She didn’t realize they were stopped until the cars passing by began rocking the SUV. Aiden’s amber stare was locked on her, his expression giving nothing away as to what was going on in his mind. But she was seconds from losing it. She rushed to say her piece before she dissolved into a sobbing mess. “Your mother hired me to find you and bring you back to New York. I didn’t know Moralli was behind this. I’m sorry . . .” The last part was lost as she finally broke down, mourning for the loss of her father and the illusion of a hero he never was. She resented the mess he left behind, and the helpless situation she was now stuck in with Vincent Moralli. She regretted like hell the mistakes she’d made with Aiden and for ruining what could have been the best thing in her life.
It took her several minutes to realize she was caged in the strength of arms. Her fists were gripping the lapels of his suit as she soaked his black silk shirt with her tears. Her forehead rested against the solid plane of his chest. Each shuddering breath dragged his scent deeper into her lungs until it seemed his very essence infused her soul, giving her his calming strength.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “Sweetheart, don’t cry. We’re going to figure this out. I promise. Just trust me . . . Can you do that?”
She nodded against his chest, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. His head dipped and his lips brushed against her cheek . . . her forehead . . . When they grazed her temple she winced and Aiden growled a nasty oath. His hands cupped her face, tipping it up for inspection. His brows drew tight in a pinched scowl as his fingers slipped into the hair at her temple, carefully probing.
Ouch!
She shrank back from his touch, but he persisted, gently parting her hair for a closer look. His scowl deepened. “You’re hurt. What in the hell happened, Ryann?”
Wow . . . and she’d thought he looked angry before. There was Aiden mad at her, and then there was Aiden mad at the world. The severity in him was like night and day.
“How did you get hurt?”
Suddenly, his hands were all over her—in her hair, checking her scalp for any other bumps or bruises, feeling along the back of her neck, the sides of her throat, his thumbs tracing the curvature of her clavicles. He touched her with the deft efficiency of a fighter who’d performed more than one quick exam on an injured partner.
“Aiden, stop. I’m fine,” she said, reaching up to grab his wrist before his hands-on inspection could go past her shoulders. It didn’t matter that he didn’t intend for it to happen, his touch was turning her on, and this was not the time to get those emotions involved.
“Who did this to you?” he demanded.
“The man Moralli called Frank. He came to my house last night. I opened the door when he knocked. I thought . . . I thought he was you.” She shrugged. “He wasn’t. I tried to run upstairs to get my father’s gun, but he caught my ankle and I fell. I hit my head on the stairs. That was the last thing I remember until Vincent came to the room they locked me in and questioned me about you and my dad.”
“Fuck . . .”
Yeah, that pretty much summed it up, all right.
“You sure you’re okay? Head injuries can be serious.”
“I’m fine. The spot is tender and I have a headache, but it’s manageable. I’d just really like to go home. It’s been an exhausting day.”
“I’m taking you home so you can pack your bags. It’s not safe for you to stay there, Ryann. You’re coming back with me. My place isn’t impenetrable, but it’s a hell of a lot safer than where you’re living right now.”
“Wow, you make the offer sound so romantic. How can a girl refuse?” It was a pitiful attempt at humor, but it was all she had to give.
Aiden did his part by giving her a lopsided grin and shrugging. “What can I say, I am Disco Kruze. I do have a way with the ladies.”
A bubble of laughter burst out at his comeback, and, man, did she need that. It gave her hope she didn’t have thirty minutes ago, and a sense that although their situation looked pretty hopeless right now, they were in this together and they were going to get through this—together.
“Wow . . . Aiden, the view from here is amazing! You can see Ellis Island!” Ryann’s voice echoed through the penthouse. The open floor plan made the already spacious place feel huge. From where she stood in the living room, she could see the kitchen, the dining room, the foyer and the hallway that led to his office, the bathroom, and three bedrooms. The last room was a master suite he’d converted into a gym. Which, knowing Aiden, actually didn’t surprise her at all.
After giving her a brief tour, he deposited her bags in the spare bedroom across from his. She wasn’t expecting him to try to move her into his room and told herself not to let it sting that he hadn’t offered. She liked the idea of having her own space, but she liked the idea of spending her nights in Aiden’s bed even more.
She wasn’t naïve enough to think that one heartfelt confession of love blurted in the middle of an emotional breakdown was going to repair the damage done to his trust. She’d have to earn that, and although she was innocent of much, she was guilty of plenty, and Aiden wasn’t the kind of man that was ruled by his heart. He was intellectual and calculated in both his thoughts and his actions. He wasn’t a man to give his feelings a vote. Though she had no doubt that he cared for her, he was a master at building walls, and she feared the progress she’d made during their journey to New York had been completely undone by Moralli—just one more thing that bastard had taken from her . . .
After showing her around, he headed to his room, shedding his suit on the way as if he couldn’t get out of the thing quick enough. She wouldn’t think about how gorgeous he looked in that charcoal-gray pinstripe with the black silk shirt. That he’d left his piercings in added an element of badass to the contradictions that were Aiden Kruze. She loved his complexity, she loved his depth—she loved . . . him.
Sighing, she turned away from the wall of glass and did another slow take of his home. Plush rugs broke up the dark marble flooring that appeared to be variegated shades of maroon and black. The place was sparsely yet elegantly decorated. It was nothing like she pictured Aiden’s home would be. She found herself smiling as she thought of the first time she’d seen him at the gym. If someone would have told her then that this place belonged to that man, she never would have believed it.
The cool feel of the place didn’t surprise her, or the lack of personal effects. In fact, she’d yet to find so much as a degree on the wall or a photo on a shelf. The most personal thing she could find was the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lining one of the living room walls, opposite the stone wall fireplace. Slowly, she made her way to the mahogany case and ran her finger along the wooden shelves as she scanned the titles. Most of them were law books, but then she found the shelf she was looking for—his leisure reading. The Catcher in the Rye, by J. D. Salinger. She pulled the book from the shelf and turned it over. Interesting . . .
She slid the book back into its home and pulled out the one beside it. East of Eden, by John Steinbeck. Deep and dark . . . she wasn’t surprised this would appeal to him. Ryann replaced the classic novel and pulled out a third. The Art of War, by Sun Tzu . . . Hmm . . . “Conflict is an inevitable part of life, but everything necessary to deal with conflict wisely, honorably, and victoriously, is already present within us.”
“Ryann . . . ?”
She startled at the sound of Aiden’s voice, much closer than she was expecting. How long had he been standing there watching her? She hadn’t even heard him approach.
“Cripes, you scared the crap out of me!” she exclaimed, putting the book back before turning to face him. Now she knew what had taken him so long. He was freshly showered, the dampness in his hair turning the dark spiky strands black. The gray graphic T he wore was threadbare and had a faded yellow Batman emblem across the chest. It was so classic male and yet it had such a boyish charm, she bit the inside of her lip
to hold back her grin.
What was not boyish, however, was the way said T-shirt clung to all those chiseled contours and hard muscles. That was all man—100 percent pure male fighter, to be exact—and Ryann found it difficult not to stare. It was such a sharp contrast to the couple-thousand-dollar suit he’d had on less than an hour ago. His loose-leg black sweats hung low on his hips, the bottom hem brushing over the tops of his bare feet.
Ryann couldn’t decide which was hotter, the suited-up lawyer or the dressed-down fighter. One thing was for certain: Aiden couldn’t look more out of place in his own home if he tried. She felt like she needed to get dressed up just to sit on the couch. Perhaps the transparency of her thoughts was a bit too obvious, because Aiden gave her a crooked grin and said, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’ll get used to it.”
What? She stared at him a moment, dumbstruck. And then her brain reengaged and she started laughing. “Oh, you mean the penthouse. Yeah, it is . . . impressive.”
The wicked grin he gave her sent a rush of heat into all her feminine places. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“Never you mind. Your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.” She tried to move past him, planning to get unpacked and then head into his office to try and get some work done, but Aiden caught her arm before she could get away and gently dragged her back to stand in front of him.
“My ego isn’t what I want you stroking.”
Butterflies battered around inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe as his amber gaze raked over her. Under the scrutiny of his gaze she felt naked and exposed, both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of him, not after the day she’d had. A part of her wanted to throw herself at him like a shameless wanton, while another part wanted to run for the hills and try to protect the last vestiges of her raw, exposed heart.
Aiden dipped his head, coming close enough she could smell his spicy, masculine scent. The olfactory foreplay teased her senses, heightening all the others—the feel of his touch on her arm, the husky sound of his voice, ignited a slow burn of desire, making her core ache to be filled. She knew how good it could be, knew how easily he could make her come apart for him. Yet, something was holding her back. Fear? Self-preservation? She didn’t know. All she knew was that everything between them had changed. And if she gave herself to Aiden again, there would be no holding back and this man would own her—body and soul. She wasn’t ready to give him that kind of power, especially when she wasn’t sure he was capable of giving it in return. Not if he couldn’t fully trust her.
Perhaps he sensed her hesitation. Maybe he had reservations of his own, because he didn’t give her a chance to respond before releasing her arm and heading down the hall. A moment later, the door shut behind him, and she heard the dull, rhythmic thud of the heavy bag start up.
CHAPTER
29
Aiden always did his best thinking with his fists, and he was counting on this time being no different. Fff-fff . . . fff-fff . . . He concentrated on his breathing as he let his fists fly, connecting with his bag in one-two combos, high kick, low kick, spinning backfist. He ignored the persistent ache in his shoulder and laid into another round of striking. It was just one more thing he didn’t need to deal with right now.
One goddamn day . . . That was how long he had before stepping back into the cage. He knew nothing about his opponent or fighting in the underground circuit, except there weren’t a lot of rules. It was no-holds-barred shit, and if he got caught fighting unsanctioned, his career with the Cage Fighting Association was going to be over. Fuuuck . . . How in the hell was he going to prepare for a fight so quickly? When the answer came to him, he forcibly dismissed it and tabled that problem to move onto another.
Ryann . . . Just the thought of her made his chest cramp. Despite everything Ryann had been through today, she was holding herself together remarkably well. The fighter in him recognized a kindred spirit when he saw it, connecting them on a level that quite honestly scared the shit out of him. He wasn’t someone ruled by his will or his emotions, yet since Ryann burst into his life, he felt like he’d been stuck on one never-ending emotional roller coaster.
She was his number one priority—his first and foremost concern. Bottom line: Despite how bad it looked, Aiden believed she was telling him the truth. Her dad hadn’t been the man she’d thought, and to learn the truth—that he’d been working for the Mafia—had to have been a devastating blow to take. Aiden remembered how shitty he’d felt when he discovered how deep his own father was in with Moralli, and that Bennett expected Aiden to take over his client base as he pursued his career in politics.
Aiden had no idea what Ryann’s father had done to piss Vincent off so royally, but the consequences had been severe. Keeping Ryann safe and away from Moralli wasn’t going to be easy, and neither was taking Vincent Moralli down. But make no mistake, that bastard was going to pay. That arrogant son of a bitch had finally fucked with the wrong guy, and Aiden would be damned if he was going to spend the rest of his life constantly watching over his shoulder.
No, this was going to end—for his and for Ryann’s sake. She deserved a shot at happiness, a chance at having the life she wanted. Whether or not that included him in it, they’d have to figure that out later, he guessed. But right now, the question was how in the hell he was going to accomplish watching over Ryann, prepare for a fight, and still figure out how to destroy Moralli.
When the answer returned, as persistent as before, Aiden muttered a nasty curse and slammed his fist into the heavy bag.
“Hey, man, how’s our little cage banger?”
“Real funny, asshole. How’s your ribs?”
“Not too bad. So where the fuck are you? Sparring these pansies is boring as hell.” Metal weights clanked loudly in the background and someone yelled “Fuck off, Nikko.” But he kept on talking. “I was starting to wonder if Gingersnap didn’t pull some Silence of the Lambs shit on you. You know, ‘It puts the lotion on its skin.’ ”
Despite himself, Aiden laughed. What in the hell was he thinking? It wasn’t too late to change his mind and say sayonara to this prick, but as much as Aiden hated to admit it, he needed Nikko Del Toro. They hadn’t known each other very long, but in the months Easton had been out on medical, they’d become sparring partners. Aiden figured he knew the guy about as good as that surly bastard let anyone know him, so yeah, they were friends—he guessed.
“Listen, I’m in Manhattan and I really could use your help.”
Silence.
Ah hell . . . “You there, man? Fuck, I knew this was a mis—”
“What kind of help are we talkin’ about?”
All trace of humor was gone from the fighter’s voice. With the flip of a switch, Nikko could turn stone-cold, emotionless—ruthless. Aiden had witnessed it more than once and been on the receiving end of it in the cage when shit got too real. But he’d never asked and he didn’t judge. Sure, he’d heard the rumors, the talk going on behind the fighter’s back, and a whole lot of speculation about how he got those scars, but Aiden had stayed clear of it.
“The kind of help only you can give me, I suspect.”
“What the hell is it you think I do, man?”
Aiden could hear the tension in the fighter’s voice, the defensive edge a sharp, warning growl to tread lightly. Fuck it . . . in for a dime, in for a dollar, right? “MARSOC stuff.”
Nikko snarled an oath and Aiden tensed, preparing to get an earful. “First of all, I ain’t into that shit anymore. I left the Special Forces two years ago. Second of all, I don’t talk about MARSOC. You assholes do enough of it around here for me—”
“Hey, don’t you dare lump me in with that group of vaginas. Your shit is your shit, man, and I don’t need the deets. But Ryann is in trouble and I need your help. Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice, but you’re my sparring par
tner, so partner the fuck up.”
“Wait, hold up. What do you mean Ryann is in trouble?”
“I mean someone snagged her yesterday and I’m damn lucky I got her back. I’m about to go toe to toe with some really bad guys here. I can’t be with her all the time, and until this shit gets resolved, I don’t want her alone. I need you to come out to Manhattan and help me watch out for her. If these guys discover what I’m up to, shit is going to get ugly fast. Oh, and did I mention I’m fighting tomorrow night and I need someone I can trust to corner me?”
“The fuck you say? That shoulder of yours is in no condition to fight, and if you get caught brawling outside the CFA, you can kiss your career good-bye.”
Aiden closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t anything Nikko could say that he didn’t already know. “My shoulder will hold. And I don’t have a choice. These guys are the real deal, man. Told me they’d kill her if I don’t fight, and I have zero doubt that bastard would carry through.”
“What the fuck are you still doing in New York, man? This is crazy. Get her the hell out of there!”
“I can’t. It isn’t that easy. My family is involved, and this is the goddamn mob we’re talking about, man. If I screw this guy over, he won’t quit until he finds her and me. We’ll constantly be looking over our shoulders, and I’m not running. This shit stops here. I’m going to take that bastard down. But until I do, I have to play his game by his rules, which means I fight. I can’t do this if I’m worried about her. I need you to help me keep Ryann safe. But here’s the thing—if she finds out you’re here watching out for her she’s going to be furious. Right now, she’s agreed to stay with me until this is over, so try to keep a low profile, huh?”
Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) Page 24