the old-timer. Damned drugs. Whoever was responsible was going to pay dearly.

  Yet, Caden wasn’t about to roll over and beg for her forgiveness. She was a reporter, let her fucking figure it out.

  It all boiled down to trust. Something he didn’t give lightly...or ever, really. Though he demanded it from others. Cleary, she had trust issues—hell, with everything she’d told him, he didn’t blame her. But it rubbed him raw. He slammed a lid down hard on whatever silly emotion that had him wondering about a future. With her. A future that was decidedly better off without her. Like all the other women that’d come into his life, he’d give her what she wanted, then send her packing.

  “Interview’s over. Keep on filming, what the fuck do I care? But keep those lights out of my eyes.”

  He shot one parting glance at her, standing with her hands at her sides and looking all hurt, like someone given her a solid teeth-rattling takedown.

  * * *

  Sophie wiped her mouth, set the napkin on the room service tray, and poured a second cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would help refocus her attention on the images flashing by in her viewfinder. According to her notes, she’d need to film a few additional sparring bouts, and then just the grand finale—Tetnus. She’d covered everything from the street roots of MMA to training to intimate snapshots of fighters—give or take Caden’s incomplete exclusive.

  “I never lied to you.” Damn. Damn. Damn.

  The Caden-coaster she’d been rolling around on since hitting Vegas was interfering with her objectivity. MMA fans would eat him up. It’s not like she couldn’t edit out the sexy bits he’d filmed for her eyes only. And, unless he’d lied to her in Sedona, he’d left her more exclusive information, too. Add the drama of his arrest to the mix...She swallowed hard.

  That’s what any credible investigative reporter would do, right? Caden had handed her a prime opportunity, heck, he’d tossed it into her lap. The title of her piece said it all: Bets, Drugs, and MMA—Sophie Morelle Investigates.

  After all, wasn’t that what the Double Jerks were all about? Taking bets and selling drugs?

  But was Caden part of it?

  She peered at the viewfinder. Her heart rolled about painfully along with the man projected there. She snapped her eyes shut, trying to block him out. Except her memories played out as well, frame by delicious frame.

  With his hair tussled and wild from her fingers after sex. His smug look of satisfaction after she’d moaned his name as she climaxed. His piercing regard, and the hurt in his eyes when he’d asked her to give him a chance to explain. The rawness of his tone, as he’d glared down at her from the cage. “I never lied to you.”

  She hadn’t expected him to be at the training ring—yeah, right, who was she kidding? Her conscience has nagged her all the way to the Octagon cage. She’d wanted a glimpse of him. Some small means of understanding him better, and what motivated him to do the things he did.

  Or didn’t do.

  She wanted to believe him. Trust. The word of the century. She wanted to go out onto a limb, and trust him enough to hear him out. But the company Caden kept made it difficult.

  Last night, she’d been discretely filming Jaysin Bouvine for about an hour before Sal and Caden both arrived. What she hoped to record was something juicy and illegal. Catch him in the act of dealing drugs. Instead, she recorded Jaysin the jerk and genuine underdog, who, by all accounts—though mostly his own—was rising out of the fighter food chain and into the limelight.

  His confidence level had pulled a 180-degree shift. His movements around the room, his brutal victory over a smaller sparring opponent and his subsequent boast fest smacked of self-importance. Cool and conceited beyond belief. Like Caden, Jaysin had bulked up. His biceps were enormous, along with his torso and legs. She caught him preening and flexing his way around the facility, posing for photographs and a few other reporters’ interviews. A genuine showboat.

  Heck, Sal had even gotten him to sign her release form to use whatever footage she’d captured of him for her documentary. Clearly, the man wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

  He’d changed. Drastically. Now he was bigger, meaner, and eager to be a moneymaking star. It was startling, to say the least.

  Just what the world needed—another arrogant male meathead.

  Boy, she disliked him. But fans loved an underdog story. They’d respond to how the lamest dog around transformed himself into a vital contender.

  She prayed he wouldn’t win. The manhandling jerk deserved what was coming his way. She intended to portray him in the right light, so to speak. Make fans love him so they’d hate him even more when they witnessed firsthand what a dickhead he really was.

  She hit the pause button, deciding to review last
night’s footage while it was fresh in her head. Every minute counted, so she needed to decide if another night of filming was necessary.

  Score five for Sophie. Five in-depth interviews, about Tetnus and with the Boys opponents. It helped balance out her documentary by filming from a different angle, different points of view. Except, no matter who she talked to, they all marked one welterweight as the fighter to beat.

  Caden.

  With fresh eyes, she examined the footage of him in the cage. He was beauty in motion, graceful and subtle in his movements. He didn’t jump around like other fighters, bobbing on their feet around the mat. Caden either stalked his opponent, or stood his ground like he was waiting for a wave instead of a fight. Letting his opponents come in close and allowing them to hit and kick him. Sophie hit Pause and studied Caden’s smug grin—the same one he used on her numerous times. When she’d gotten him all wrong and had read him the wrong way. Which was exactly what his opponent was doing, judging by the man’s overtly confident gestures.

  Caden wants his opponents to underestimate him.

  She forwarded the footage several frames until she found their exchange last night. She hit Play, and watched closely as Caden said, “All you need to do, sweetheart, is open your eyes. The truth is staring right back at you.”

  She rewound it and hit Play again. And again.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. This snapshot directly contrasted to the warrior in the cage who’d only seconds ago been frozen on her camcorder. Whose every action was purposefully trained on provoking his opponent. She frowned. What if he had been telling her the truth? That this bit of video was a glimpse into the real Caden. Raw. Open. Honest. That the truth was just like he’d said it would be, there in his face, his tone, and his gestures.

  And, in his eyes. The hurt she’d seen there that had stuck with her well into the night, because her instincts told her it had been genuine. Damn. Damn. Damn. He’d trusted her. And, she’d gotten it all wrong. She’d done what his foster parent had done, doubted him and then bailed on him.

  Her hand shook and coffee splashed out of the mug. Shit. She jumped up, grabbed a few tissues from the nightstand and wiped the dark drops off the tile. A few more drops landed on her fingers. She blinked.

  Tears.

  This wouldn’t do. She stood and dabbed her eyes. She had a documentary to edit, damn it. And her indecision was messing with her emotions big time. She wanted to believe him. But one nagging question plagued her. If she’d gotten it wrong, then how did the duffel bag get into his trunk? And, he knew about it—wasn’t that evidence enough?

  Jaysin? From what she could tell, he was the real criminal here. But how to prove it? And, what to do about Caden?

  All she wanted now was to take a ride up to the penthouse. Apologize, and offer to listen to his explanation. Give him the benefit of the doubt. Not pull a Hawley on him.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. When the truth had gotten too blurred, too distorted, and too tough to handle, she’d shut the door in his face.

  Slowly, she moved back to the table and carefully placed the mug next to her equipment. She dabbed the moisture from her cheeks, then reached to turn off her camcorder. No time like the present—she had to find Caden.

  She frowned, noticing Jaysin’s ugly mug filling the screen. Somehow she must have hit Rewind.

  Sophie reached forward to hit Play, then quickly paused. She shifted the camera closer and tilted it up so the natural light in the room fully revealed the image paused there.

  Jaysin. With his back to the group and a water bottle in his hand.

  His other hand was raised, with something pinched between his fingers and almost to his mouth.

  Something green.

  Chapter Twenty

  BRAZILIAN JIU-JITSU: A kind of juice served at Girl Scout camp

  Shit on a brick, Caden thought, grimacing at the scene playing out inside the posh MGM locker room. For a fighter groomed in the streets, he was used to the sight, feel, taste of blood. Yet what that asshat Jaysin was doing made Caden’s stomach roll.

  Two syringes sat emptied on the bench. Jaysin hadn’t winced once as the long needles pierced a vein in his arm. A heroin addict would have been proud of how easily he’d completed the act.

  First the performance-enhancing pills, then illegal blood transfusions. Last night, Bracken confirmed that methamphetamines had hit the streets, and that there was some kind of connection to Tetnus. That he’d be nearby out following his lead. To call him if anything came up.

  What was up was Jaysin and company. His blood was fully loaded with fresh, rich red blood cells. No wonder the guy was suddenly ripped. No wonder his arrogance knew no boundaries.

  Caden had been watching the asshole for days, trying to catch him red-handed dealing pills. He’d bulked up fast and, from what Caden had observed, with very little work involved. What he’d witnessed Jaysin doing was just the lead he’d had been looking for. Caught him literally red-handed, with his finger pressing against the hole left behind by the needle. It was both too disgusting for words and confirmation of exactly what was going down.

  The problem was worse than he’d suspected. Caden clenched a fist. It made him sick, and sicker still knowing that after Jaysin’s bullshit hit the fan, the sport of MMA and all the honest fighters training their asses off for a clean shot at Tetnus, would be considered guilty as well.

  That Caden might not have a shot at the title.

  That there might not even be a Tetnus if the police closed the place down.

  The press was going to have a field day.

  Jaysin straightened, dropped the tainted syringes into a duffel bag, and left. The locker room door slammed on his way out.

  “You’re gonna pay, you fuckin’ deceitful asshole,” Caden muttered, stepping out of the shower. He plucked the baseball cap off his head and pitched it onto a cleaner, untainted bench. The sight he’d witnessed made his stomach curl.

  Tugging his sweaty T-shirt over his head and kicking off his sneakers, Caden considered his next move. He’d contact Bracken and fill him in on the sick twist of events. Hope his brother found some hard evidence, because as things stood now, it’d be Caden’s word against Jaysin’s. Sure, there were tests for this kind of steroid abuse, if you knew to test for it. Red cell counts within the blood had to be under forty-nine percent. No way had Jaysin been monitoring his intake, not with the way he’d packed the syringes loose like that, in those cheap duffel bags. Never suspected he’d be caught. Was it enough to lock him up, though?

  A shame he hadn’t caught Jaysin in action on his iPhone, having come into the locker room sweating like a dog from today’s grueling workout, his cell left behind in his hotel room. The timing sucked, any which way he looked at it.

  Man, he was tired. Physically, emotionally, and fuckin’ psychologically, a whole goddamned plague of problems. That asshole’s long-overdue drug bust. The memories of his father’s fists and the insecurities that accompanied them, feelings of weakness and neglect. The overwhelming need to prove himself, once and for all.

  Then, there was Sophie. Her falling-for-you bomb, and then now, worse, her distrust. For a moment, he’d thought fate was going to shift in his favor—someone to love and who loved him unconditionally. Hell, the reporter was the last person he’d imagined falling for. Hard.

  He should count his lucky stars it ended before it had even begun.

  He yanked off his sweatpants and his own brand of moisture-wicking briefs. By the time his shower ended, he hoped to have his shit together, and a clearer idea what to do.

  Stalking over to the shower, he grabbed the curtain. Something caused him to pause...a noise? His gaze shifted to the next stall, lowered to the bottom of the curtain, and to the gap separating the curtain from the tile floor. To the red polished toenails peeking out between open-toed pumps.

 
Jesus.

  He shifted the curtain aside.

  Sophie’s eyes widened in alarm, until recognition dawned. She lifted her chin slightly, letting him know she meant business, despite of placing herself in such a freakin’ dangerous position.

  If she’d been discovered...”Man alive. Do you have some kind of death wish? If Jaysin saw you—”

  “He didn’t. Besides, you were hiding in the shower next to me. I know things are strained between us, but you wouldn’t have let him hurt me.”

  Caden opened, then closed his mouth. His head pounded, but it was the way his heart had wedged into his throat that caused him to choke on any coherent words. Didn’t she realize how dangerous Jaysin was? If he’d spotted her hiding in the shower, watching him shooting up blood, he’d think nothing about hurting her. Fuck.

  “I caught it all on tape.”

  His gaze fell on the camcorder she held clenched in her hand.

  “The most disgusting, repulsive, creepy thing I’ve witnessed. Was that his own blood he was injecting? And, you know what? I’ve been filming him all week, selling pills, counting money, all kinds of deviant activities. The blood...that was unexpected, I have to admit.”

  “Give me the SD card.” He held out his hand, palm up.

  It was Sophie’s turn to open her mouth, then snap it shut. Unfortunately, it opened again. “No. All of my footage is on this card. I’m editing...”

  “Sophie, listen. You don’t know how deep this shit is. I need to get that SD card to my brother, so he can use it as evidence.”

  “My documentary—”

  “Don’t you have another SD card?”

  “Of course I do. A blank one. This one is loaded; I’m at the end of filming. There’s a lot of editing and review required before and after Tetnus. The documentary needs to hit the air while things are fresh and current. Two, three months from now max, with a lot of work in the interim. Plus, I need to show the networks a rough cut to sell it. How about I make you a copy?”