Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  She cleared her throat before forcing her eyes to turn to the subject in question. Big mistake. He was staring at her with an intensity that took her breath away. Like she was holding his life—his career—in her hands, and he’d be damned if he’d beg her for mercy, that stubborn defiance warring with their intimate connection—so strong, so proud, and fighting like hell to hide his vulnerability.

  Her heart slammed inside her chest, the silence stretching on as they all waited for her to say something. “Things are going well. Nikko has made every effort to comply with your requests. He’s keeping his appointments, and we are making progress. As to how long it will take, I cannot say. That depends on Nikko. I contacted Dean yesterday and requested that he be allowed to resume sparring.”

  Marcus nodded. “That’s what I hear.”

  “Fighting, for Nikko, is cathartic, and I would caution against removing his means for coping, especially while he’s in therapy. I feel that it is advantageous and necessary for Nikko’s mental health to provide as much normalcy and stability to his life as possible. Punitive restrictions would hold no benefit for him at this point. He is well aware of the damage that has been done by his actions, and I truly believe it was not his intention to cause you harm, Marcus, and he deeply regrets it.”

  “I have no doubt that he does. I’ll take your recommendation into consideration, Dr. Summers.” Turning to Nikko, Marcus asked, “How are you feeling, Del Toro? Are things going well with Dr. Summers?”

  Again, his eyes were on her, burning her flesh and heating her blood. It took all her control not to squirm under the scrutiny of his stare. “As good as can be expected.”

  Well, that was . . . vague. And apparently it was all he was going to say on the subject.

  Marcus nodded, as if satisfied by his answer and expecting nothing more. “Hang in there, son. We’ll get through this. You’re a hell of a fighter, and I knew you’d be my problem child when I recruited you. Now get the hell out of here and keep your nose clean, huh? We’ll meet again in a few weeks.”

  Marcus turned to her and nodded. “Dr. Summers, thank you for coming down here on your day off. I appreciate your commitment to my fighter’s well-being.”

  “You’re welcome.” She stood and gathered her files, tucking them under her arm. Other than Nikko, everyone else stayed seated. Anxious to get out from under the stares of these men, she wasted no time making her retreat. Heading out the way she came in, Violet rushed toward the back exit at a determined clip. Her gut churned, a knot of emotion rioting inside her.

  Her plight for Nikko was taking her down a dangerous road. Sitting in that meeting and feigning indifference had been torture. She wanted to yell at the injustice of it. His career, his reputation, had taken a huge hit. What if he never recovered from it? His career was all he had left. If he lost that, too, it could quite possibly break him.

  She was getting too close, too invested. There was caring, and then there was caring. She was trying so hard not to cross that line, but God help her, she feared she was fighting a losing battle.

  “Clover . . .”

  His deep voice called out to her, a harsh strained whisper spoken to catch her attention and not others’. She ignored it, pretending she didn’t hear him. She couldn’t do this right now—couldn’t face him—not until she regrouped and took some time to reevaluate her perspective on Nikko’s situation.

  “Clover . . .”

  He was closer, his quickened steps echoing behind her. Almost there . . . Just a few more steps and she’d be out the door.

  “Dammit, Violet, stop.” He caught her arm steps before she could make her escape and dragged her into an empty office. The lights were off and he made no attempt to rectify the situation, but there was enough ambient light coming in through the window that she could see he was pissed. “Why did you do that?” he demanded, crowding into her, pinning her between the wall of Sheetrock and his towering rock-hard muscle.

  “Do what?” She wasn’t sure what he was talking about. In truth she was having trouble concentrating on anything other than the heat of his body blasting against her. His breath brushed her cheek. Her nipples hardened, her breasts felt heavy and tingly, straining to make contact. He smelled so good, his clean masculine scent teasing her nostrils. She drew a deep breath and her nipples grazed his chest, sending little jolts of pleasure straight to her core. He must have felt it, too, because he flinched at the contact, the anger in his eyes flaring into something just as dangerous. A low, hungry growl emitted from his throat. God help her, she was so in over her head with his man.

  “Tell me why you did it,” he demanded again.

  “Did what?” she snapped impatiently, desperate to get some space between them before she did something totally unprofessional like throwing herself against this gorgeous, broken man.

  “You lied for me in there. And I want to know why.”

  “I wasn’t ly—”

  “Bullshit. And you’re doing it again right now. I don’t want you lying for me, Violet.”

  “Then don’t make me a liar, Nikko. Help me help you. Your career is too important to just throw away on the past. You can get beyond this. I believe in you. You just need to believe in yourself.”

  “Well, that’s your first mistake, Clover. The last person who believed in me came home in a body bag.”

  His words slammed into her with a sniper’s accuracy. He may not have been meaning to, but he was laying siege to her resolve. It wouldn’t take long before one of them cracked. “Oh, Nikko . . .” Violet raised her hand and laid it against his cheek, brushing her thumb over the indent of his scar. She wanted to kiss him, to take away the pain that had such a tight hold on him that she feared he would never break free.

  “Don’t,” he told her, his eyes hardening to stone.

  Reaching up, he grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, refusing to take comfort from her. He was unreachable. And she feared as long as he refused to forgive himself for whatever was torturing him, Nikko Del Toro would be lost to her. She didn’t know how to reach him. Then again, maybe she did . . . Problem was, she wasn’t sure it was a line she was willing to cross. How much longer could they keep doing this dance?

  “It’s not pity I want from you, Clover.”

  Apparently, she wasn’t the only one getting tired of it. His grip on her wrist tightened, just enough to walk the line between firm and painful, strong enough to let her know who was in control. He planted his other hand against the wall beside her head. Those sapphire-flecked eyes locked on to her as he brought her hand against his chest. She could feel the contour of his chiseled pecs through his thin Henley. If her heart were a hummingbird, it would have taken flight.

  “Feel that?” he asked, sliding her palm over his heart, the strong confident beat keeping a tempo to rival her own. “This is what you do to me, Clover. And this . . .” Trapped by his stare, he slowly slid her hand down his stomach, over his washboard abs that made her fingers itch to stop and trace every ridge and valley. The heat flooding her veins centered in her core, her muscles clenched, the empty ache in her sex almost too much to bear.

  His bold gaze dared her to stop him as he guided her hand lower until her palm covered his erection, straining against his jeans. He dragged her hand down his impossibly hard length, pressing it firmly against his cock. “This is how much I want you. How I spend every second in your presence, every night thinking about how good you felt in my arms, how sweet you tasted on my tongue, how tight you felt around my cock . . .”

  A shocked gasp broke from her throat at the raw honesty she saw reflected in his eyes.

  “No, I don’t want your pity, or your lies, Clover. I just want you. And to know that my sins are what’s keeping us apart is the worst kind of hell I could be sentenced to.”

  It was official—this man’s tongue was as silver as his eyes. Her resolve was melting into a puddle between her legs. She gripped his erection through his denim and squeezed until his eyes hooded and a throaty gro
wl of approval rumbled in his chest. Nikko’s hand threaded into her hair, twisting until she felt a sharp tug, angling her head to the side.

  “Tell me you want this . . .” he growled, his lips a scant breadth from devouring hers.

  God help her, she wanted it. Couldn’t he see that? She was a wet, hot mess for him. All it’d take was for him to slip his hand beneath her skirt and he’d feel the evidence of her desire against his fingertips—fingertips that bore the calluses of a fighter—hands she wanted to take control and make the choice for her so she wouldn’t have to bear the shame of her weakness. She was wound so tight that she would detonate at his slightest touch. All it’d take was one word—one three-letter word that was hovering on the tip on her tongue. Yes . . .

  “Clover, say it,” he demanded, his breath searing her lips.

  But she couldn’t. She couldn’t cross that line with him—not here—not now . . .

  “Nikko, I . . .”

  A door down the hall opened and voices filled the hallway. Violet tensed as they grew closer. Oh, shit, whose office were they in? What if someone came in here? How were they going to explain getting caught standing here in the dark? Nikko must have read her mind because a new level of tension was radiating off him. “Shhh . . .” he warned, his lips barely brushing hers as he spoke. “Don’t move. The lights are motion sensored.”

  That would have been nice to know before. When he’d dragged her in here, they must not have come in far enough to trigger it. The voices grew louder as they headed their way.

  “I know you don’t agree with me, Cole, so just admit it so you can quit sulking,” Marcus grumbled.

  Nikko tensed. Vi slipped her hands to his waist, holding on to him as he untangled his hand from her hair and braced his forearms against the wall, shielding her with his body.

  “Fine. I will—”

  They stopped outside the door and she prayed to God this was not Marcus’s office.

  “—I think you’re making a mistake. If I were you, I’d cut your losses and cancel Del Toro’s contract. He’s a loose cannon and a threat to the stability of the CFA.”

  Vi’s grip on his waist tightened. She could only imagine what he must be feeling standing here listening to those men talk about him.

  “You know, there was a time people said the same thing about you. What if I had believed that woman who claimed you assaulted her, or the rumors about ’roid use?”

  “But those things weren’t true. Del Toro is a fucking time bomb and you know it.”

  “Doesn’t matter that those rumors weren’t true. We still had to weather the storm and deal with the media. I stood by you when you couldn’t even walk and everyone said your career was over, so don’t bag on me for showing one of my guys the same solidarity I showed you. This team is a family, and you may not all like each other, but you’ll damn well support one another, and that’s not optional, you understand me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” Easton grumbled.

  “Good. Now let’s not borrow any more trouble. Dr. Summers seems to have her shit together, so let’s wait and see, huh? Besides, we’ve got enough to worry about with the CFA deciding to go pro in the female sector. Holy balls . . . Bringing on female fighters, I didn’t think I’d ever live to see the day.”

  Cole chuckled. “Looks like Miller MMA is about to go coed.”

  “God help me . . .” Marcus grumbled. “Hopefully, we’ll scout out some decent talent at the amateurs tonight.”

  The voices moved on and Violet exhaled a sigh of relief. “I think they’re gone,” she whispered. Nikko leaned back and lifted his arm to let her escape. The shadows made it difficult to see his face, but from what she could glimpse, he was on total lockdown. It couldn’t have been easy listening to Cole speak so frankly, though she suspected it wasn’t anything he wouldn’t say to Nikko’s face. Cole didn’t exactly strike her as the kind of guy that pulled his punches—in the cage or out. But to hear how Marcus had defended Nikko warmed her heart, earning that man tons of respect in her book.

  “Marcus seems like a really great guy to have in your corner.”

  “Yeah, he’s the best. More than I deserve. Easton’s right; they should cut their losses while they’re ahead.”

  “I don’t believe that, Nikko, and deep down, neither do you. You’re a fighter. For crissake, start fighting for your future.”

  Nikko didn’t try to stop Violet when she slipped out of the office. Standing there in the dark, he rested his forehead against his arm, braced against the wall, and just . . . breathed. Rage churned inside him like a volcanic tide. The truth of Easton’s words didn’t make them any easier to swallow, and the reality of it was a disqualifying kick to the balls. Bottom line, he was a ticking time bomb. He knew it, and so did they.

  Coach was a goddamn saint . . . He didn’t want to let that man down, didn’t want to prove him wrong or make Violet look like a liar. Problem was, she wanted something from him he couldn’t give her—the truth. No one knew what happened in Alice-Gahn, and they never would. It was the day Nikko had been forced to make an impossible decision. It was the day he’d lost his soul. Remmy was just the first of the lives that were lost—innocent lives—and their blood still stained his hands. He could never wash them enough to erase the stain. Nothing could take away the guilt he lived with every fucking day.

  Nikko muttered a foul curse and spun away from the wall, triggering the lights. He squinted against the fluorescents and absently rubbed his thumb over the tattoo of his dog tags on the inside of his right bicep.

  The door opened as Willow called, “Nikko? Are you are in here? I saw the lights . . .”

  “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

  “Well . . . umm . . .”

  She fidgeted nervously, a prickle of unease needling at the back of his neck. “Where’s Ray?”

  “I just want to say, it wasn’t my idea. I told the boys you wouldn’t approve.”

  “Mother. Fuck,” he cursed, storming past her and wrenching the office door open. It slammed against the wall with an echoing bang as he beat feet down the hall.

  “Now, Nikko, don’t overreact,” Willow called, chasing after him.

  He entered the center of the gym and came to an abrupt halt. “What do you think you’re doing, Kill? Get my goddamn kid out of that cage!”

  “Hey, Dad!” Ray yelled, waving excitedly like she was trying to get his attention.

  Oh, he could see her, all right. His baby girl was in the cage with the two top welterweight contenders. What in the fuck were they thinking? He was going to kill them . . . Nikko charged over to the cage as Kill stood beside his daughter, giving Ray instructions as she nodded emphatically, concentrating hard on what he was saying. Nikko couldn’t hear a thing beyond the blood thundering in his ears.

  “What in the hell are you two doing?” he demanded. “Get her out of that cage!”

  “It’s all right, Dad. Regan and Kyle are teaching me some self-defense moves. It’s called hapkido. Watch.”

  Regan grabbed his little girl’s arm and Nikko saw red. He stormed toward the cage and was about to hop inside to pound the ever-loving hell out of him when Raven twisted her arm, breaking free of the hold, then grabbed Regan’s wrist, turning it counterclockwise and forcing the fighter to his knees.

  “See, Dad, I did it!” she cried, beaming a grin from ear to ear. Kill cheered her on like she’d won a title fight, telling her how badass she was, while Regan complimented her timing. “I can’t believe I took Regan ‘Rapscallion’ Matthews to the mat! This is the best day ever!”

  Raven’s excitement took some of the fuel out of his fire. He bit his lip to keep from saying something that would make him sound like a total buzzkill, but seeing his baby girl in the cage with these two fighters was not a pretty sight in any way, shape, or form. Nikko watched those two go at it on a daily basis and knew how lethal they could be. But, shit, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his little girl looking so animated and carefree or h
aving so much fun. And the guys were grinning like they were having a hell of a time teaching her how to kick some ass.

  “Damn, Del Toro, you should be proud of your girl. She’s a quick learner and has your speed. This kid would make one hell of a fighter someday.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t need you putting ideas in her head, nor do I appreciate you sticking my kid in the cage without talking to me first.”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t taught her yourself. A girl who looks like this needs to be able to defend herself, Del Toro.”

  Kill might have a point there, but it wasn’t one Nikko was too pleased to be hearing. Nor was he excited about having these guys introducing his daughter to the cage. Teaching Raven to take care of herself was his job, and he felt like he’d failed her enough as it was. He didn’t need to add this to the list.

  “I taught Willow hapkido,” Kill added proudly, grinding more salt in his wound. “You get in the cage with that girl and she’ll kick your ass. Ain’t that right, Will?” Kill called to his baby sister.

  Willow rolled her eyes. “I’m going to kick your ass, Kyle, if she gets hurt. Nikko left her in my care and then look at what you two do.”

  Nikko could play this one of two ways. He could rip into Matthews and Scott for crossing the line—good intentions or not—and look like a total dick to his daughter, which would also embarrass the shit out of her. Or he could suck it up and get into this cage with them and teach his little girl how to defend herself. Perhaps he could demonstrate a few moves on Kill and get in a little payback while he was at it.