Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a giver . . .”

  “You’re an incorrigible flirt, is what you are.”

  “Says the girl who isn’t wearing any panties.”

  “Well played, Mr. Del Toro.” She winked, stepping out of his embrace as the little patter of feet came bounding down the hall.

  “Uncle Nik! Is Ray coming for supper, too?”

  Who was Ray? One of Nikko’s friends?

  “Not this time, squirt.” Nikko swooped the little girl into his arms and spun her around until she squealed with delight.

  “Stop spinning her, Nik!” his sister called down the hall from inside the bathroom where she must have been supervising the getting-washed-up-for-supper routine. A moment later, Amelia came tearing out of the bathroom. “My turn, my turn,” she called, ignoring her mother’s warning to Nikko. His sister was hot on her heels, drying her hands on a towel.

  “Don’t you dare do it, Nik!”

  But they both ignored her warning, and soon Amelia was flying through the air.

  His sister’s scowl was replaced by a tender smile as she watched the two twirl around the room. “They never listen to me,” she told Vi, shaking her head. “We’ll see who’s laughing when she pukes all over him.”

  Nikko’s sister crossed the room and held out her hand. “You must be Violet. My name is Valerie, this jackass’s little sister. You already met my two girls?”

  “I did. They’re beautiful. How old are they?”

  “Three and seven.”

  Vi was right, Amelia was just little for her age. “It’s very nice to meet all of you.”

  “You, too. I just about had a heart attack when Nik called this afternoon and told us he wanted to bring someone over for supper.” Leaning closer, she gave Vi a conspiratorial grin and said, “It must be really serious between you two. He’s never brought anyone home before.”

  Before Vi could respond, Valerie grabbed her arm and led her into the dining room. “Come on, let’s get you a glass of wine. I know I could sure use one.”

  “So tell us, how did you two meet?” Valerie asked between bites of paella.

  Nikko hadn’t been kidding, the dish was delicious. The rice blend and spicy kick reminded Vi of Cajun cooking. They were all seated at the table. Valerie and Carmella were across from her and Nikko. Addy and Amelia sat on the ends. Now that his sister had thrown out the question, they all seemed to be wondering; every eye was fixed on her—including Nikko’s.

  Why wasn’t he telling the story? It was his family. She met his stare, silently asking him that. His brow arched in a Go ahead, tell them, unless you want me to . . . response.

  No. No, she did not. Heat rose to her cheeks and she broke his stare, focusing her attention on her plate as she responded. “We umm . . . sat together on a flight from New York to Vegas.”

  “What?” Valerie busted out laughing.

  Vi failed to see the humor.

  “You sat next to Nik—on an airplane—and you actually still like him?”

  She’d done a hell of a lot more than that, but she wasn’t about to tell that part of the story. Vi went back to eating her dinner. As long as she kept her mouth full, she might not have to answer any more questions about her and Nikko.

  “Shit, Nik, if she can put up with you in the air, you oughta marry this girl.”

  Vi nearly choked on her rice. She grabbed her glass of Merlot to take a sip and clear her throat, then kept on chugging until the goblet was empty. She relished the warmth filling her stomach, spreading to her fingers and toes. When she set the glass back down, Nikko gave her a funny look.

  “You all right there?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh . . .”

  “Need a refill?”

  “Uh-huh . . .”

  As Nikko poured more wine into her glass, Valerie kept talking, either oblivious to Vi’s mounting discomfort or uncaring. “I flew home with Nik after they released him from Walter Reed, and I was pretty sure I didn’t even like him anymore.”

  Walter Reed . . . ? She’d heard of that place. It was the largest military medical hospital in the United Sates. So that’s where they must have sent Nikko after he’d been injured. Did his sister know what had happened to him? If so, maybe she could provide Vi with some of the answers she was so desperate to discover.

  “Oh, come on, Val. I’m not that bad,” Nikko grumbled, reaching for his own glass and hitting it hard.

  Ha . . . misery loves company. “You are a little cranky when you fly,” Vi teased him, bumping his leg with her knee and flashing him a grin.

  The wine must be strong, because she was already starting to feel tingly with a belly full of it, or maybe that was hope warming her heart at the thought of finally getting some answers.

  Nikko’s gaze locked on her, his top lip twitching, not quite making it into a smile. “It’s a good thing you know how to cheer me up, then.”

  Oh, he was not going there . . . Her cheeks burned hotter, and she was pretty sure she was going to dissolve into a pile of ash right here on the chair. She grabbed for her glass, shooting him a warning glare.

  “If you found a way to cheer up this grump, you have to tell me your secret, because I am definitely trying it the next time I get on a plane with him.”

  Vi swallowed wrong as she tried holding back her laughter and began coughing. She set her glass down and grabbed her napkin to cover her face. Oh, mercy, this conversation was not happening . . .

  “Come on, Valerie,” Nikko snapped. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  His sister was laughing, too, clearly enjoying the opportunity to harass her older brother.

  “Wasn’t that bad? Nik, you made the poor stewardess cry.”

  “Well, for crying out loud, how many times did I have to tell her I didn’t want a soda?”

  “That’s her job!” Valerie exclaimed.

  Nikko’s expression made them all laugh, looking both unamused and annoyed at the good-natured ribbing.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation,” Vi contributed, “I was the one crying this time.”

  “Nik made you cry?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I didn’t do it; she was already crying.” Then, under his breath, he murmured for her ears only, “But I did make her scream . . .”

  He’d done it! She couldn’t believe he’d actually gone there! Vi gasped in mock outrage and kicked him under the table.

  “Ouch . . .” Nikko flinched, rapping his knee against the table. He laughed at his private joke, though it wasn’t nearly as funny now that it was at her expense. It drew his mother’s and Valerie’s attention, and their silence descended, leaving his throaty chuckle the only sound in the room. They both stared at him in shock—as if they’d never heard the guy laugh before.

  It wasn’t a frequent occurrence, but Nikko had a wickedly funny sense of humor, albeit buried deep beneath that broody exterior. She’d gotten the opportunity to glimpse it a time or two. It was one of the things she loved the most about him.

  “What’d you do that for?” he teased, his grin trained solely on her, seeming completely unaware he’d just silenced the room with that beautiful smile.

  “You know exactly why I did it,” she sassed him playfully, forcing her attention back to his family rather than the flirtatious rogue sitting beside her. Vi was surprised to see tears glistening in his mother’s eyes. “Carmella? Are you all right?”

  “Excuse me,” his mother said, hastily jumping up from her chair. “I’m going to go check on the dessert.”

  As she rushed out, Nikko cursed under his breath and stood. “Mom, wait,” he said, following after her. Feeling the weight of Valerie’s stare, Vi turned to her and said, “I’m sorry if I said anything to upset her.”

  “It’s not you,” she assured Vi. “Well, actually, it is, but in a good way,” she rushed to add. “Those are tears of happiness. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Nik smile or laugh. He’s like a different man. He’s . . . happy. I suspect we have yo
u to thank for that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” she said, reluctant to take the credit.

  “You don’t know how hard this has been for her. Letting her only son go to Afghanistan, especially after what happened to Dad. And then the man she got back was not the boy that left. Nik changed. He used to be fun loving, always smiling and laughing, but he came home so dark, and just . . . broken.”

  “Does he ever talk to you about what happened?”

  “No. You?”

  Vi shook her head. “I’ve tried, but it didn’t go well.”

  “In the beginning, so did we. After two years, we just sorta gave up hope of getting through to him. But seeing you two together, there’s something different about him. Some of his spark is back, and I can see glimpses of the old Nik.”

  Sitting here listening to Valerie share her concerns about Nikko convinced Vi, more than ever, that she was doing the right thing—even if she had to go behind his back to do it. Only in discovering the truth could she find the key to free him from the bondage of his past.

  Walter Reed Medical Center . . .”

  “Hi, this Dr. Violet Summers. Can you please transfer me to your medical records department?” This was Violet’s last hope before she broke down and called Barry. As she sat on hold, she offered up a quick prayer that the military hospital would be able or willing to help her. The hospital in Ramstein, Germany, had been another dead end. They claimed all Nikko’s records were sent with him when he’d been transferred to Walter Reed.

  After a series of clicks, someone came on the line. Violet explained who she was and that she was treating Nikko for PTSD and requested a copy of his medical records be sent to her office. She faxed his release of medical information waiver while the woman was looking up Nikko’s records.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, coming back on the line, “but his records are restricted to military personnel only. I can’t send them to you.”

  “But I’m his therapist. How can I properly treat him if I don’t know what happened to him?”

  “It says here that Mr. Del Toro was offered psychiatric services through the military and he declined them. Upon discharge, he signed a form stating he was aware that his records would not be available to civilian institutions. Again, Dr. Summers, I am sorry, but there really is nothing I can do. If he is in need of treatment, I suggest you transfer his care to a military-based facility.”

  As the woman disconnected the call, Vi’s hope deflated. This was it . . . After weeks of searching, she was finally out of options. She’d done everything in her power to get those records on her own. Someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to hide the details of Nikko’s service. Why? What secrets were they fighting so hard to keep?

  Exhaling a sigh, she dropped her cheaters on the desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. The thought of contacting Barry and asking him for a favor made her stomach churn. She’d been dodging his calls and knew he was angry with her for refusing to talk to him. The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to him. But what other choice did she have? He was the only person she knew with a connection to someone who worked for the Pentagon.

  She could do this for Nikko—for their future. He needed her far more than he even realized. Since their visit to his sister’s house, something had changed, deepened, in their relationship, and over the last few weeks they’d spent together, she’d come to the inevitable realization that she was falling for him—hard. She was hopelessly in love with this man, and losing her heart to someone she didn’t truly know scared the hell out of her.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate . . . She knew he liked heavy metal music and his coffee black. She knew he had a wonderful family who loved him dearly and were just as worried about him as she was. She knew he was an amazingly talented fighter because she’d begun YouTubing his past fights and was fan-girling for her boyfriend—hard core. She also knew how he liked to be touched in the bedroom, where he liked to be kissed, and his favorite ways to fuck.

  But there was a part of himself he refused to share with her—his demons. He kept them secreted away, buried deep in his subconscious until they refused to be denied their due. He didn’t know they visited her every night, taunting her with her failures as she watched them torture the man she loved. She was helpless to stop them as he writhed in sweat-drenched agony—his heart was racing, he was hyperventilating and caught in the unrelenting grip of his own personal hell.

  When they came for him, the only thing she could do was curl into his side and whisper reassurance, telling him she was there and everything was going to be all right as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. Eventually the demons would retreat, but not before they’d gutted him and gashed open her soul—night, after night, after night . . .

  Each morning, she felt like she’d gone to hell and back. Watching Nikko suffer was almost worse than enduring it herself. At least then she’d know what had happened and could begin battling against the darkness. As far as helping him went, Vi was on her own. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Nikko was fighting to protect her from his past just as hard as she was fighting to free him from it—and they were both failing miserably.

  She wasn’t being naïve, nor was she walking into this blind. She’d spent a lot of time this past week measuring the risks and considering the consequences if Nikko ever discovered what she was about to do. He wasn’t a man who gave his trust easily; once she broke it, would it ever be something they could recover from? As much as he’d kept from her, he’d also given her a great deal, opening a part of himself up to her and sharing his family. Problem was, she wanted all of him. He was trying—for her—and she loved him for that. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. As a therapist, she felt duty-bound to help him. As his girlfriend, she couldn’t fully commit to someone who was hiding secrets, especially not after Barry.

  Exhaling a defeated sigh, Vi picked up the phone and called the person she’d vowed she’d never speak to again.

  Wham! A roundhouse kick connected solidly with Nikko’s jaw. His head snapped to the side and stars burst behind his eyes. This kid was good. Tommy Thorson was no joke. Easton had trained him well—maybe a little too well. The dude was a beast. Give him some braids and a horn helmet and he’d look like he just stepped off a Viking ship. Nikko wasn’t used to his opponents outweighing him, but his new sparring partner had at least thirty pounds and two inches on him, and, at two twenty, Nikko was no lightweight. If he didn’t get his head in the game, Tommy was going to kick his ass.

  “Good shot, Thorson,” Easton praised his underling. “Now watch your guard. You might think you rocked Del Toro, but he’s going to be pissed after eating that kick. Get those hands—fuck!”

  Nikko quit listening after that. He shot for Tommy’s hips and took him to the ground. The guy went down hard, and it knocked the wind out of him, giving Nikko the ten-second advantage to take full guard. He punched him in the face a couple of times, just to remind him who he was playin’ with. When Tommy raised his arms to protect his face, Nikko grabbed his left wrist and forced it to the mat, wedging his elbow between Tommy’s ear and shoulder. He slid his free hand under the guy’s arm and locked his hand with his wrist. Wrenching up, he torqued Tommy’s shoulder until he felt the succinct tapping on his back.

  The Americana arm bar was one of his favorite submissions. He released his new partner and hopped to his feet, spitting out his mouth guard. That’s a wrap. It was almost six thirty and they’d been going strong since six this morning. Easton had him on a ball-busting schedule, and Nikko was spent. All he could think about right now was violet eyes, pale-blonde hair, and soft, lush lips.

  “You see that, Tommy? Ten seconds. That’s all it takes to go from the top to tap. Other than eating Thorson’s foot there, you’re looking pretty tight, Del Toro. At this point, Viper’s nothing but a stepping stone, then it’s on to August ‘The Reaper’ Grimm.”

  That was the first half-assed praise Easton had given him in the two
weeks they’d been training. He wasn’t expecting it, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to hear, especially coming from the guy who was going to be cornering him. “Thanks.”

  Nikko was rockin’ a killer headache, though. His jaw felt like it was out of place, and every muscle in his body was on fire. Lactic acid was burning through his veins, and he was going to be pissing myoglobin for the next twenty-four hours from all the punishment he’d put his body through today. He felt every fucking one of his thirty-two years, but he was damned if he’d give Easton the satisfaction of knowing it.

  “Nice kick, kid.” Nikko offered his hand to his partner and hiked him to his feet.

  “Thanks. Your Americana is a killer. Thought you were going to pop my shoulder,” he said, wincing as he gingerly tested his range of motion.

  “Submissions are my specialty. Anyone can KO an opponent, but outmaneuvering them, making them swallow their pride and submit to you, that’s way more rewarding.” Nikko turned and exited the cage, anxious to get out of here and go see Clover. He couldn’t wait to climb into a nice hot bath with her, just like they’d done every night for the past week, soaking away the aches and pains of his poor, abused muscles. Nikko had his gloves and mouth guard stowed and was about to enter the locker room for a quick shower to wash off the sweat when Easton stopped him.

  “We’re hitting Rush for a beer on the way home. You up for joining us?”

  No. But he couldn’t very well say that. Nikko wasn’t one to cave to peer pressure, but under the circumstances it’d be a bad move to shit on Easton’s olive branch. “Sounds good, man. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up.”

  Nikko grabbed his cell out of his duffle and shot off a quick text to Clover before stepping into the shower. Going to be a little late. Sorry. Frowning-face emoji.

  He rushed through his shower, anxious to get this over with so he could get back to her house. These last two weeks with her had been incredible. Violet Summers was every bit as amazing as he knew she would be—in bed and out. His mother and sister adored her, and he loved absolutely everything about her—from her sweet, gentle nature to her fiery spirit that rose up whenever her temper was piqued. Violet may be soft-spoken and easygoing, but that woman was by no means a doormat.