“I found him,” she announced, forgoing a greeting.
“And?” Madeline responded impatiently.
“You were right. He isn’t going to cooperate. Send me the package.”
Ryann rattled off the address of the hotel she was staying at and hung up. Shaking her head in disgust, she rode the elevator to the main floor lobby, hoping she didn’t look like the whore she felt.
Damn Aiden Kruze and his witch of a mother. Because of those two, she was about to commit her first felony.
CHAPTER
5
That lying, manipulative bitch! His gut had been right. Ryann wasn’t a cage banger after all—she was worse! And he was the fucking idiot who almost slept with her. Rage tore through his veins like a firestorm. Spinning away from the door, he grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on and hurled it across the room. The vase of flowers shattered against the wall, sending glass shrapnel ricocheting back at him. A shard sliced into his arm.
“Fuck!”
He slapped his hand over the wound, but the blood oozed between his fingers, running down his arm. Shit, this was going to need stitches. Aiden reached over his shoulder and tugged his T-shirt off. He wrapped the stretchy cotton around his bicep and used his teeth to tie a knot, then fished his cell out of his pocket and dialed Marcus’s number. Flopping onto the couch, he raised his arm above his head, waiting while the phone rang.
“What’s wrong?” Coach demanded in way of a greeting.
“Who said anything was wrong?”
“I know you, Aiden, and if you’re calling me instead of being buried balls deep in some cage banger, something’s wrong.”
“Shit . . .” He sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. “She sent another one, Coach. This time it was a woman.”
Silence—then, “Oh, Jesus . . . Aiden, what did you do? The last one spent two weeks in the hospital.”
Yeah, he kinda felt bad about that, but he’d warned the man to keep his hands off him. Dammit, that woman just would not give it a rest. He was past the point of hoping she’d quit doing his father’s bidding. Did she have any idea how deep his father’s treachery ran? What he was involved in? He doubted it would matter at this point. The closer they got to the wedding, the more tenacious his bitch of a mother became. He wouldn’t put anything past her, or her hired whore.
“I, uhh . . . need a ride to the hospital. I’ve been drinking too much to drive myself.”
“What happened?”
“I cut my arm on a piece of glass.”
Marcus cursed under his breath, and Aiden could hear the click of a bedside lamp and the rustling of bed covers.
“How bad?”
“Bad enough that it needs stitches, but it’ll be fine.”
“All right, son. Hang tight and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
As Aiden paced the floor, waiting for Marcus to arrive, guilt assailed him when he thought of the argument he’d had with the old man a few days ago. He’d told Coach he wasn’t his father, but the truth of it was, that man had been a better dad to him than his own ladder-climbing, turncoat of a father had ever been. The only time that man had shown any interest in him was when it suited his agenda to do so.
He’d done everything for that man, trying to earn his love and respect. He’d become a lawyer because his father wanted him to. He’d taken over the family business because his father wanted him to. It didn’t matter what he did or how hard he tried, nothing could ever please that man. Now he wanted him to marry a woman he’d never met in some fucked-up twelfth-century archaic union. And that, my friend, was where he drew the line. Fuck you—sayonara—go to hell. That shit was not happening.
But of course, his father hadn’t listened to him. Instead, the asshole signed Aiden’s name to a marriage contract for a shitload of money being funneled into his father’s senatorial campaign—a marriage that was due to take place in, oh, about a week. Ha, good fucking luck with that. Aiden had zero interest in getting married—ever—let alone to a complete stranger. He was done doing his father’s bidding. He’d always known the guy was a shrewd businessman—he’d just never thought the bastard would sell his own son for a profit.
So fourteen months ago, when Aiden accidentally and luckily discovered what his father had done, he up and walked away from his rich-bitch life and moved out to Vegas to pursue his own dream of fighting in the CFA. Aiden had been brawling his whole life. He boxed throughout high school, and once he’d graduated and started attending Harvard, he moved into mixed martial arts. When he wasn’t buried in law books, he was training in the gym. He’d been fortunate to meet Cole Easton shortly after moving to Vegas. Cole had introduced him to Marcus, and the rest was history.
Cole and Aiden had hit it off, becoming fast friends and sparring partners until his recent injury. Del Toro was newer to the Cage Fighting Association and had stepped in as his partner to replace Easton. It was no secret Del Toro was having trouble adjusting to civilian life. No one knew the specific deets about what got him discharged from the military, and he wasn’t talking. But as far as sparring partners went, Aiden couldn’t complain. The guy was out of his weight class, but in truth, there weren’t a lot of fighters willing to pound with the guy for fun.
Life was good, his career was taking off, and he had all the pussy he wanted. And then, just like a bad fucking penny, his parents started showing up. Well, by proxy anyway, because heaven forbid they inconvenience themselves enough to deal with him directly. This latest stunt had topped them all, though. Seriously? Sending a woman to hunt him down? Like she could possibly accomplish what two full-grown men before her had failed to do. Did this woman think she possessed a magical vagina that would enslave him and turn him into her mindless minion? That after one dip in that tight, wet cunny, he’d drop to his knees, bow before the almighty vag, and follow her back to New York?—not fucking likely.
It didn’t matter that those few stolen minutes with Ryann tonight had been the hottest moments of his life. The way she’d kissed him, touched him, he’d sensed a wholesome, unpracticed honesty in her desire that caught him off guard, hitting him below the belt. For the briefest moment, he’d almost believed she wanted him, not Disco Stick Kruze the famed MMA fighter. He couldn’t explain it, but the way she felt in his arms and responded to his touch . . . No woman had ever affected him like that.
It’d come as a staggering blow when in minutes, that woman had driven him mindless with need. And then to discover just as quickly, it was all a lie . . . Fuck, he hadn’t been that furious since he’d uncovered his family’s plot to betray him. Even now, the memory of her kiss haunted him. Thinking of her body pressed so perfectly against his made him hard all over again. His balls ached with the need for release. He’d never felt breasts so soft, tasted lips so sweet, or touched a pussy so tight and wet . . .
Her scent still lingered on him, and despite himself, he occasionally drew a deep breath, relishing the rush of breathing her in all over again. He really should go shower, but damn, he wasn’t ready to part with her yet. As pathetic as that seemed and as pissed off as he was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who, for the first time in his life, had truly made him feel alive.
Huh . . . maybe she did have a magical vag, after all.
Ryann felt like shit. Perhaps it was the two hours of sleep she’d gotten last night, or the gnawing ache of unsatisfied need that had left her restless and cranky. She’d tried to take the edge off herself, but it was a poor substitute for Aiden’s touch. Or . . . maybe it was guilt over what she was about to do to him that rode her so hard. Perhaps it was a combination of the two, but whatever the reason, Ryann was pretty sure she’d hit an all-time low when she got out of bed this morning—until her phone rang with her daily countdown.
There was no point in ignoring the call that had become as predictable as the rising sun. He would just call again, and again, an
d again until she answered. It did no good to change her number. The calls always came in on her business number, and unless she wanted to put herself out of a job, she had to keep herself available for people to contact her.
Some days he was more courteous than others, but the message was always the same—pay up or else. Exhaling a sigh, Ryann disconnected the call and tossed her phone onto the bed before heading to the shower. A part of her wanted so badly to be mad at her father, to blame him for leaving her alone and putting her in this situation. But the anger just couldn’t come. She was too tired and it was buried beneath too much grief.
Years of suffering from the loss of her mother had eaten away at the man who had once been her hero—her rock. Axel Andrews had been an honorable man in whose footsteps she’d wanted to walk. It was why she’d become a private investigator and her father’s business partner. If she’d only known how easily her world would fall apart. She’d seen how quickly a life could unravel at the clipping of just one key thread—her mother had been that catalyst for her father, and Ryann often blamed herself for not doing more to help her dad. The changes had been subtle at first—the drinking, the gambling, the unaccounted business expenses. He’d hidden them well, and they’d been easy enough to ignore as she struggled to tread the waters of her own grief.
By the time she realized just how badly things had gotten, it was too late. Andrews Private Investigation Services was nearly bankrupt, and her father was drunk more than he was sober. In the last months prior to his death, he’d spent his days and most of his nights gambling at the Lion’s Den, one of a chain of clubs owned by Vincent Moralli. It was no secret Moralli was Mafia. While doing a missing-person investigation last year, she’d discovered he was also the proprietor of an illegal fighting circuit as well as being heavily involved with drugs and prostitution.
She’d reported her findings to the police back then, and she had never heard another word from them. So should she really have been surprised when she couldn’t get the police to look into her father’s death? She’d suspected at the time the police were being paid to turn a blind eye to Moralli’s dealings, and after being warned off by the officer last week, she was sure of it. Ryann had enough on her plate without painting a target on her back. A man as powerful as Moralli would be well connected and heavily protected.
The only thing whistle-blowing would accomplish at this point would be getting herself killed, which wasn’t entirely off the table. If she didn’t get Aiden delivered to his mother and collect her payment before Moralli’s deadline, death was a very real possibility—or worse. His enforcer made it clear they’d get their money out of her one way or another. She didn’t even want to consider what the other way could be.
So on that happy note, Ryann finished rinsing the suds from her hair. With renewed conviction—because facing off with Aiden Kruze was still the lesser of the two evils in this shit sandwich she called a life—Ryann stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around her hair and one around her body, she headed back to the bedroom to get dressed. As she passed the mirror above the bathroom sink, something caught the corner of her eye and she stopped. Turning her head, she studied the line of dark purple bruises lining her bicep.
Shit . . . She raised her arm, checking the underside, and found the fifth—a thumbprint. Did she really just think Aiden a lesser of anything? Sighing, she kept on walking. There was no denying it, she was royally fucked—and not in a good way.
When Ryann reached the downstairs lobby, she stopped at the courtesy desk to inform the attendant she was expecting a package to arrive. To her surprise, the man behind the counter reached down and retrieved a small, brown, paper-wrapped box. Her stomach knotted at the sight of it, her pulse quickening with anxiety. Saying a quick prayer for forgiveness, she thanked the man and grabbed the package, stuffing it into her purse before rushing out the door.
God help her, she was going to hell for this.
CHAPTER
6
You lost again, Gingersnap?”
If anyone could make an endearment sound derogatory, it was this man—of all the fucking luck. Ryann knew she was taking a chance showing back up at the gym, considering the whole “no girls allowed” thing. But when she’d gone back to the Mirage this morning to look for Aiden, the woman at the front desk had informed her he’d already checked out—in the middle of the night—which made zero sense. The chatty woman had gone on to confide in her that his room had sustained several thousand dollars’ worth of damages, and they’d had to hire a cleaning crew to remove bloodstains from the carpet and the furniture.
What the hell had he done? At the thought that he might have hurt himself, a band of guilt tightened around her chest. She needed to see him, to apologize for their misunderstanding and try one final time to reason with the man before he forced her to do something they’d both regret.
The fighter Aiden had called Del Toro turned from the heavy bag he’d been beating the shit out of and ambled over to her. He moved with a fighter’s powerful grace that reminded her a lot of Aiden. The fight-or-flight instinct kicking adrenaline into her bloodstream was telling her to run. She forced herself to stay, holding her ground. But when the fighter finally stopped, he was much too close for comfort—so close she could smell that salty tang of clean male sweat and feel the heat radiating off his body like an inferno.
Propping his forearm on the doorway, he leaned closer and inhaled deeply. Was he . . . smelling her? Ryann took a reflexive step back, and the man smiled—if that was what you’d call that flash of straight white teeth. Again, the thought hit her that this man might be handsome, but her self-preservation instincts prevented her from seeing past his scars or those silver-gray eyes that effectively hid any and all emotion, making him look more animal than man.
Clearing her throat, she notched her chin in defiance to her railing nerve and forced the air from her lungs to speak. “I’m looking for Aiden. Is he here?”
“Nope. Disco left town last night.”
He what? “Do you know where he went?”
“If I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you, but you’re not the first cage banger to come chasing after that one.”
Cage banger? This guy thinks . . . that I . . . that we . . . God, how embarrassing . . .
“Disco doesn’t do long-term. Save yourself a lot of trouble and go find another cock to rock, huh?”
Okay, now she was pissed. Ryann crossed her arms over her chest, holding her ground and raised a brow defiantly. “And I suppose you’re offering, is that it?”
The man actually smiled, a hint of humor lighting his eyes that, on closer inspection, held little flecks of silver and sapphire. She’d been right, he was handsome. Not in the in-your-face, panty-dropping way Aiden was, but in a very rough, primal, testosterone-charged way. This man exuded masculine prowess like she couldn’t believe.
“Sorry, babe, I don’t do clingy any more than Disco does, though I have always had a thing for redheads.”
“You’re a pig.” The rebuttal was out of her mouth before she had a chance to call it back or consider the wisdom of baiting a man twice her size.
He laughed. The asshole actually laughed!
“You keep sweet-talking me, and I might just reconsider. With a mouth like that, I bet you could suck some c—”
She reacted. Instantaneous and reflexive, Ryann swung for his face. But the man was fast, catching her arm before her palm could connect with his cheek. He’d been baiting her this whole time, she realized, when the anger she’d expected to shadow his face didn’t come. Why was he testing her?
Before she could think too hard on it, the fighter’s eyes dropped to her bicep. All humor left his face as he stretched out her arm and rotated her wrist. “Did Disco do this to you?” The fighter’s deep voice took on a gravelly edge that sent the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickling.
“Why would you think he did?” Was she wrong about Aiden? Did he make a habit of taking his temper out on woman?
“Because I saw you leave with him last night, and because he spent two hours in the ER this morning before hopping on a fucking plane. What in the hell went down between you two?”
She couldn’t tell if he was angry at her or for her.
“Listen, Ryann, let’s cut the shit, huh? I know you’re not what you appear to be. Tell me what you want with Disco and I might consider telling you where he is.”
For real? This guy knew her name, too? Good thing she hadn’t told that magpie Regan anything more personal about herself. Ryann considered the fighter’s request and calculated the risk of how much to say in good faith that he’d give her the answers she was looking for. After all, she was a PI. She could find Aiden on her own—problem was she was running out of time. The sooner she found him and dealt with this mess, the better.
“I was sent here to give him a message from his family. I just want to talk to him.”
“You didn’t speak last night?” Then he laughed at the absurdity of his own question. “Of course you didn’t—it’s Disco we’re talking about.”
Her cheeks heated with embarrassment at the fighter’s assumption, and just how close he’d come to guessing the truth. Oh, they’d spoken all right—eventually. “So will you tell me where he is?”
He studied her another minute, seeming contemplative.
“Somerset, Wisconsin, that’s all I know. He left with Coach early this morning. When you see him, tell him I said that’s for the busted rib.”
Seriously? She was Aiden’s punishment? Resisting the urge to stomp her foot and tell this guy what an asshole he was, she painted a false smile on her face and sweetly said, “Thank you. I’m sorry to take up your time.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, but when she turned to leave, he called after her. “Hey, Ryann?”
Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Page 5