Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4)

by Melynda Price

“You’ve always been there for me, haven’t you? Watching over me, protecting me, keeping me safe when I didn’t even know I needed to be afraid.”

  Back then he’d been able to lie to himself, convincing himself it was his duty as Kyle’s best friend to help him watch out for his little sister. But now that they were here, all pretenses stripped away, naked in every sense of the word, he confessed the truth he’d refused to admit, even to himself.

  “I think there’s a part of me that has always been in love with you, Willow, from the first moment I saw you hiding in the hallway, peeking around the bathroom door as your mother cleaned the cut on my lip with that damn peroxide concoction she used to put on everything.”

  Tears filled Willow’s eyes, and a half-laugh, half-sob sound escaped her throat. He didn’t want to make her sad, didn’t want her to cry, but he felt the need to tell her the truth, to unburden his secrets, even if it meant that with every word he was creating new ones he’d have to keep from Kyle.

  “That stuff was terrible. I remember that sting like it was yesterday. I still use it, you know. The pain comforts me now—reminds me of her. But what I remember the most from that night is trying not to let my eyes water as you stood there watching me, the expression on your face a mix between shock and bewilderment. Your mother was fighting back her own tears. She thought I was upset because of what that bastard had done to me, but I was used to it. What I wasn’t used to was someone giving a shit.”

  Tears escaped the corners of her eyes, following the line to her temple, where they disappeared into her hair. Giving her a smile, he reached up and dried the trail with his thumb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  “No.” She returned his smile and reached up, cupping his jaw in her delicate hand. “You didn’t.”

  His brow arched. Really?

  She laughed. “All right, you did, but not in a bad way. I love talking to you like this, about the way things used to be before . . .”

  Her voice trailed off. He knew what she was going to say: before the accident—before life as they all knew it came crashing down around them—before Regan’s world almost ceased to exist because Willow nearly died in that emergency room, bleeding out on a stretcher because of that fucker Sean Campoli.

  His gaze dropped to the scar across the base of her throat. He tried to make a point of never staring at it. Not because it detracted from her beauty—if anything it only made her more beautiful. It was a testament to her strength, her will to survive. But he knew she hated it. To her, that scar was a constant reminder of the horror she could never fully escape, a symbol of all she’d lost.

  Dipping his head, he reverently brushed his lips over the thin white line and felt the vibration of her breath catching. He kissed her there again, this time more firmly. She tensed beneath him but didn’t try to stop him. It was a gift beyond words, that she would let him touch her tragedy.

  More than anything, he wanted to take it all away, to bear this burden for her, and though they’d yet to discuss her decision to risk reopening old wounds to keep that bastard behind bars, the truth hung in the air between them.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered against her scar. “All of this, it’s going to be okay.”

  What was one more lie?

  He sounded so sure she could almost believe him. Would he still be saying those words if he knew about her visitor last night? How do you tell someone his father is dying? Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe it was something he should hear from his father, and she just needed to convince Regan to see him. Before she said anything, she’d talk to Kyle about it. He obviously knew more about what was going on than she did.

  Regan’s tongue teased over the tip of her breast, sending little darts of pleasure into her core. Gently he trapped the pebbled peak between his teeth and shot her a wicked grin. He was so handsome. She knew what he was doing—and it was working. He was distracting her from their conversation, which had taken an unexpectedly serious turn. Every one of her nerve endings was lighting up in a symphony of arousal, and Regan was the conductor of her pleasure, masterfully leading the orchestra of her body.

  Already he touched her as if he’d memorized every intimate detail, committing to memory every gasp, every moan, because he knew exactly how she liked to be touched, where she wanted his hands, his mouth.

  It was an advantage he had over her, because she’d yet to get the opportunity to explore his body. She wanted to touch him, to taste every muscular peak and plane, to give him the same pleasure he so effortlessly gave her, but her inexperience left her confidence lacking. She didn’t even know where to start. And when his hand slipped between her legs, his fingers gently parting her to tease the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, her thoughts and insecurities scattered.

  He glanced at the clock on her nightstand and sighed. “I need to get going soon. It’ll be dawn, and I don’t want to risk Kyle coming home early and finding my car in the driveway.”

  “That would be tough to explain. Thank you.”

  He gave her a cocky grin that woke the butterflies in her stomach. “For what? Willow, I should be the one thanking you. I swear I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

  “Not for that,” she laughed, giving him a playful shove. “Though that was pretty amazing. Thank you for agreeing to keep our secret. I know you hate lying and you don’t want to keep this from Kyle, but I really think it’s for the best right now. I want to focus on us, and I don’t see that happening if Kyle knows.”

  “I’ll give you some time, Willow. But eventually, I’m going to have to tell him. The longer we wait, the more pissed off he’s going to be.”

  “I know.”

  Regan began to pull away, and it was so hard to let him go. She watched him in silence as he began to dress, admiring the way his muscles rolled and flexed as he moved.

  “Regan . . .”

  He paused, one leg in his jeans, and lifted his head, eyes locking on her. “Yeah?” He finished stepping into his pants and pulled them up over his hips, fastening the button.

  “We’re not doing anything wrong. I don’t want to you to think I’m hiding this because I’m ashamed.”

  Regan tugged up his zipper and then snagged his T-shirt off the floor before he came over to the side of the bed and sat down. “I don’t think that, Willow. But I also don’t think anything good can come from keeping secrets. When I made the decision to come here tonight, it was with the intention that I would tell Kyle the truth.”

  She felt a twinge of guilt knifing in her chest from her own secrets—the one she was keeping from her brother and the one she was keeping from Regan about his father. Though she was doing it to protect him, would Regan see it that way if he knew? Would he even care? Selfishly, she didn’t want to risk ruining their perfect night together by dropping the bomb on him that his father was dying, but perhaps sparing him the truth right now wasn’t her decision to make.

  Willow rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Regan, there’s something I need to talk to you about, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “What is it? The Sean Campoli hearing?”

  “No, it’s something else.”

  A roguish grin tugged the corners of his mouth. “Well, this is about the best mood you’re going to get me in, so I’d say now’s the time to talk. What’s on your mind?”

  “What if I asked you to go see your father?” It probably wasn’t the smoothest way to broach the subject with him—but, then again, was there any good time to tell someone his father was dying?

  His brows drew tight, his scowl warning her she was touching a nerve. “I’d tell you to stay out of it.”

  Willow sighed. “Regan, he came to the house last night searching for you.”

  His expression turned from guarded to furious in a single heartbeat.

  “I think you need to talk to him.”

  “Fuck, not you too.�
�� Regan dragged his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to do this with you, Willow. We’re supposed to be talking about you, not me.”

  “Regan, your dad is dying.” She wasn’t sure what kind of response she was expecting from him, but something at all would have been nice. Instead, he kept right on talking as if she hadn’t said a word.

  “Look, Willow, I didn’t want to bring this up right now, and I don’t want to argue with you. But that trial nearly destroyed you the first time, and I don’t want to see you go through that again.”

  “Did you hear me, Regan? I said your father is dying.”

  “I heard you the first time.” The edge in his voice was undeniably sharp. “What do you want me to say, Willow? That I’m sorry? Because I’m not. That I’m surprised? Because I’m not.”

  “I don’t know. Say something.”

  “How about good riddance?”

  Okay, not that.

  “If he’s trying to contact me now to make up for lost time, it’s too late. I’m not interested in hearing anything he has to say.”

  “I think you need to talk to him, Regan, if for nothing more than closure.”

  “I tell you what. You drop the appeal, and I’ll go see my father. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  “Regan, I can’t do that. We’re talking about justice for my parents—for me. I can’t just let that go.”

  “You won’t be. Let them release the bastard. He’s a dead man walking.”

  “You would start a war with a man connected to the mob? Are you crazy?”

  “Do you think Campoli is just going to let you testify against his son again? The last time you were too high profile for him to touch you. I don’t think that’s going to be the case now, Willow.”

  “I have to do this, Regan,” she stubbornly told him. How could she make him understand that just the thought of that bastard going free after everything he’d done was like getting victimized all over again? Nothing would bring her parents back—she knew that. And it wouldn’t take away the memory of that man cutting her throat and leaving her trapped in the car to die. But knowing he was behind bars, paying for his crimes was the best closure she was going to get, and letting him out would open that horrific chapter all over again.

  “I hope you’ll reconsider. But no matter what you decide, I’ll stand by you, Willow.”

  “I know. The same goes for you. You’ve always got me in your corner—no matter what.” She turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. “You’re a good man, Regan Matthews. It’s one of the many reasons I love you.”

  Bending down, he pressed his lips against hers and whispered, “Boy, do I have you fooled.”

  She laughed at his attempt to lighten the mood. That was the thing about Regan. Whenever conversations got too serious, he was always quick to throw out a joke. It was one of his defense mechanisms, part of the mask he showed the world to convince everyone that everything was all right. He’d learned to wear it well growing up in that hell, but he couldn’t fool her. She saw through all his bravado bullshit.

  “Get some sleep, huh? I’ll see you later.” With one final kiss, Regan stood and pulled his shirt on as he headed toward the door.

  Chapter 16

  You sure ducked out fast last night. Saw you leaving with that hot brunette. Nice.” Kyle nodded in approval before throwing a fist into Regan’s side, making contact but pulling his punch before he could do any damage.

  Regan hadn’t left with her; he’d left at the same time as her, striking up a conversation on the way out the door, making it look like he was taking the woman home. He fucking hated being deceptive, and if it was up to him, he’d cop to it all right now, kiss his ass good-bye, and hope for the best.

  They were doing light-contact stuff, neither of them having the energy to go hard-core today. Regan hadn’t slept more than an hour or two once he’d gotten home, and Kyle looked hungover as shit. He had a big fucking hickey on the side of his neck, and Regan wouldn’t be surprised if the guy hadn’t gone to bed at all. Nothing above the neck meant no headgear or mouthguards, so they could talk as they sparred. Sensing where this conversation was headed, Regan was starting to regret not going full contact.

  “So, how was she? Did you ‘raps’ all over her scallion?”

  “You know what? That shit is getting old, dude. Stop sexing up my cage name.” He caught Kyle in the shoulder with a hook kick, nailing him harder than was sportsmanlike.

  “Since when the fuck did you grow a vagina? And that’s the only one I’m giving ya, just because I’m feelin’ generous.” Kyle pointed to his shoulder. “Getting your cock sucked will do that. You should try it sometime.”

  Regan rolled his eyes and almost laughed at the irony. “Maybe I will,” he shot back, but the dig wasn’t nearly as self-satisfying as he’d hoped. It made him feel like a fucking prick.

  “That’s the spirit.” Kyle threw a punch Regan easily blocked, and he threw a counterstrike Kyle deflected. They’d been sparring so long it was like a choreographed dance. They knew what the other was going to do before they even moved. Kick, block, punch, block. Offense. Defense. Counterstrike.

  “You left so early you missed all the action last night.”

  Regan stepped back, dodging a leg kick. “What action?” He used his backward momentum to step into a roundhouse kick that purposely missed Kyle’s face.

  “You mean you haven’t heard? What rock have you been hiding under?”

  “Heard what? What the hell happened?”

  “Seems you were right and that gorgeous redhead was there for Kruze. He took her up to his suite, and I guess they got into it. And not like you think. Kruze ended up throwing a fucking vase that ricocheted off the wall and cut his arm. Guess he was bleeding all over the place, did quite a bit of damage to that room. Coach had to take him to the ER and get stitched up. When they were there, Coach got a call that his brother had another stroke and fucking Easton got shot by his PT’s psycho ex.”

  “What? Easton was shot? Isn’t he in Vegas?”

  “He cut out on the party early and took a flight back to Wisconsin.”

  Regan didn’t block the jab quick enough and took a kidney shot. Fuuuck . . . He held out his hand for a time-out. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s going to live, but his shoulder’s shattered. May never fight again.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me? After everything he’s been through, overcoming a goddamn spinal injury, you’re tellin’ me his career might be over because of a bum shoulder? Holy shit, that guy’s got some horrible luck.”

  “You’re telling me. Coach and Kruze flew out as soon as Katie called him.”

  “Why did Kruze go?”

  “Besides being Easton’s best friend? Probably figured the guy might need a lawyer. Sounds like it got pretty nasty.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “If you ask me, it was smart of Kruze to get the hell out of here and away from that crazy-ass redhead.”

  “You mean that redhead over there?” Regan nodded toward the woman talking to Del Toro. She didn’t look pleased. In fact, the longer that guy spoke to her, the more pissed off she appeared. He said something, and her hand came back to take a crack at him, but he caught her wrist before her palm could connect with his face.

  Kyle chuckled. “Looks like Del Toro’s laying on the charm.”

  The two exchanged more words that couldn’t be heard from the cage. When she turned to leave, Del Toro snagged her wrist again, halting her retreat. He said something that wiped that snarky sneer off her beautiful face. Regan didn’t know what this woman had going on with Kruze, but she’d do well to stay the fuck away from Del Toro. That guy was a loose cannon just waiting to go off.

  As they stood there like the peanut gallery watching the redhead storm out, Willow came rushing in. At the sight of her, Regan’s heart kicked inside his chest. The quickening of his pulse, the way his body automatically responded to her, was like pure basic instinct. Her b
eautiful blue eyes didn’t even stray toward the cage as she rushed by.

  “She’s really pissed at me,” Kyle commented, grabbing a towel off the mat and drying the sweat off his face.

  “You talk to her yet?”

  “Nah, I haven’t been home. Figured I’d give her time to cool off first. You?”

  “You told me not to. Said to stay out of it, remember?” he replied without answering the question and trying his damnedest not to outright lie to his friend. Before Kyle could look at him, he turned and snagged his own towel off the mat and scrubbed it over his face. “We done here?”

  “Yeah, I’m not feeling it today.”

  “S’pose not. You get any sleep at all last night?”

  Kyle shot him a shark’s grin. “Not a fucking wink.”

  Willow blew a chunk of hair out of her eye as she balanced on the top step of a three-foot ladder. She had a paint cup in one hand and a brush in the other, stretching on her tiptoes to cut in the seam between the wall and the ceiling. She was tired of waiting for help. Her room had been a shambles for the last week and a half, and this morning she’d stubbed her toe on her dresser. Enough was enough—she’d paint the blasted thing herself.

  Regan was supposed to help her last weekend, but they’d both been so busy at the gym, getting ready for Aiden’s fight. Regan and Kyle were now temporarily co-managing Miller MMA in Marcus’s absence until he could get someone to take over his duties. Rumor had it that Dean White, the president of the CFA, was going to step in and help Marcus run the gym while he was away. Dean and Marcus were old friends, and Miller MMA was a CFA-sponsored gym, so it made sense. She was trying not to feel bad that her aspirations to become Marcus’s assistant had all but crashed and burned. Dean would bring over his own assistant when he moved into the spare office.

  Marcus’s CFA team wasn’t large, especially now with Cole in Wisconsin and Aiden in Manhattan. Apparently, that feisty redhead had caught up with him in Somerset. Turned out she wasn’t a cage-banger after all, but a private investigator hired by Aiden’s family to bring him back to New York for some family business. And just this morning Nikko had gotten a call from Aiden asking for his help dealing with some sort of a problem. So Nikko had taken off on the first flight out of here, leaving just Regan and Kyle to keep things running in the interim. The gym was a hub for MMA hopefuls and pulled in a lot of cash. It was imperative things continued running smoothly while Coach was gone.