Against the Cage (Worth the Fight #1)

by Sidney Halston

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby.” As she kept probing and prodding, he winced and clenched his teeth. “So, you didn’t tell me how this happened.”

  “Are you trying to make me forget that you’re inflicting major pain on me right now?” He flinched again when she rubbed something else on the cut.

  “Nope. I tried to do that with the flirting. Now I’m just really curious.”

  “Last week I was arresting a drunk driver, and he fought back with a broken bottle. I let my guard down because he was so drunk. I should’ve been more alert. It was my fault.”

  “You get injured a lot on the job?” she asked, concerned.

  “Not really. It was a rookie mistake.”

  “And you’ve been bleeding for a week and haven’t gotten it checked out?”

  “No. It was almost healed, but at last night’s fight I got kicked, and the wound reopened. I bandaged it up myself.” If Jack had wanted to get Chrissy’s full attention, he’d just figured it out, because she stopped cold.

  “Fight?”

  “Yes. The card Slade and I were headlining last night.”

  “You mean you fight too?”

  “Yeah, of course. You knew that, though. Remember the sandwiches? We talked about this.”

  “That was a million years ago. I thought you’d grown up. You got a real job. You’re a cop, for Christ’s sake. What are you doing fighting?” As she spoke, she continued meticulously working on his cut. She pressed the gauze against the wound forcefully this time.

  “Hey, don’t take out your anger on my injury. You think you could be a little bit gentler?” Clearly she couldn’t, because he had to bite his tongue at the pain she was inflicting.

  “So, you’re a cop by day and a boxer by night? I don’t understand.”

  “No, I’m a cop all the time—night and day. And I’m not a boxer. Heard of MMA? Mixed martial arts? It’s sort of like a super-full-contact sport. It’s boxing, judo, kickboxing, and jiujitsu, all in one. When I’m not working I train, and a few times a year I fight. It’s a hobby that pays very well when I win. I love it, and I’m good at it.”

  She snorted. “Clearly.”

  “Your sarcasm is duly noted.” He grimaced as she kept working on him. “Injuries are normal in my line of work—and when I fight. I’ve had far worse. And Slade … that guy’s probably had most of the bones in his body broken at one point or another.”

  “You say it like that’s a good thing.”

  “No, it’s not a good thing, but it’s not a bad thing either. It’s what we do. It’s what we’ve always done. I do it for fun. Your brother does it for a living. He’s a professional MMA fighter. I thought you knew that.”

  “Of course I knew that, but I never really saw you guys fight. I tried to sneak into some of those backyard matches, but you always took me home before I got to see anything. By the time Slade went pro, I was already out of town. And I always just assumed that once you became a cop you stopped fighting. I just don’t understand it. It’s so violent. And a lot of good it’s done—I have to bail him out of jail tomorrow, remember? Remind me, what was he charged with again?”

  He didn’t answer, and she finished bandaging him up in relative silence. “You need to change the dressing every day. You should’ve gotten stitches. It’ll leave a scar. But …” She let out a gush of air. “You’ll probably love the scar. You can brag about it with the guys,” she said as she began putting away all her things. “And the groupies who love an ass-kicking brawler.”

  Jack stood and helped her pack up. At the same time, Drogo began to bark. “Your brother didn’t do anything wrong last night. I had already left before it happened, but I know him better than anyone. I know he had a good reason. I was going to talk to Chief Lyon tomorrow to have him released.”

  “Why didn’t you get him released today? It would have saved us all this aggravation. I wouldn’t have had to come here and we wouldn’t be fighting right now.” Chrissy looked down. “Drogo, hush!” she said sternly. The dog quieted.

  Jack scowled, both at Chrissy’s comment and at Drogo’s disloyalty. He pulled her toward him and crouched down to meet her gaze. “First of all, I didn’t know he’d call you. Normally he calls me—”

  “Normally? This happens often?”

  “Can you just listen for once?” He clasped her lips shut with his thumb and index finger. “Second, the fight wasn’t during our match. It happened afterward. It’s a long story, one that I prefer he tell you, but suffice it to say it was over a girl. I thought he should stay locked up for a day to cool off. And lastly, I couldn’t be fucking happier that you’re here. So I’m not sorry he called you.”

  “I hate that my brother is a professional fighter. I hate violence. I took an oath to help people, and you two idiots are getting yourselves beaten to a bloody pulp—my brother professionally, and you for what? Fun?” She was yelling now. “And I hate performing these stupidectomies. I—”

  “What did you say?”

  “Stupidectomies. That’s what I call it when I have to bandage up someone for doing something stupid. And what you do—your fighting—it’s stupid! Maybe even stupider than Slade’s, because you do it for pleasure!”

  “I didn’t get hurt in the fight. I got cut while working. And let me stop you before you start your rant on my job. Sometimes I get injured at work. It’s par for the course with being a cop. I’m good at my job, Chris, but shit happens. Either way, I guess it doesn’t matter—apparently I’m just stupid. Thanks for putting down the one thing I enjoy doing apart from work. I suppose some things really haven’t changed. You’re still a self-righteous bi—” He saw her flinch just as the word was about to come out of his mouth, and he stopped himself, but it was too late.

  “Bitch? Just say it. Don’t worry, I’ve heard far worse. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.” Drogo jumped up and down, barking, to join in the melee. Chrissy threw her bag over her shoulder, stepped over the yapping dog, and pushed Jack aside. Right before she reached the door she yelled, “By the way, you’re still an ass, Jack Daniels!” She stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

  When she reached her house she noticed he was right on her heels, sans Drogo. “What are you doing? Go back home. Tend to your Chihuahua. Pit bull? Pfft! You’re delusional!” She was on a tear. “I hope you don’t think that we’re still going to, you know …”

  She shoved the door open, but he remained right behind her.

  “What? Fuck? You can say the word—you’re a big girl, right? Yeah, we’re still going to fuck. But not tonight. Tonight I just wanted to make sure you were in the house safely.”

  “We?” Indignant, she whipped around to face him. “You and I are never going to happen. There is no we. I don’t date or screw bad boys. I don’t do one-night stands. And I hate violent men. Forget it happened. It was a colossal mistake. You were a jerk while we were growing up, and I will never forget that. What just happened was a momentary lapse of judgment. Last I recall, you hated me. I was just Slade’s annoying little sister.”

  All of a sudden he was unsure whether he wanted to shake her or throw her down and have his way with her right there on the floor just to shut her up. He decided neither was such a good option at the moment. “When you’ve calmed down, I’m going to bend you over that couch right there.” He forcefully turned her around so she could see the couch and whispered into her ear. “I’m going to rip off those tiny little things you call panties with my teeth, lick your pussy from behind, and then when you’re good and ready, I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember the Hippocratic oath.” Her chest rose and fell. Still standing right behind her, he nipped her neck and kissed right behind her ear. He knew she was turned on, but he also knew that if they slept together tonight it would be out of anger and it would happen only once. And once with this firecracker of a woman would never be enough. He turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

  After a sleepless night of tossing and turning, Chrissy
put on a conservative black pantsuit, slicked her hair back and tied it into a tight bun, applied very little makeup, and headed to court. The previous evening she had called Mr. Robertson, the only bail bondsman in town, and hired him. He was already there waiting for her.

  “Little Chrissy Martin! It’s been a helluva long time since you’ve been back. Sorry your brother’s troubles are the reason for your return. We’ve missed ya ’round here. You always were a ray of sunshine.”

  Chrissy smiled. Before she’d left for college, before all the crap that had made her a cynical mess, she really had had a sunny disposition. She’d volunteered at the neighborhood animal shelter, babysat some of the local kids, and was always friendly with the townsfolk.

  “Ya know, I was surprised when you called. There was a time when your brother used to keep me mighty busy. Disorderly conduct, public intoxication, bar fights … ya know, the usual.”

  Chrissy sighed. “How long has it been since his last arrest?”

  “I reckon it’s been about a year or so.”

  Well, at least that was something. During the last year he had either matured and stopped his shenanigans or just hadn’t been caught. She hoped it was the former but expected that it was the latter.

  Mr. Robertson explained the process, and then they sat and waited for Slade’s case to be called. She noticed Jack walk in, wearing civilian clothes, and sit a few seats back. He didn’t make eye contact with her. When Slade’s case was called, the judge said a few things, then the court-appointed attorney said a few things, and in a few minutes, before Chrissy even thought it had begun, it was all over.

  “Okay, honey. Did you understand all that?” Mr. Robertson asked her. She shook her head. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed Jack was now standing right behind her.

  “Since this was not his first or even second offense, and because the alleged victim is the mayor’s nephew, bail is thirty thousand dollars. I provide a bond for that amount, and you pay me a ten percent fee—three thousand dollars.”

  “Wait, what? Isn’t thirty thousand dollars for bail excessive?” asked Chrissy.

  Chrissy felt Jack’s hand resting on the small of her back. She knew he was supporting her, physically and emotionally. He bent down and whispered, “The guy deserved to be punched in the face, Chris, but he’s still the mayor’s nephew and this is a small town. Don’t worry. I’ll do everything I can to get the charges dropped.” She looked up at him, pushing her glasses up her nose, and he smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”

  “Come on, honey. This way.” The bondsman led them through a set of doors and down a corridor to a counter where Chrissy would have to write a check and fill out paperwork.

  “Well, look who’s back in town! The big fancy doctor!” Melinda, a thin woman in her early forties, came around the counter and gave Chrissy a big hug.

  “Hey, Mels. It’s been a long time. How have you been?”

  “Not as good as you, honey. Look at you with your swanky clothes and shiny hair. You look good.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Chrissy blushed. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but Melinda had always been very chatty. Actually, now that she thought about it, the entire town was very chatty.

  “You know, my brother Miles just got divorced. Remember Miles? He’s a doctor too. A chiropractor. You should come over and meet him. How about tomo—”

  “Hey, Mels,” Jack interjected, “Chrissy hasn’t had such a great morning. Ya think she can take a rain check on the matchmaking? I’m sure she’ll call you soon enough to discuss it further.” Chrissy had the impulse to reach over and hug him, but she didn’t want to be rude. She remembered Miles, even though he was about ten years older; everyone knew about his reputation for hitting on all things female. He wasn’t a bad guy, just a little too old and a little too creepy for her taste.

  “Oh, my. Honey, I’m so sorry. Of course. We’ll talk about it later this week. Let’s get all the paperwork filled out so I can get Slade released.”

  Chrissy nodded and forced out a friendly smile.

  “You okay?” Jack asked while they waited for Slade.

  She shrugged. “I’ve had better days.” She rested her elbows on her lap and dropped her face into her hands.

  Jack sat next to her and caressed her back. “You need help with the money, Chris?”

  “No, I’ve got it. But thanks,” she answered with her head still hanging. “God, he better not skip town. I’ll kill him. You know he thinks I’m rich because I’m a doctor?” She rolled her head to the side to look at him, her glasses once again sliding down her nose. “I’m not, you know? Rich, I mean. I’ve basically been volunteering since I got licensed. It’s helped bring down my student loans from medical school, but my bank account has suffered along the way. I’ve enjoyed it, though. Going all over the world and helping others—it’s exciting. I wish I could do more to help.” She looked back down. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, since we didn’t exactly part on good terms last night. Sorry.”

  “Because you’ve known me forever. Because your brother and I are close. Because you can trust me. You can tell me anything, you know?” Jack leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead like she was his little sister, although after last night she didn’t want to be thought of as a little sister. Scratch that—she didn’t want Jack to think of her at all. You’re here to bail Slade out of jail and go home. In and out, that’s the plan. But Jack was being so sweet, and God, he was hot. Smoldering hot. Sister? Eek. Gross.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” she told him. “I didn’t intend to be so mean. I just … it took me off guard. The whole MMA thing, it was just … unexpected.”

  “You’re forgiven,” he said with a smile.

  She was overwhelmed by the emotions of the last twenty-four hours, not to mention the dent this little fiasco was going to make in her checking account. “The mayor’s nephew.” She shook her head. “Slade’s an idiot. You see why I hate violence?” She sat up and looked him straight in the eyes, but before Jack could say anything, a man she’d never met before came over to them.

  “Jack,” the man said by way of a greeting.

  Jack stood and reached for the man’s hand. “Cain, buddy. How’s it goin’?”

  “How’d the arraignment go?”

  “Thirty thousand dollars, dude. His priors and the fact the mayor’s nephew is involved didn’t help.”

  The man shook his head. “You got the flow covered?”

  Chrissy was looking back and forth between the two men. This other guy, who looked intimidatingly serious and stood as tall as Jack, seemed to be a man of very few words.

  “Yeah, man. It’s covered. His sister’s got it.” Jack looked down at Chrissy. “Cain, this is Chrissy, Slade’s sister. Chrissy, this is Cain, a friend.”

  Cain’s head tilted up in a sort-of nod.

  Was that a hello? Intimidated and unsure of what that small interaction had meant, Chrissy awkwardly smiled at him. She was glad to see Slade had another friend ready to help if need be.

  “You fucked up Jas real good. Heard he won’t be fighting for a while. Talk is that when he got to the hospital, there was so much blood coming out of his nose, they thought he’d need a transfusion.” Cain held out his fist, and in some sort of caveman ritual, Jack pounded his fist against Cain’s.

  Jack beamed. “Thanks, man, glad to hear it. That guy was huge. Wasn’t sure I’d win.”

  Cain looked down at Chrissy’s ashen face, then back up to Jack. “See you got this covered. See you ’round.”

  “Later, man,” Jack said as Cain turned and left.

  Just as Chrissy was trying to wrap her head around the conversation and how calmly and proudly they had discussed the barbaric sport and the injuries Jack had inflicted on his opponent, the doors opened and Slade came strolling out. Sauntering, really.

  “Hey, sis. Thanks for coming to bail me out.” He leaned down and kissed Chrissy affectionately on the c
heek. He then turned to Jack and playfully punched him on the arm. “What the fuck, man? You didn’t get me out yesterday!”

  Slade was taller than Jack, at least six foot four. And, just like Jack, he was bulky. Between his name and his enormous stature, Slade really was made to be a professional fighter. His chest was wide, and his biceps and forearms had muscles that bulged every time he gestured. Whereas Jack barely had any hair on the top of his head, Slade’s slicked-back long black hair curled at the nape of his neck. He could have given Conan the Barbarian a run for his money. He had a thick black tribal tattoo that peeked from the neckline of his T-shirt and another on his right forearm. At least those were the two that she knew about. Like Chrissy, Slade also had piercing blue eyes and long black eyelashes.

  “Dude, you needed to cool off. I was doing you a favor. What the fuck happened after I left?” Jack looked around as if he’d suddenly realized where they were. “Hold that thought. Let’s go across the street and grab breakfast at EE’s and you can explain there.”

  Chrissy felt tiny between the two gladiators flanking her. But while most women, or even men, would be intimidated by them, she wasn’t. These were the same guys who when they were fifteen had used Mrs. Daniels’s expensive eyeliner to paint lines under their eyes as camouflage before they went to toilet-paper the neighbor’s house. Within five minutes they had been caught and brought home to face the wrath of her dad and Mr. Daniels. All that camouflage on their faces, yet they’d worn yellow T-shirts and white shorts: Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

  She had to take two steps to one of theirs, and at some point before crossing the street toward the diner she just refused to walk that fast in her heels, so she slowed to a normal pace for her five-foot-four-inch frame. She’d just meet them there. After eighteen years of being the third wheel to Dee and Dum, she was used to being ignored. When they reached the intersection, she saw that Slade looked both ways and crossed the street, but Jack looked to his right and to his left and then glanced back. “What are you doing all the way back there?” he hollered to Chrissy.