As he approached, the fighter plucked an earbud free, letting it dangle around his neck. His camp filled the room, sitting against the opposite wall, solidarity in silence. Every fighter had his thing. This was Kruze’s, and they all respected that. Only person missing was Coach, and Regan had no doubt the guy would be walking through the door any minute.
“I need you to do me a favor.” Disco’s eerie amber eyes locked on Regan, holding steady.
“What is it, man?” Everyone knew it was bad juju to deny a fighter a request before he stepped into the cage, and that shit was not going to be on him.
Kruze kept his voice low. “That redhead shows tonight, I want you to go sit with her. Keep her company and make sure none of these assholes hassles her. You know what I mean?”
“Ah, fuck . . . Isn’t there anyone else you can ask, man?” After his conversation with Willow in the parking lot today, how bad was it going to look when she showed up for the fight tonight and found him yukkin’ it up with that hot redhead Kyle had been talking about.
“No, man, it has to be you.”
“Why me?”
“Because Easton is going to be cornering me, and let’s face it, he’s no welcoming committee since he got back from Wisconsin. And you’re the only other guy I trust not to fucking hit on her—that’s why. Besides, you owe me.”
“Why do I owe you?”
“’Cuz I’m not telling your best friend that you’re fucking his baby sister, that’s why.”
“I’m not fucking Willow,” he growled, wondering just how much bad juju it was to punch a fighter in the fucking mouth before he stepped into the cage.
“Well, if you’re not, you will be soon enough. And you’re going to need someone to pull Kill off you when he finds out about it and kicks your ass.”
“You’re a dick, Kruze.”
“A dick who knows you’re gonna need someone in your corner, so I expect you to be in mine—we clear? I saw the way Del Toro was staring at her, and I don’t like it. Just keep her safe, talk to her, and keep her company till the fight’s over.”
Regan sighed. “All right. What’s her name?”
“Fuck if I know. That’s what I’m counting on you for.” Disco winked, socked him in the shoulder, then replaced his earbud and returned to his Zen pose—conversation over.
Chapter 12
Saw you talkin’ to that hot redhead before the fight,” Kyle’s voice rose over the band. He offered Regan a fist bump, then tipped back his rum and Coke. “You gonna ‘rap’ that up?”
First, those jokes weren’t nearly so funny now that he knew Willow was privy to them, and, second, Kyle would have to be fucking blind not to see that Kruze was all over that ginger. For crissake, he’d given her a front-row seat to his fight. That guy never invited cage-bangers to the VIP section—didn’t have to—not with all the pussy getting thrown at him. But there was something different about this girl.
“I knew you wanted her. Dude, I know you so well, it’s like I can read your fucking mind.”
God, I hope not. Regan took a sip of his beer, keeping it light this evening. He’d promised Willow he’d behave himself, and the best way to keep his nose clean was to keep his head clear. The cage-bangers were out for blood tonight. He hadn’t been there an hour, and he’d already gotten four numbers shoved into his pants. After the last one had grabbed his dick through the cloth lining of his pocket, he’d said enough of that shit and was swimming like hell to get away from those penis piranhas. He needed to stay sharp—duck and weave.
The after-party was getting packed—fans, the press, cage-bangers. The only person who wasn’t there was the star of the show. Where the fuck was Kruze? The sooner they got this party started and the press shot their pics, the sooner Regan could get the hell out of there.
“Apparently, you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do, ’cuz that chick is here for Disco. Where in the hell is he, anyway? We’ve already been here almost an hour.”
Kyle cased the room as he took another sip of his drink. “Hell if I know. I expected him to be here by—motherfucker!”
With the flip of a switch, Kyle went into “Kill” mode. His countenance locked down tight, and with a snarled curse, he slammed his drink down on the table and took off toward the door, shoving through the crowd. Regan’s gut did a twisty number when he spotted Kruze entering the party—a large box in one arm and Willow on the other. What. The. Fuck?
Willow wore a formfitting, low-cut top with lime-green lace over the black backdrop and an ass-hugging skirt with matching lime-green pumps that screamed look at me. Yeah, he was looking, and so was just about every other guy in the room. He could practically feel the testosterone spiking in the air. This was no place for Willow.
Regan watched as Kyle met them at the door. Words were exchanged, but he couldn’t hear them over the music and the chatter of the crowd. Camera lights flashed as Kruze strutted in, and that right there might have been the only thing saving his face from Kyle’s fist. The handoff was brief—Kruze’s grip on Willow’s arm was replaced by her brother’s as he turned them about and headed back toward Regan. He recognized that stubborn lift of her chin and the triumphant gleam of victory in her vibrant blue eyes. He should have known that if Willow had wanted to be at this party, she was going to be here. As overprotective as Kyle was, Willow was just as willfully defiant. In fact, Regan had been on the receiving end of that defiance more than once recently.
“Look who decided to join the party I forbade her to come to,” Kyle growled, coming to a stop next to Regan. Her brother threw his arm around her neck and pulled her into a half-headlock, half-hug.
She shot him a glower and tried to move away, but he gave her only enough freedom to stand beside him, refusing to remove his arm slung over her shoulder.
“Kyle’s right, Willow. This party isn’t the place for a lady. The later it gets and the more these guys drink, the worse it’s gonna get.”
Now he was the recipient of her scowl. “What’s the matter, boys? Am I cramping your style?” she asked, her voice saccharine-sweet.
“How the hell did you get in here, anyway?” Kyle demanded.
“I caught Aiden in the lobby, and he didn’t want me to come up here without an escort. I told you I had to go back to the gym and grab that box of Miller MMA T-shirts Marcus forgot in his office. That’s why I missed the fight.”
But Kyle wasn’t playing those games with his baby sister. “Perhaps if you hadn’t gone home to change first and do your hair and makeup, you wouldn’t have missed the fight.”
She smiled up at him and batted her lashes. “But then I would have missed the party,” she replied unapologetically, patting his chest like he was simple. “Since I’m already here, why don’t you be a good big brother and go get your sis something to drink?”
Of course he’d go. Kyle might be a hard-ass, but Willow had him wrapped tightly around her little finger. Not that Regan was one to judge—he was right there with the guy. Kyle exhaled a sigh and gruffly commanded, “Keep an eye on her,” before heading over to the bar.
Once alone, Regan folded his arms across his chest and cocked his brow. “You planned this all along, didn’t you? You never intended to miss this party.”
“I planned to come, just wasn’t sure how I’d get in. Guess luck was on my side.”
“Is it worth the wrath you’re gonna take for it?” He took a sip from his beer, trying like hell to play it cool and keep his shit together, because Willow wouldn’t take too kindly to him tossing her over his shoulder, Neanderthal-style, and hauling her gorgeous ass out of here. Kyle wasn’t the only one who wanted her far away from these fighters. It wasn’t their camp he was worried about. She was like the token sister to their team. It was all the other men from the CFA-sponsored camps that were making him on edge.
“Sure is.” She answered as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Willow’s gaze cut away from him and canvased the room. “Lot of beautiful women here,” she co
mmented.
“I haven’t noticed. Only one beautiful woman I’m concerned about.” That bought him a smile he felt all the way to his cock. “Tell you what I do notice . . . all the guys who can’t take their eyes off you and are just waiting for me to walk away so they can pounce. I mean it, Willow. It isn’t safe for you to be here.”
“Well, then”—she stepped closer, smiling up at him—“it’s a good thing I’ve got you to watch out for me.”
“Willow,” he warned, tensing and getting ready to take a step back.
“Relax. Kyle isn’t even watching us. He’s got some cage-banger cozied up to him at the bar. She’s on him like glue. He won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
Kyle might not be, but there were a lot of other people who were, and Regan did not want speculation about them hitting the rumor mill. “As soon as this press shoot and interview with ATC is over, I’m taking you home.” The paparazzi for Against the Cage magazine had approached Coach last week about coming to the party and doing an expo on Regan and Kyle—two welterweight fighters and best friends in contention for the same title. It was a story generating a lot of media buzz within the MMA circuit.
“Don’t you think that’s going to look suspicious?”
“Not if Kyle goes home with that blonde banger over there.”
They visited awhile longer, waiting for Kyle to return. Regan gave Willow an abridged version of the fight she’d missed, and she told him about her afternoon setting up for the after-party. He knew she was hoping Coach would hire her as his personal assistant, and in all honesty, the guy could use the help. Coach had his hands full with the gym, managing his fighters, and scouting out prospective talent. It was a full-time job, and since his niece had come for a visit and then promptly departed, the guy seemed crankier and more distracted than ever.
“Have you come right out and asked him for the job?”
“No, but I’ve hinted—a lot.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want you getting too comfortable here. Maybe he’s afraid you’ll stop pursuing your dreams.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But the thought of scrubbing down sweaty gym equipment for the next year while I’m getting my BSN doesn’t exactly excite me.”
Regan chuckled. “S’pose it wouldn’t excite me, either.”
“You never told me about ATC wanting to interview you. That’s kinda big news.”
He shrugged. “You never told me about Campoli’s parole or that you’d decided to appeal it.” It probably wasn’t the best time to bring that up, but there it was. “Guess an interview doesn’t feel quite so big with everything else going on right now.”
She studied him a moment, in a way that made everyone and everything in the room seem to disappear. “What is going on right now, Regan?”
That was a good fucking question. He wanted Willow, he wanted to be with her, and he missed her when he wasn’t. He just didn’t want to lose Kyle over it. He might have been able to convince himself that he could live with loving her from afar, if Willow hadn’t changed the rules of the game. But now that he’d tasted heaven, he wasn’t sure he could ever let it go.
“I think that’s what we need to figure out before things get out of hand again.”
“Here you go, Will, Dr. Pepper just for you,” Kyle said, coming up behind him and handing Willow her drink. “Just so you know, I’m taking you home after the ATC interview.”
“Regan already offered. Hmm . . . that’s a dilemma. Ride home with bully number one or bully number two.”
Kyle shot Regan a curious look.
“I saw you at the bar with the cage-banger,” he explained. “Figured you might be making after-party plans.”
“Like you’re not with that pocketful of phone numbers.”
He didn’t even have to glance in Willow’s direction to feel the blast of her you’re-fucking-kidding-me fury. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t let the panic lighting up his veins right now show on his face, because if he did, Kyle would know the truth he’d been fighting too damn hard to hide.
Before Regan could respond, Willow. Fucking. Blew.
“You know what? I don’t need either one of you jackasses taking me anywhere! I’m an adult, goddammit, even if you refuse to acknowledge it. I will take myself home, and you two can just stay here and enjoy your whores!”
She didn’t give him or Kyle a chance to say shit before slamming her glass down on a nearby table and storming away. “Willow, wait!” Regan started after her, but Kyle’s hand latched onto his arm, holding him back.
“Let her go, man. She’ll get over it. I told her I didn’t want her here. CFA parties are no place for her. It’s not safe, and we’ve got this fucking interview to do, so I can’t watch over her. And you know what? Once in a while, I just need a night to fuck off without constantly worrying about my responsibilities. I get it, man. You care about, Willow. She’s like a sister to you.”
No. No, she most definitely was not like a sister to him.
“But she’s my sister and you’re out of line getting involved. She’s not your problem and she’s not your responsibility, so stay out of it.”
It was a warning and a bitch-slap at the same time, putting Regan in his place, and he didn’t appreciate it one fucking bit. Leveling Kyle with a glare, he yanked his arm back and growled, “Maybe you should try letting go of the reins a little bit and treating her like an adult. She’s almost twenty-one years old.”
Kyle gave him the stare-down that had earned him his cage name. “Maybe you should mind your own goddamn business. I’ve raised that girl since she was fifteen fucking years old. That responsibility doesn’t just go away because of a number. I don’t give a fuck if she’s fifteen or twenty-five. That worry for her, the stress of trying to do right by that girl, doesn’t change overnight. I owe it to my parents, and I owe it to Willow to keep her safe. And if I fucking fail her—”
“I’m sorry, man.” Regan found himself apologizing and offering Kyle his hand. Maybe he was out of line. He knew what Willow meant to Kyle, the weight of responsibility, whether understandable or not, that his friend carried on his shoulders every single day. He also knew it was spawned by guilt—guilt he’d confessed to one night they’d gotten completely shit-faced shortly after his parents’ death. Kyle blamed himself, felt it had been his fault his parents had gotten in that accident in the first place. If they hadn’t been bringing him back to college . . .
Thought processes related to grief weren’t always logical, but that didn’t mean they weren’t real emotions that needed to be dealt with—real guilt, real regret. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re right. Your deal with Willow is your business, not mine.”
This was one prime example of why getting involved with Willow was a terrible fucking idea. If this was how Kyle reacted over some friendly advice, how would he respond if he found out Regan’s face had been buried between his sister’s legs the other night? God help him. He was a horrible fucking friend and an even worse human being. Who did that kind of shit with their best friend’s little sister? And what was worse, none of it made him want her any less.
Chapter 13
As Willow exited The Mirage, she kept her shoulders back and her head held high in defiance to the tears threatening to come. She couldn’t believe Regan had lied to her. Only a few hours ago, he’d stood in the parking lot at work and told her she had nothing to worry about, and now he had a pocketful of phone numbers? And that look of oh, shit that had flashed across his face, before he’d quickly and expertly masked it, confirmed his guilt. Guess the old adage was true and a leopard couldn’t change its spots.
As she entered the parking lot and got closer to her car, the disconcerting sensation of being watched that had plagued her earlier returned. After quickly looking around and finding nothing concerning, she dismissed the paranoid feeling once again. Maybe her panic attacks were coming back, and this prickly feeling was just the harbinger to the big one that would send her over the edge.
Even so, just to be sure, she had her Mace on a keychain clutched tightly in her hand. Kyle had bought it for her last Christmas and insisted it share the ring with her car keys and remote. Once inside her car, she locked the doors, started the engine, and took off for home.
She doubted Kyle would be back tonight, and considering the mood she was in, that was probably for the best. Aside from Regan, her brother was the last person she wanted to see right now. She loved him to death, but he could be such an overbearing, controlling prick sometimes. His saving grace was that she knew in her heart that he loved her more than anyone else on this earth, and he’d sacrificed everything for her. He believed every decision he made was in her best interest. Problem was he didn’t understand he was suffocating her. She needed a chance to live her own life and make her own mistakes. How else would she ever learn how to survive? She’d been so stifled and protected since the accident she feared she’d never make it in the world on her own. Instead of helping her as Kyle believed he was, he was hurting her. And the saddest part was she couldn’t tell him—not without crushing him and sounding like an ungrateful bitch. He’d never understand.
As she pulled into the driveway and parked the car, her phone chirped a message alert.
Kyle—of course. She refused to acknowledge her disappointment that it wasn’t someone else.
You home safe?
She exhaled a sigh. Dammit, it was hard to stay mad at him.
Yes.
Won’t be home tonight.
Didn’t expect you would be.
At least he never brought the cage-bangers here. Kyle was always careful to hide that part of his life from her, but she knew it was a part of the business, a part she hated.
Knowing groupies constantly threw themselves at Regan was like a knife twisting in her chest. She had no hope of competing with women who made men’s pleasure a pastime. Why would he want to deny himself that for an inexperienced waif who didn’t know the first thing about how to treat a man in bed?
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