Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3)

by Melynda Price

  “Apparently, not a very good one.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. By the sounds coming out of your room this morning, I’d say you were pretty freaking good.”

  Her jaw dropped, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. “I can’t believe you just said that.” Vi’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but there was no shame. What had happened between her and Nikko had been profound, and perfect beyond words. She wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

  Pen gave her a teasing grin and winked. “I can’t believe you’re such a dirty whore.”

  They both began laughing again as the double doors slid open and they stumbled through the entryway. “You sure you don’t want a wheelchair?”

  “No, I don’t want to draw any attention to myself.”

  “As opposed to what? This? We look like conjoined twins.”

  “Penelope?” The deep male voice halted their laughter and they both looked up to see Kyle Scott standing in front of them.

  Pen tensed, her dazzling smile instantly vanishing. Her friend certainly didn’t look very pleased to see him. Why not? “Hey, Kyle,” Vi offered, because someone had to say something.

  His vibrant blue gaze dropped to Pen’s foot. “What’d you do to your ankle?”

  “I twisted it,” she answered curtly.

  She nudged Vi to keep moving, but they didn’t make it farther than a few more steps before Pen went airborne, letting out a startled yelp. She turned to find Penelope cradled in the fighter’s arm. He was wearing a cocky grin, and she was looking seriously pissed off. What was up with her? It wasn’t like Pen to be so rude.

  “Put me down, Scott.”

  But Kyle didn’t seem fazed by Penelope’s bite, nor was he listening. “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle. It looks pretty bad.”

  “That’s what I told her,” Vi chimed in, following them inside as Kyle carried her up to the front desk.

  “What are you doing here?” Pen grouched as Vi signed her in. “Are you following me?”

  He gave her a surprised look. What was her problem? Why would she think Kyle was following her?

  “I had an MRI on my ACL,” he explained, his tone wary if not a little offended. “I think I should be asking you that question, seeing as you came in here after me.”

  “You all can have a seat,” the nurse told them. “We’ll be with you as soon as we can.”

  They turned and headed toward a row of chairs lining the wall of the waiting room. Kyle sat Pen down and said, “I should go.”

  “Yeah, you probably should.”

  “Pen!” Vi snapped, embarrassed for both of them. Seriously, that was rude. What in the hell was her problem?

  Kyle didn’t seem as shocked by her bitchiness as Vi was. He just gave her a whatever glance and turned to leave.

  “Thanks for your help, Kyle,” Vi called after him, trying to smooth over Pen’s nastiness. His hand shot up in a parting wave, but he didn’t bother to look back at either one of them. Once he exited the doors and there was zero chance of him hearing them, Vi turned on Pen and snapped, “What in the hell is your problem? I thought you liked Kyle.”

  “He’s a creep.” She stated it as a matter of fact.

  “Why? Because he helped you to a chair? You’re right, what a loser . . .”

  “No, because he won’t stop calling me.”

  This was the first time she’d heard actual fear enter her friend’s voice. “Really? Kyle doesn’t exactly seem like the stalker type.”

  “You said yourself he was into me.”

  “Yeah, but I never said he wanted to turn you into a lampshade. What’s he saying?”

  “Nothing. I haven’t answered. He just keeps calling, again and again . . .”

  “Then how do you know it’s him?”

  “Who else would it be, Vi? The day after I sleep with the guy I start getting all these calls. He’s the only new factor in this equation.”

  “I don’t know, Pen, that doesn’t seem like Kyle’s style. He doesn’t strike me as the kinda guy who has to badger women to go out with him. Tell me what happened.”

  “I missed a call on my phone when we were having breakfast after he left, and by the time I saw it I had, like, eight missed calls.”

  “Did he leave a message? Maybe he left his wallet on your bedroom floor or something.”

  “No message. But then the texts started. Why aren’t you answering me? Where are you? Who are you with? I’m telling you Vi, it’s freaking me the fuck out.”

  “I don’t blame you. Pen, this is serious. I just don’t think Kyle is your guy. No offense, but he’s not the first guy you’ve brought home for the night then blown off.”

  “No . . .” Pen shook her head. “The timing’s too much of a coincidence. It’s him.”

  “What about—”

  Vi’s cell started ringing, cutting off her thought. She dug her phone out of her purse and checked the caller ID. “I gotta get this.”

  Walking over to an empty spot near the window, Vi swiped her thumb over the screen, grinning like a teenager getting a call from the hot guy in high school. “Hi . . .”

  “Hey, Clover. Can’t stop thinking about you, baby.”

  “You can’t?” Butterflies went crazy in her stomach at the sound of that sexy voice rumbling against her ear.

  “Nah . . . I’m distracted as hell. I ate a swinging back fist about an hour ago that rocked me almost as hard as you did this morning.”

  She laughed. “Oh, no . . . Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Hey, listen, I’ve got a press conference later this afternoon, and then a dinner meeting with Coach and Dean tonight. I’m not sure how long it’s going to last, so I might be over a little late.”

  “Is everything all right? Do you know what the meeting is about?”

  “No. But I’m sure everything is fine. They probably want to get together and talk fight strategy and stuff. Easton was supposed to be there, but Katie still can’t shake that bug. How’s our angry patient doing?”

  “Pen? Grumpy and hungover. Kyle was here.”

  “Scott? What’s he doing there?”

  “He said he had an MRI on his knee.”

  “Hey, Del Toro! Quit your yapping and get your ass back in that cage!”

  “I gotta go, baby. Easton’s busting my balls.”

  “Well, tell him to take it easy. I got plans for them tonight.”

  She felt his low, throaty chuckle all the way to her toes. “Talk to ya later.”

  He disconnected the call, and she shoved her cell back into her purse. Vi was headed back over to Pen when it rang again. Barry . . . Speaking of creeps . . . This was the third time he’d called today, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to get back to him yet.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Vi. I’ve got your records.”

  “Already? Wow, that was fast.”

  “Well, anything for you, sweetheart.”

  Barf . . . “I’ll give you my fax number and you can send them to my office.”

  “Better yet, give me your address and I’ll bring them to you.”

  Shit, she should have seen this coming, should have known there’d be a catch to his generosity. “That’s not necessary, Barry. You don’t need to come to Las Vegas.”

  “Too late. I’m already on my way. Besides, I’m not faxing these records, Vi. There’s some sensitive shit in here.”

  “You read them!”

  “Of course I read them. I wanted to know what kind of patient you were treating that you couldn’t even get access to his file. Vi, do you have any idea how many people he’s killed? Including his own recon team?”

  What? There must be some kind of a mistake, some sort of explanation.

  “I’m telling you, this guy is dangerous. I don’t like the idea of you treating him.”

  “It isn’t your decision. When are you going to get here?”

  “About seven. What’s your address?”

  Oh, hell no. She was not about
to tell Barry where she lived. If he thought Nikko was dangerous now, just wait until the fighter walked in and found her ex sitting at the kitchen table with her.

  “I’ll meet you for supper,” she offered, making the sacrifice of having dinner together in hopes he wouldn’t press a more private meeting any further. “Picasso’s at seven thirty?”

  “It’s a date. I’ll see you then.”

  No, it wasn’t a date. She was about to hang up when he said, “Hey, Vi. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve really missed you, sweetheart.”

  Vi tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at her gut. She told herself for the hundredth time she was doing this for Nikko, that she had no choice. It was only dinner. She could suffer through two hours with her ex if it meant helping Nikko. Vi hated dishonesty, and she abhorred lying, though it was a fine line she walked tonight. Nikko would be furious if he knew where she was and what she was doing. But meeting Barry for dinner was for the greater good. Sometimes people had to do things they didn’t want to do in order to help the ones they loved.

  After what Barry had told her this afternoon, she was more convinced than ever she was doing the right thing. There had to be more to the story than Barry was telling her. Nikko wouldn’t kill his recon team. Something horrible must have happened, something he wouldn’t talk about, and she suspected that, whatever it was, Remmy was at the heart of it.

  Vi glanced at her watch. If Barry wasn’t twenty minutes early, he was late, so she expected him to come strolling in any minute. She asked the waitress to seat her with a view of the door so she could easily spot him. The last time they’d seen each other, she’d been sitting beside her lawyer. Never in a million years would she have believed they’d be having dinner together again. Just the thought of it made her nauseous. As if her thoughts had the power to conjure, in walked the devil himself.

  It didn’t take him long to spot her across the room. He flashed her one of those ten-thousand-dollar veneer smiles that was just as fake as the man wearing it. It was probably no coincidence he wore the suit she’d given him for his birthday two years ago. Looking at Barry now, Vi wondered how she’d once thought this man attractive. She couldn’t help comparing him to Nikko—a few inches shorter, Barry was thin and wiry, but what he lacked in stature he more than made up for in arrogance.

  “Wow, Vi, you look amazing,” he said, coming over to her. She suffered through his hug and gave him her cheek when he went in to kiss her. Revulsion swept through her. What in the hell was he doing? Did he think he could just pretend last year hadn’t happened? That he hadn’t humiliated her and ruined her life? Pretentious prick . . . But the man had something Vi wanted, and she’d play nice until she got it.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the compliment, awkwardly pulling away to settle back into her seat. “I appreciate your help getting these records.” Cool. Professional. Right to the point. “Do you have them?”

  Barry handed her a manila envelope, and she stuffed it into her purse. “I’m sorry you felt you had to come all the way out here.”

  “I wanted to see you,” he said, settling into the seat across from her. “Can I get you a drink? Perhaps a Chardonnay? You always loved a good dry white wine.”

  Yes, she had, and that wine was a good analogy of her marriage to Barry, colorless and dry. He hadn’t changed—cocky, arrogant, entitled . . . Everything about him put her off. Had she really spent so many months crying over this man, mourning her failed marriage? Sitting across from him now, she felt the insane urge to thank him. She was free, and the path his betrayal had set her on had led her to someplace so much better. It had brought her to Nikko—a gorgeous man who didn’t need to wear four-thousand-dollar suits to look good, a man whose mere presence dominated a room.

  Before she could answer, the waitress stopped by their table to take their drink order. “I’d like a Lambrusco please,” she said. Of course, Barry ordered a Chardonnay.

  He tilted his brow in surprise as the waitress walked away. “Never figured you for sweet and red.”

  “There was a lot you never figured me for.”

  He at least had the sense to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Vi. I don’t know how many times I can say it, or what more I can do to convince you. I’ve been trying to call you for months, but then, you know that, don’t you? I’ve left messages . . . Losing you was the greatest mistake of my life. If I could go back, I never would have done it.”

  “You mean you never would have gotten caught,” she snapped. He hadn’t changed. Men like Barry had their ego in their cock, and the size of the first did not directly correlate with the second. “There is nothing you can do or say that will get us back together. I’m sorry that you had to fly all the way here to hear that. Thank you for your help with the file.” She went to stand, but Barry reached across the table and snagged her wrist. His grip was surprisingly tight.

  “No, wait. Don’t go. That’s not the only reason I came.”

  Really? She arched her brow. More than anything, she hated being lied to. Which made her a big-ass hypocrite, because wasn’t that exactly what she was doing to Nikko right now by being here?—a lie of omission?

  “All right, well, that’s not the only reason I asked you here,” he conceded.

  The waitress passed by and set their glasses on the table. She was taking her first sip when he said, “Vi, the practice is in trouble. I want you to come back to New York and be my partner again.”

  What? There was no way in God’s green earth she was going back to New York. That he would even suggest it made her question his sanity. Before she could swallow her wine and tell him there was no chance in hell she would be returning to Manhattan with him, movement at the front door caught her eye, and it was at that moment she was sure God hated her. Either that or He had a wicked sense of humor, because in walked Nikko with Dean, Marcus, and a man she didn’t recognize.

  Vi gasped when she saw him, said a reflexive “Oh, shit,” and sucked the wine down her windpipe, launching into a coughing fit. How was this possible? Of all the restaurants in all of Vegas, they had to come to Picasso’s? Really? Barry shot up from the table, attracting even more attention, and came around behind her, unhelpfully patting her back as she gasped for air. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  She bristled at the endearment, shying away from his touch. If she could have spoken, she would have told him not to touch her, that he’d lost the right to call her sweetheart when he put his dick in his secretary. She couldn’t breathe. The Lambrusco blazed a trail of fire into her lungs. A few sets of eyes from the tables around them turned to her. But it was only one set she was worried about, and she could feel it the moment it landed on her. If she had any breath in her lungs, he would have taken it away.

  Panic gripped her. Her heart actually stopped before kicking into a rhythm that would not be sustaining to life for very long. Nikko said something to Dean, excusing himself from the group. Dean nodded, but his curious gaze followed as Nikko barreled toward her, looking every bit the pissed-off heavyweight MMA fighter.

  What the hell was Violet doing here and what the fuck was that guy doing touching her?

  Like an atomic bomb detonating inside his head, Nikko’s temper exploded, sending a concussive blast barreling through his chest, burning his veins to ash. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and yet here his girl was, having dinner with some suit who had his hands all over her. And she wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop him.

  Images of Celeste flashed through his mind—the lies, the deception, the betrayal . . . A lot of shit he’d thought he was past came bubbling to the surface. By the time he reached Violet, he was ready to kill, and wouldn’t it be his luck that Dean, Coach, and the CFA fight commissioner were right behind him.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Nikko growled, glaring daggers at the guy standing beside her.

  GQ startled, as if he hadn’t been aware before this moment that he was about to die.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nikko, kee
p your voice down,” Violet warned, recovering from her coughing fit as she shot an anxious glance past his shoulder to the men behind him.

  But he didn’t give a shit if the Dalai Lama was standing back there; this pencil dick was about to get snapped.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” she whispered.

  Yeah, he’d heard that one before. “It looks like you’re having dinner with some guy who has his hands on you.” Pinning his glare back on GQ, he demanded again, “I’m going to ask you one last time. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

  GQ scowled, resting his hand on Clover’s shoulder. That limb was going to be the first to go.

  “I’m her husband.”

  “Her what?” Nikko growled, stepping forward, his fists clenched.

  Violet leapt up, intercepting Nikko and wrapping her arms around his waist. From a distance it would look like she was giving him a hug, but make no mistake, she was holding him back.

  “Ex!” she rushed to add, losing ground when he took another step forward despite her effort to restrain him. “Nikko, this is Barry,” she said in a hushed whisper. “He just got into town. It’s not what you think, I swear. Please don’t make a scene here. Dean and Marcus are watching you from their table. Don’t do this . . . not after you’ve worked so hard to get where you are.”

  But her pleading fell on deaf ears. The only thing he could hear was the rushing of his blood pounding in his head. The stir of echoes mirroring Celeste’s lies . . . It’s not what you think. I can explain.

  “You’re Nikko Del Toro?” GQ asked, narrowing his brows. The guy looked like his name might mean something to him. “Jesus, Violet. This is the guy who . . .”

  His thought trailed off when she shot her ex a sharp look over her shoulder and shook her head.

  “I’m the guy who what?” he demanded. “What did you tell him about me?”

  “Nothing, Nikko. I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “Wait a minute . . .” GQ chimed in, a little slow on the uptake but catching on quick. “Violet, are you . . . ?” His face wrinkled in disgust. “Are you actually seeing this guy? Have you lost your mind?”