Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  If Violet Summers knew what was good for her, she’d run as far away from him as she could possibly get, and if he cared about her even half as much as he feared he did, he’d take this opportunity to step out of her life. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure he had either the altruistic nature or the self-control to do it.

  “—Disco yet?”

  “What?” Nikko asked, realizing he hadn’t been listening to what Kill was saying.

  “I said, have you heard from Disco yet? Six months is a long time to be gone on a honeymoon.”

  That’s because he wasn’t on a honeymoon. That’s just what Disco had told everyone when he’d taken a leave from the CFA. Right before Nikko had left his friend in New York, he’d confided in him that he and Ryann were going into witness protection as part of an immunity deal he’d made with the feds. In order to avoid facing his own jail time, Aiden was going to have to testify against one of the most powerful Mafia families in Manhattan.

  “None of us could believe it when he said he was getting married. Out of all of us, that guy was the last one I expected to get married. Well, except for you, of course.”

  Nikko scowled. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, ever since I’ve known you, I’ve yet to see you hook up with any cage bangers—or anyone, for that matter. But, hey, I’m not judging you, man.” Kill raised his hands defensively. “Your preferences are your business.”

  What? Preferences? Oh, hell no . . . he did not just go there. Nikko’s glower darkened and it took all his self-control not to bust Kill in the jaw. “You think that I’m . . . ? News flash, asshole, I’m not gay.”

  Kill actually looked surprised. “You’re not?”

  Oh, for shit’s sake . . . “No, I’m not! Why in the hell would you think that? Just because I don’t stick my dick in every cage banger that comes my way doesn’t mean I’m into dudes. What the hell, man . . .”

  Kill shot him an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry. I just assumed—”

  “Yeah, well, you know what they say about assuming. Just because I don’t strut around here wearing my conquests like a badge of honor doesn’t mean I’m not into women.”

  “Right. Sorry, man . . .”

  Nikko shook his head. Un-fucking-believable . . . “Are we going to keep talking about my sex life all night or are we going to spar? Cuz right now I just really want to kick your ass.” He glanced up at the clock hanging between two framed posters. One was of Cole “The Beast of the East” Easton and the other was of Aiden “Disco Stick” Kruze. Both were in fighting stance and looked like they were about to jump off the poster and go a few rounds. They were two of Coach’s top fighters—his pride and joy.

  Coach intentionally kept his camp small. His philosophy was quality, not quantity, often stating his goal was to create a tight-knit group of fighters that worked hard and played well together. He handpicked each one in his camp and oftentimes Nikko wondered what in the hell Coach had ever seen in him to put Nikko on his roster. In truth, he was more like the black sheep of Coach’s MMA family, and after what happened at the publicity party last week, he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

  “It’s almost nine o’clock,” Nikko said, shoving aside his self-degradation to focus on Kill. “Let’s work on your strategy with Matthews before we head out. His ground and pound is excellent, so let’s focus on tightening up your submissions. Show me your Brabo and then transition to an anaconda choke.”

  This time, when that little voice had told Violet to stop Nikko from walking out on her, she hadn’t listened. She wouldn’t repeat the same mistake she’d made at Carboni’s, and she refused to allow herself to feel guilty about it. So why then, six hours later, was she still thinking about him?—replaying their fight over and over in her head? Nothing about Nikko Del Toro was simple. He was a complicated, broody, temperamental fighter who could be as vicious as he was charming. This was not going to work, and the sooner she accepted that fact, the quicker she could get back to her boring, predictable life.

  Exhaling a frustrated sigh, Violet turned off her episode of Gilmore Girls and closed her eyes. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she willed her thoughts back under control, but they were just as rebellious as the man they obsessed over. She hadn’t meant for him to find out she’d been married before—at least not like that. Her past was her business. That Barry seemed determined not to remain there was inconsequential.

  There was no excuse for Nikko’s behavior. The accusations he’d hurled at her had been vulgar and cutting. Worse, she couldn’t even deny them—he had been her clean slate, her Barry-banishing bang. Only, Nikko had been wrong about one thing. She hadn’t been thinking of Barry at all when he had fucked her. And as crass as that word might sound, it’s exactly what he’d done. There was no tenderness, no wooing in his touch . . . Nikko had come at her with all the finesse of a freight train, consuming and utterly dominating her. And she’d loved every mind-blowing second of it. She’d never experienced that kind of unleashed power before, that kind of unrestrained passion.

  Barry had always been so . . . bland—predictable and boring. Since he’d been her first, she had nothing to compare him to, until Nikko, and mercy, had she been missing out. It almost made Barry’s betrayal not feel like such a loss. Since she’d stepped off the plane, she’d yet to encounter another man with whom she had even a fraction of the chemistry she shared with Nikko—which didn’t bode well for her sex life, because that man was off-limits.

  What a mess . . .

  Her cell rang, and when she glanced down at the caller ID, her pulse quickened. Nikko . . . What did he want?—to berate her some more for having sex with him the night of her divorce? To tell her how shitty he thought she was? No, thank you. Violet stared at his name displayed across her screen because, yeah, she’d saved him in her contacts, too. A few more taunting rings later, the phone went silent, and her chest tightened with regret.

  How dare he make her feel bad about their hookup. So what if she’d used him. Wasn’t that the purpose of a one-night stand?—people using people? Did the reason really matter? It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten anything out of it. From the harsh bark of release that had torn from his throat and the tension shuddering through his heavily muscled body, she knew he’d come just as hard as she had.

  Violet’s phone chimed, pulling her from her mental replay, which—no lie—was making her warm and tingly. She swiped her thumb across the screen to check the incoming message. It was from Nikko. I’m sorry . . . with a sad-looking emoji.

  She turned off the screen and was about to power it down when another message came through.

  Want to see you.

  Seriously? I don’t think that’s a very good idea. Send.

  Want to apologize in person. Feel bad about what I said. Another emoji; this one looked even more depressed than the last one.

  Why the change of heart? she wondered. Maybe he realized how screwed he was without a therapist and wanted to ask her to take him back? Well, it wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t without blame for what happened in the office today. She never should have let it slip that she’d been married. Vi had done the one thing she’d vowed not to do, let her personal life affect her professional one.

  Despite whatever conflicts they might have outside of the office, she was still a professional, or trying her hardest to be, and it was her responsibility to keep Nikko in compliance with the CFA requirements until Jim got back from vacation. Maybe if she prayed for a monsoon, he’d come back early.

  No need, you’ve already apologized. If you want to continue therapy until Jim returns, I’ll see you Tuesday afternoon as scheduled. Have a nice weekend. Send. There—short, professional, to the point.

  Do want to keep coming, but not why I apologized. Still want to see you.

  I’m sorry. I don’t give out my address to patients. Send.

  Not your patient anymore. At least not until Tuesday. Winky face.

  Winky face
? He was sending her a freaking winky face? Since when does Nikko Del Toro winky face? Send.

  Since he’s sorry he was such a dick and hopes you’ll let him come over.

  Wow, this guy did not give up. There were a hundred reasons for her to say no, and only one to say yes—there was a part of her that wanted to see him, too. The bigger part of her reminded that part that she was mad at him. What the hell was he doing, anyway? He wasn’t supposed to be cute or charming. He was a hardass MMA fighter, not an incorrigible flirt. The thought of Nikko knowing where she lived wasn’t what bothered her. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her reluctance to see him face-to-face had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with her resolve—or lack of it where he was concerned. She didn’t think Nikko would ever hurt her. Well, physically, anyway, but all bets were off where her emotions were concerned. She’d already taken a pretty bad beating earlier and was still nursing her wounds.

  I don’t think so, Nikko. I’m sorry. Send.

  Please . . . This emoji was wearing a halo and wings.

  Yeah, right . . . Nothing about this guy was angelic. Is this you promising to be good? Send.

  Maybe . . . So can I come over? Emoji with pleading hands.

  Dammit, why did she have such a hard time enforcing her boundaries with him? Maybe because he’d obliterated them the first time she’d met him and she couldn’t help remembering what they’d shared before they’d known who the other person was.

  Thinking about it . . . Send.

  Well, think faster because I’m almost there. Another winky.

  Her pulse quickened. She glanced down at her pajamas and fuzzy slippers and frowned. How do you know where I live? Send.

  You’re not unlisted. We should talk about that. Not safe. Frowning face.

  Really? She hadn’t realized she wasn’t. It’d never been an issue—until now. Nikko was right, she was going to have to do something about that.

  Still waiting for an answer.

  It’s not a good time. I’m already in my pajamas. Send. It was a lame excuse, but whatever.

  Already seen you in less, Clover.

  The reminder sent a rush of heat flooding through her body. She wished she could blame it on embarrassment but knew it was something much more dangerous. All right, you can come over, but just for a few minutes. It’s late . . . Send.

  Less than a minute after she hit Send, the low rumble of an engine purred outside. Headlights panned through her curtain-drawn windows as the muscle car pulled into her driveway. He was here. Her heart began beating faster, excitement warring with anxiety. What was it about this man that made her body feel like it was at odds with itself? Logic seemed to defy all reason where Nikko was concerned.

  When she heard the car door shut, Violet went to the door. She watched out the side window as Nikko walked around the car and followed the sidewalk path lit by the porch light. He climbed the steps, giving her an opportunity to appreciate the lean, muscular cut of his body. Even if she hadn’t seen his face, she’d know it was him. She’d recognize that walk anywhere—powerful yet graceful.

  She opened the door before he could knock, leaving the screen door between them. Nikko didn’t try to open it, nor did she offer him entry. She wasn’t sure if she trusted herself alone with him. When it came to Nikko Del Toro, Vi was learning fast she didn’t know herself nearly as well as she thought she did. Something about him called to the wild side in her. Her id loved this man, but it was her ego and superego that weren’t so sure about him. He courted the streak of impulsive desire in her that she’d worked hard her whole life to control.

  “Hey, Clover.”

  His silver-gray eyes met hers. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he was nervous. Abashed, maybe?—which was definitely out of character for the confident, cagey fighter. She found the lack of self-assurance disarming—endearing—and right now, he didn’t need anything more going for him.

  Her gaze flickered over his face. She couldn’t help admiring that square jaw, those full lips . . . How could something on a man this hard be so soft? He shifted uneasily, shoving his hands in his pockets. The movement changed the angle of light on his partially shadowed face, and that’s when she noticed the small cut on his left cheek. The area around it was bruised and swollen.

  She scowled. “Nikko, have you been fighting?” Before he could answer, she opened the screen door and pulled him inside. Pushing it closed behind her, she took ahold of his hand and led him into the kitchen. “You’re not supposed to be fighting,” she scolded, grabbing his jaw and angling his cheek toward the light. Reaching up, she inspected the cut. He endured her poking and prodding in silence, watching her as she studied his injury. “Wait, you weren’t really fighting, were you?—outside the cage?”

  He shook his head. “Just a little sparring. Kill got in a lucky shot, that’s all.” Nikko reached up and took her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. By the tightening of his brows, she could tell he wasn’t used to anyone fussing over him, nor did he seem to particularly appreciate it. She got the feeling that if she were anyone else, he wouldn’t be quite so tolerant of the attention.

  “This stuff happens all the time. I’m fine.”

  “You won’t be fine if Dean sees your face and finds out you’ve been fighting behind his back. You can’t keep breaking the rules and think there won’t be consequen—”

  “Clover—” he interrupted. His strong, calloused fingers curled around her hand as he held it suspended between them. He brought it to his chest, his other hand folding over hers. Heat coursed up her arm, spreading through her body and centering deep in her core. The liquid warmth melted her bones, making her knees go weak as her heart slammed inside in her chest. Her physical response to him was swift and immediate, catching her off guard and scattering her thoughts.

  His top lip quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile. “I didn’t come here for a lecture. I’m very well aware of the risks of getting caught. But if I don’t fight . . .” His explanation died on his tongue, trailing off his thought as if he’d suddenly decided he wasn’t willing to go there.

  But he didn’t need to finish. She knew what he was going to say. Vi heard it in the raw honesty in his voice, saw it in the clarity in his eyes—eyes that were less haunted than she’d ever seen them. They were clear, focused, and held a small measure of peace. He’d told her before that this was how he did it. How he managed his stress. But seeing the effects in person drove home how difficult this suspension must be for him. Some people binged on booze, others smoked, but fighting was Nikko’s vice. When Dean had forbidden him from stepping into the ring, he’d taken away his coping mechanism. She’d have to talk to him about that, see if she couldn’t get Nikko’s sparring privileges back.

  “I just wanted to apologize for how I acted today. It wasn’t fair to you. I know I hurt you by what I said. Your reasons for doing what you did are none of my business, and I’m certainly in no place to cast judgment on anyone.”

  His thumb brushed over the top of her hand as he stared into her eyes, looking for something—absolution, maybe? Those sapphire flecks were mesmerizing, drawing her in and tempting her to get lost in them, in him. Oh, mercy, she wanted to get lost in him. What she wouldn’t give to feel that kind of passion again, that utter loss of control. And to know she was just one kiss away from heaven . . .

  She didn’t know what this was between them, but by the look in his eyes, she knew that he felt it, too. Maybe it confused him as much as it did her, because Nikko didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy to show up on a woman’s doorstep and ask for forgiveness. Unfortunately, as tempted as she was to discover what this was, she didn’t feel right about it as long he was under her care. They’d have to wait until Jim returned, then maybe . . .

  “Thank you for coming over to apologize, Nikko. I owe you an apology, too. I behaved unprofessionally. I never should have slapped you.”

  His brow arched and he gave her a crooked grin. “I kinda deserved it.�
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  She returned his smile. “Yeah, you kinda did.”

  He laughed, and, man, did she love that deep, throaty sound. It lit her up with feminine awareness. He reached up and brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek. Nikko’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and he didn’t even try to hide his intent. Determination flashed in those mesmerizing eyes that almost looked otherworldly with the silvery-blue rings rimming his pupils. She’d never seen eyes that color before.

  Nikko shifted his weight, moving a step closer. She could feel his body heat radiate into her, his spicy, masculine scent enveloping her, making her want to take deeper breaths. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. It amazed her that hands so powerful, hands that had taken lives and delivered untold pain and suffering, could feel so good, be so gentle.

  The air around them crackled with energy. Nikko dipped his head, and her breath caught in her lungs, frozen in that moment of breathless anticipation when you just knew something incredible was about to happen. She wouldn’t stop him—not this time. God help her, but she wanted this—wanted him. Nikko’s breath brushed her cheek. He smelled of peppermints, making her mouth water in anticipation to taste his kiss. Her lids fluttered closed, lips parted, waiting for that perfect moment of contact. Then, nothing . . .

  “I should go.”

  His voice was a soft, husky rumble next to her ear that she felt all the way to her toes. The light scratch of his unshaven jaw brushed against her cheek as he took in a slow, deep breath, seeming to struggle for restraint. She lifted her hand, resting it against his cheek, and forced the words past her lips, “Yeah, you probably should.”