In for the Win (Against the Cage Book 5)

by Melynda Price

  “What about it?”

  “I want to clear the air. You know, before we get inside. I don’t want anything to be weird or awkward between us.”

  “All right.” He wasn’t sure he was going to like where this was going.

  “The kiss…it doesn’t change anything. You know I was just acting, right?”

  No, she wasn’t. But if that was the way she wanted to play this, what would be the point in arguing? He studied her a moment before answering. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” When she didn’t remove her hand from his arm, he gave it a pointed glance and arched his brow. “Anything else?”

  She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “No, that was it.”

  “All right, then. I’m going to head inside and grab a shower before bed. I gotta be at the gym early. I’m training with Del Toro and it’s always a killer.” Kyle exited the car and headed inside. There were a hundred different ways he could play this, and a hundred and one different ways to fuck it up. She’d spooked herself tonight. The best thing he could do was pretend that kiss had been no big deal—that it hadn’t rocked his world, and that he wasn’t going to have to hit the shower and jerk off to the memory of it just so he could get to sleep.

  With any luck, it would haunt her just as much as it would surely torment him.

  “No! Stop!”

  Kyle bolted upright at the shrill scream and jumped out of bed. He was out the door before his feet even touched the ground, racing down the hall into Pen’s room. It was lit with a soft glow, and as he rushed toward her bed, he spotted a nightlight plugged into the wall. He may have taken more time to consider why a grown woman was sleeping with a nightlight, but at present, he was thankful for the additional visual aid.

  She was thrashing beneath the covers, battling whatever demon had her in its grasp. Kyle knelt on the bed beside her and gently grasped her shoulders. “Pen.” She fought harder, struggling to get out of his grip, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Pen, wake up.” He gave her a firm shake. It was a good thing he had great reflexes and even better defense, because she woke up swinging. He caught her wrist a second before her fist would have connected with his jaw.

  “Stop! Let me go!” she cried, struggling against him. Her eyes were open but unfocused, blinded by her nightmare.

  “Hey, Pen, it’s me. You’re all right.”

  It took a moment for her eyes to focus and when she looked at him, his heart cramped tightly inside his chest. He’d never been able to stand a woman’s tears. It was his kryptonite that brought him to his knees. Every. Fucking. Time. Over the years, it hadn’t taken Willow long to figure that out, and from that day forward, he’d been putty in her hands.

  “Shh,” he soothed, pulling Pen into his arms, fully expecting her to push him away. She wouldn’t want him to see her like this—vulnerable and afraid. Which made him wonder if she was truly awake, because instead of pulling back, she shocked him by wrapping her arms around his waist, clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

  Whatever nightmare she’d had must have really rattled her, because she was allowing him to see a side of her he hadn’t known existed. “It was just a bad dream,” he crooned, offering her comfort for as long as she’d allow it. Minutes passed and as her tears dried, he decided it was best to take his leave before she came to her senses and tossed him out. He loosened his grip on her and started to lean back, but her hold on him tightened.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  The pain in her voice shredded him. He hesitated a moment because this was definitely against the rules. The last thing he needed was for her to wake up with no memory of her nightmare and find him in her bed.

  “He won’t come to me if you’re here.”

  Won’t come to her? Who the hell was she talking about? He really wanted to ask her, to know the name of whoever was tormenting her, but Kyle knew if he so much as spoke, she’d burrow back into her shell where she’d be forced to face her monster alone. Nodding, he shifted his hold on her and slipped beneath the covers, tucking her against his side. It wasn’t until that moment, when her body was pressed tightly into his, that Kyle became acutely aware of how little either of them was wearing.

  His body instantly responded to the feel of her velvet soft skin, the lavender scent of her hair. God help him, he wanted her. And he felt like a total asshole for the erection straining his boxers. “Go back to sleep, Pen,” he whispered against the top of her head. “I’ll be right here. You rest, and I’ll slay your dragons.”

  Her laugh was soft and sad, nearly inaudible as she whispered, “You know, I almost believe you could.”

  Just before dawn, Kyle slipped from her bed. Considering the way she’d reacted to their kiss at the club, he didn’t think she’d be very receptive to waking up and finding him in her bed. After she’d fallen back asleep in his arms, she hadn’t stirred the remainder of the night. He wished he could have said the same for himself, but it was hard to rest with a raging hard-on. Clearly the load he’d spent into the drain before bed had done nothing to curb his lust for her.

  He silently closed her door and crept back to his room. He headed straight to the shower for another unsatisfying round of tug and pull action. As the water beat against his shoulders, one hand splayed against the shower wall for support, he fucked his soapy fist to thoughts of Pen and memories of their first night together. It wasn’t long before he was barking a sharp curse and jetting into the stream of running water.

  Muttering another curse, this one self-damning, he shut off the faucet and toweled off. Today was going to kick his ass. Training with Del Toro was always a grueling affair. With his sparring privileges suspended, Kyle had no outlet for his frustration—beyond self-gratification. And that wasn’t helping.

  After throwing on a pair of gym shorts and a Miller MMA t-shirt, he headed for the kitchen, hoping to grab a quick bite and hit the road before Pen got up. He made a quick protein shake with a mixer-ball rather than risk waking her with the blender. As Kyle shook the bottle, he glommed down a banana and was tossing the peel into the trash when Pen’s cell went off. He glanced at the display.

  You dirty little whore. Do you think this is a joke? You test my patience.

  “Motherfucker…” he growled.

  “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

  He spun around to find Pen entering the kitchen. She looked fresh-faced and well rested. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her tank top and matching boy shorts ensemble that always seemed to ride up her ass-cheeks. Kyle took an appraising look as she sauntered past him and bit out another curse.

  “That’s some diversified profanity you got there. Care to share what’s got your undies in a bunch this morning?”

  His gaze followed her ass as she rose to her tiptoes to reach a new stack of coffee filters from the top shelf. “My undies aren’t the problem,” he grumbled.

  “What’s that?” She glanced over her shoulder as she filled the pot with water.

  Even fresh out of bed, she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her.

  “Not much of a morning person, are ya, Scott?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” He popped the cap on his bottle and started chugging his protein shake.

  “Really? Why not?” She opened the coffee container and dumped two heaped scoopfuls of grounds into the filter.

  Did she really have no recollection of her nightmares? Or was she just that good of an actress? It was a fifty-fifty guess, considering the convincing lip lock she’d laid on him at the club that apparently meant nothing.

  “If you want to wait ten minutes you can take a cup of coffee with you.” She finished pouring the water into the reservoir, returned the pot to the hotplate, and pressed the brew button.

  “You got another text message.” She tensed but didn’t respond, but that was fine because he had plenty more to say. “We’re done messing around, Pen. It’s time to go to the police.”

  “We’ve already talked about thi
s, Kyle—”

  “And it makes zero sense. Some asshole is stalking you. He’s sending you threatening messages and this has got to stop. You’re going to report it. I’ll go with you if you want. I can meet you outside the station at four.”

  When she spun around to face him, she didn’t look happy. “Fine. You win. We’ll report it. But I think you’re wasting their time.”

  “How about you let them decide that?” Kyle finished his protein shake and then rinsed the bottle in the sink. “I gotta go. I’m meeting Del Toro in twenty minutes. See you this afternoon.”

  “I don’t know, man,” Del Toro took a break from pounding on the heavy bag to study Kyle. “Pretending to date Pen to scare off some asshole who’s giving her a hard time… It’s noble as hell, don’t get me wrong, but I think you’re playing with fire.” Slinging an arm around the punching bag, he gripped the chain suspending it from the ceiling and leaned into it.

  Playing with fire? “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Kyle cut the guy a glare and went back to counting his reps. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know this conversation was heading south—fast. Ever since Violet had called Kyle in a panic the other night because she couldn’t reach Del Toro, and he’d found the guy fighting after hours with his new sparring partner Tommy “The Viking” Thorson, Nikko had been in a tailspin. Something had happened between Del Toro and his shrink, and hell if Kyle could get the guy to tell him what it was.

  And what exactly had Pen told Violet about their little “arrangement”? Because he sure as shit hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone. As far as the public eye was concerned, he and Pen were dating. If this was going to work, it had to be believable, and he wasn’t particularly keen on the scrutiny Del Toro was throwing his way. Was it really so shocking? The idea of him dating someone? On second thought, yes, he supposed it was, considering he’d avoided relationships like the plague for the last five years.

  “Let’s be honest, Kill, that girl’s walking, talking lighter fluid, and you’re the match just waiting to get struck. She’s going to burn you up.”

  “It’s not like that.” He knew where Del Toro was going with this. Of course, he’d think Kyle was fucking her. But that line had been drawn right up front, along with a detailed set of ground rules Pen had laid on him before agreeing to take him on as her roommate. She seemed to want people at arm’s length and wasn’t comfortable with anyone getting into her space. Why was it so hard for her to accept help? It was like she refused to admit this situation was beyond her control. As much as her stubborn streak frustrated him, he also admired it. A lesser man might have been intimidated by her tough girl act. Maybe if he hadn’t already been conditioned to it from raising a willful teenage girl, he might have bought the ruse too.

  “She needs help, man.” And that was all he was going to say about the subject. Of all the people Kyle thought he’d be getting shit from, Del Toro was the last guy he expected to be dishing it out. Seriously, what was his problem?

  “Lots of women need help, Kill. You can’t save the world.”

  “What the hell, Del Toro?” He released the weights, letting them clap together, and turned to look at his friend. Where was this fatalistic bullshit coming from? “That’s really your philosophy? ‘Can’t save the world.’ That’s rich coming from someone who spent eight years over in Afghanistan, trying to ‘save the world.’” He air-quoted the guy, who responded by flipping him off.

  “You can see how well that worked out for me, then.” He pointed to the side of his face and the mess of scars smattering his chest. But Kyle knew it wasn’t the exterior he was referring to; it was the scars on the inside that had him so screwed up.

  “Come on, man. I know you’re not that asshole.”

  “Yeah? Well maybe you give me too much credit. Maybe you all do,” he grumbled, turning back to the heavy bag and laying another round of fist-flying combinations.

  “And maybe you don’t give yourself enough of it,” he shot back, officially pissed off at the cantankerous fighter. Whatever was going on with him and Violet, she definitely had her work cut out for her rehabbing this guy’s mental status.

  Good fucking luck with that…

  Kyle had had enough of the inspirational talk for one day. Swinging his leg over the bench, he pushed up on his good leg and grabbed a towel. As he gimped for the door, he scrubbed it over his face and then dragged it through his hair. His hand was on the knob and he was about to adios when Del Toro’s voice had his feet grinding to a halt.

  “You hear about Matthews?”

  He tensed, muscles stringing ripcord tight. Just the sound of that guy’s name put Kyle’s teeth on edge. Del Toro didn’t give him the chance to tell him he didn’t give a shit before continuing.

  “Coach called him into the office this morning and fired him.”

  He spun around to face Del Toro and winced when his knee bitched about the sudden movement. “What? You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Wish I was. Word is Dean’s pissed and he wanted someone’s head to roll for what happened in that cage. It’s no secret you two weren’t happy about the matchup. He thinks it was planned to avoid facing off in the octagon—”

  “That’s such bullshit! I’ll tell you what was planned. Messing around with Willow behind my back? That was planned. Lying to my face? That was planned. Kicking his ass in that cage? That wasn’t planned.”

  “Well…now Dean’s got two injured fighters, no matchup, and he’s out a shit-ton of money. Guess Matthews told Coach he threw the first punch and Coach fired him right then and there.”

  “Dammit!” Kyle ripped open the door and stormed out of the weight room, gimping across the narthex. He was so furious he barely felt the bite in his knee. That sonofabitch was not getting away with taking the fall for this. Martyring himself would not absolve his betrayal.

  “Coach!” Kyle barked, slamming his fist against the door. “Coach, open up!”

  Bang, bang, bang…

  An office door swung open, but it did not belong to Coach. Dean filled the doorway, the glower on his face livid enough that Kyle took notice. “He’s not there, Scott. What the hell is your damage? I’m trying to conduct a business meeting in here.” He stepped aside and Kyle laid eyes on August Grim. So, there might be some truth to those rumors, after all—The Grim Reaper was jumping camps and defecting to Miller MMA. Wasn’t that just awesome. Welcome to our happy fucking family...

  Kyle murmured an apology that was lacking in sincerity, and then headed back the way he’d come.

  “And get off that leg before you ruin your goddamn career!”

  Yeah, it’s a little late for that.

  Maybe he’d have better luck at door number two. Kyle marched up the steps and went to town with his fist against steel. Bang, bang, bang…

  “Open the door!”

  Bang, bang, bang…

  Footsteps sounded on the other side, locks disengaged. As soon as the door began to open, Kyle shoved his way in. “Why the hell did you tell Coach you threw the first punch?” he demanded, pushing past Regan.

  “Please, come in,” the smartass replied with a gallant sweep of his hand, and Kyle wanted to punch him in the face all over again.

  “You think getting yourself fired is going to make up for what you did?” Kyle spun on him, arrowing him with a glare. “That all will be forgiven? Because it won’t. You fucking lied to me!” He pointed his finger at Regan’s chest. “You betrayed my trust—”

  “I’m well aware of all the ways I’ve wronged you,” Regan cut in. “I don’t need a goddamn dissertation. And frankly, I really don’t give a shit what you think. I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness. That’s not why I did it.” Regan slammed the door shut and walked past him, heading for the kitchen.

  “Then why did you do it?” Kyle demanded. “You had to know you were giving Coach no other choice but to fire you. Fighting is your life. You love this sport.” He argued with the guy’s back as Regan pulled a beer fr
om the fridge, twisted off the cap, and tossed it into the garbage.

  Regan took a long pull from the bottle before turning back around and shrugged. “There are other things I love more.”

  “Goddammit.” Was this guy serious? Was he actually going to stand here, look Kyle in the eye, and tell him he was willing to walk away from his fighting career for Willow? Willing? Scratch that. He’d already done it. For as long as he could remember, fighting was all Regan had known. It had saved his life—literally. And now he was what? Just finished? No way was Willow privy to what he’d done, because Kyle knew his sister and there was no way in hell she’d let him walk away from his career—his dream—for her.

  And those actions right there spoke louder than words ever could. Had Kyle allowed his anger to cloud his judgment? Had his rage over their betrayal blinded him to the truth? Regan really was in love with her. And maybe that delayed epiphany made him the real asshole, but he was still having trouble wrapping his narrow mind around that concept.

  “You talk to Willow yet?” Regan asked, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice.

  Or maybe that was his own guilt choking the shit out of him. It was getting hard to breathe. By the disappointed look the guy was shooting his way, Regan already knew the answer to that question. No, he hadn’t talked to her, but he really needed to. Especially with Campoli’s parole hearing just a few days away. The thing was, Kyle knew his sister and he was pretty confident she didn’t want to talk to him. Not after the way he’d acted and the hurtful things he’d said.

  “No,” he snapped, remorse weighing down on him, making him hostile and defensive. “I just came here to tell you that not only are you an asshole, you’re a stupid fucking asshole.”

  If he was expecting a reaction out of Regan, he wasn’t going to get one. The guy couldn’t have looked more apathetic to the whole situation. “Thanks, man, I really appreciate that. Now, if that’s all, feel free to show yourself out.”

  Kyle stood there a moment, studying the guy who looked exhausted and…broken. This wasn’t the Regan Matthews he knew. The scraper who’d had to fight every day just to survive. Frustration and anger burned in Kyle’s gut. What the hell was wrong with him? But it wasn’t any of Kyle’s business—not anymore. Exhaling a frustrated sigh, he turned to leave just as his cell went off. He stopped in the doorway and dug his phone from his pocket. University Hospital? Why would they be calling him?