Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2)

by Melynda Price

  He dipped his head and planted a kiss on her mouth. She stifled a groan of complaint when all too soon, he let her go.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promised, walking out the door.

  Nikko gave her a passing nod as he strolled by. The door closed behind him and just like that, she was alone.

  Well, shit . . .

  Ryann returned to the living room and stood before the glass wall, taking in the Manhattan skyline as she endeavored to calm her jangling nerves. She had to trust that everything was going to be fine. Aiden was an amazing fighter. She knew that, she’d seen him fight before, and Nikko was in his corner. What could possibly go wrong?

  Needing the distraction, Ryann decided to try to get some work done. Since getting back into town, she hadn’t been to the office yet. She’d have to go tomorrow, but for now, she could at least catch up on her e-mails and get a jump-start on Aiden’s next dossier.

  With a plan in place for the evening, the distraction helped calm her restless anxiety, and a couple glasses of wine wouldn’t hurt, either. After changing into her comfy pajamas and pouring herself some Moscato, Ryann dragged the coffee table closer and set up camp in the chair facing the skyline. Deciding to tackle her e-mails first, she began sorting through them by first deleting her spam. As she clicked through the masses, a message titled Condolences caught her eye. She didn’t recognize the name of the sender, but curiosity prompted her to open the e-mail.

  Dear Ms. Andrews,

  Please accept my heartfelt condolences on the loss of your father. I regret it has taken me so long to contact you, but I have just recently learned of his passing. We have never met, but I am an old friend of your dad’s. I have something he wanted me to give you in the event of his death, and I would like to schedule a meeting at your earliest convenience.

  Sincerely,

  Henry

  Ryann’s heart hammered in her chest. Was this man serious? Did he truly have something from her father, or was this a ploy of some kind? The vagueness of the e-mail piqued her suspicion, yet hope and curiosity fueled her excitement. What could this man possibly have to give her? Perhaps he held answers to the questions about her father’s death.

  She checked the date on the message and saw it was sent three days ago. There was no return phone number, no last name; no way to contact the man other than to reply. It felt a little cloak-and-dagger to her, but after what she’d discovered about her father’s secret life, maybe it wasn’t so out there. She wouldn’t go to the meeting alone. Aiden would want to come with her, and Nikko would no doubt insist on going. She would be safe. Decided, Ryann replied to the e-mail and arranged a meeting for the next afternoon.

  “How you feelin’?” Nikko asked, wrapping the white fighter’s tape around Aiden’s knuckles. He circled it around three times, building up a good pad before crisscrossing it up Aiden’s wrist.

  “Good.” Aiden was trying to focus, to block out the noise of the crowd in the underground arena—the screaming, the cheers, the booing. There were six fights on the docket for tonight, and Aiden’s was the main event. Broden Hayes, the guy Aiden was standing in for, must be one hell of a fighter to pull in the purse Aiden was fighting for tonight. A bet laid was a bet paid, and Moralli wasn’t letting anyone sideline their bets.

  As he watched Del Toro wrap his hands with practiced efficiency, he felt frustrated that he was having trouble getting into his zone. The change in atmosphere, the stakes, it all kept him from finding his edge. Thoughts of Ryann distracted him, the confrontation with his father unnerved him, guilt over betraying his family assaulted him. Anger seethed through his veins like a toxic poison, rage building inside him like a pressure cooker. How he wished it was Moralli in that cage tonight. Or Frank Luciana . . . what he wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with that fucker.

  “Your shoulder still giving you trouble?” Del Toro briefly glanced at him before getting back to business, slipping the wrap through his splayed fingers and circling back around his wrist before repeating the process between each digit.

  “It’s fine. A little stiff, but it’ll hold.”

  Del Toro secured the Velcro at his wrist and stood. “How’s that feel?”

  “It’s good.” He knocked his fists together. “Tight.”

  “You got this.”

  “I know.” In truth, Aiden was looking forward to expending some pent-up energy. The idea of beating the shit out of someone sounded pretty good right about now. What ate at him was the fact that Moralli was going to make a shit-ton of money off him doing it. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to throw the fucking fight. But that bastard knew him well, and he’d paid Aiden a little visit just a few minutes ago, adding the caveat Win or Ryann dies to ensure his investment paid off.

  “Remember to keep the fight on your feet. End it quick. You’re not here to entertain, you’re here to win. Get in and get out. The longer you let this play out, the more likely you’ll take damage.”

  Aiden nodded, finally feeling that familiar heat of adrenaline coursing through his veins as his body and mind prepared to step into the cage. Knocking sounded on the door, and a gruff voice barked, “You’re up.”

  Aiden stood, taking a deep breath, and held it, forcing all thoughts from his mind except the next thirty minutes. Single-minded purpose came over him, and with it cold, hard determination.

  “You ready?” Del Toro asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER

  34

  Stepping into the Lion’s Den was like entering chaos. The noise was deafening. The underground arena was built as a small-scale replica of the Roman-style coliseum. As Aiden and Nikko walked through the concrete tunnel leading toward the center ring, Aiden felt Del Toro’s tension radiating off him like a live wire. Aiden shot his friend a quick glance.

  Nikko was locked down tighter than a drum. His jaw was clenched, and hard lines of tension blanched the scar running down his cheek. The steel gray of his eyes darkened to slate in the shadows of the tunnel. A niggling of unease piqued Aiden’s awareness. He’d seen this look before—that far off, “physically here but mentally somewhere else” glower that hinted at the fine razor’s-edge of control his friend walked.

  It was what made the other CFA fighters wary of him, what spawned all the talk and speculation as to what the hell had happened to give this guy such a hair trigger. Whatever it was, now couldn’t be a worse time for it to make an appearance.

  “Hey.” Aiden stopped and grabbed Del Toro’s arm, turning his friend to face him. “You all right, man?” His voice echoed through the concrete dome. He probably shouldn’t have touched the guy, because Nikko’s reaction was reflexive. He yanked his arm out of Aiden’s grip but thankfully he had the clarity not to launch on the offensive.

  “I’ll be fine once I get out of this fucking rat-hole tunnel,” he growled.

  Fair enough. Aiden held up his hands in surrender and proceeded to follow his friend down the concrete tube. Everyone had their demons, and Del Toro sure as hell had his share, but when push came to shove, Aiden wouldn’t want anyone else in his corner.

  True to the guy’s word, as they exited the tunnel, the tension ebbed from Nikko’s face. That determined focus returned, once again centering solely on Aiden and this fight. As they made their way to the ring, Del Toro glanced left, then right, at the tiers of people surrounding them. “Fuck, I feel like they should have dressed you in gladiator get-up and put a sword in your hand. Can you get a load of this shit?”

  Aiden chuckled. “It is a bit theatrical, huh?”

  “I’d say. That Moralli?”

  Del Toro canted his head toward the elevated imperial box. The platform had stairs on each side and was raised above the podium on a dais supported by four columns. It was obvious Vincent had gone to great lengths to replicate t
he Roman stadium, and judging by the looks of the fighter KO’d on the mat, he had a feeling the battles that took place here would be just as brutal.

  New York was the only state in the country where MMA was illegal. In 1997 the acting governor labeled the sport “barbaric” and urged state legislators to outlaw it. Since then, the UCL, or Underground Combat League, had promoted twenty-three cards in and around Manhattan. There were no weight classes between divisions here, and the UCL’s “anything goes” branding would be put to the test here tonight.

  “That’s him,” Aiden growled, glaring up at the bastard who sat in one of the two front seats, watching with bored interest as the ref dragged a bloody, unconscious fighter from the cage. Moralli’s arrogant air of untouchability grated Aiden’s nerves, making him want to charge up those steps and pummel the shit out of him.

  Soon . . . Soon this son of a bitch would get what was coming to him. Until then, Aiden would play the game and do his damnedest to stay above suspicion.

  “You ever see anything like this before, Disco?” Del Toro asked, grabbing each of Aiden’s hands and taking one last look at his wraps. Satisfied, he pulled a roll of fighter’s tape from his pocket and began wrapping it over the Velcro to keep it from coming loose during the fight. This would be the first time Aiden had ever fought in just wraps, and he wondered how well they’d hold up.

  “Nope. You?”

  “In the corps. We used to bare-knuckle it all the time. It was kind of a rite of passage for all who went recon. Then again, we did a lot of crazy shit I wouldn’t advise.”

  This was the first time Nikko had ever voluntarily mentioned the Marine Corps. Aiden wondered if he’d done it to distract him from the chaos mounting around them. The natives were getting restless, yelling and jeering at the ref to hurry up as the guy attempted to mop the blood off the soiled mat, but succeeded in just smearing it around.

  “Underground fighting is big in this city, and assholes like Moralli are making money hand over fist. Because MMA is illegal here, there is zero competition with sanctioned fighting. They’ve cornered the market.”

  “I meant what I said earlier,” Del Toro said, ripping a strip of tape from the roll. “You got this. Just keep your guard up and go for the KO.”

  It was good advice and the last he’d get as Aiden knocked fists with Nikko and stepped into the cage, ready to get this over with and anxious to get home to Ryann.

  At the sound of the lock disengaging, Ryann put her laptop aside and leapt up. By the time she reached the foyer, Aiden was coming inside. Relief flooded her veins in a surge of emotion that lifted an invisible weight from her shoulders. She could finally breathe again.

  “Aiden!” She rushed toward him, perhaps with a bit too much zeal, because he bit out a low, pained groan when she threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” When she tried to pull back, his arm slipped around her waist, hugging her tight.

  “He fucked up his shoulder,” Nikko offered, closing the door and stepping past them.

  “It’s fine,” Aiden interjected, shooting his friend a thanks for ratting me out glower. “I’m fine,” he told her, cupping her jaw and tipping her face so he could look into her eyes. That he’d yet to move his right arm wasn’t lost on her. “I just need a hot shower, that’s all.”

  “What happened? How did the fight go?”

  “He was fucking amazing!” Nikko answered from the dining room. “Just like I knew he would be. Paskel didn’t stand a chance. KO’d him in the first round with a right hook.”

  Since her MMA crash course with Nikko this afternoon, she knew that meant Aiden had knocked Paskel out in the first round. The right hook punch allowed the fighter to use the momentum of his whole body, throwing torque and momentum into the blow, making it one of the most popular and effective knockout punches used in MMA.

  “That’s how you hurt your shoulder?”

  “No, he injured his shoulder in the Vegas fight. This just pissed it off more,” Nikko offered. Aiden shot his friend a shut up scowl. A worried frown pulled her brows tight; she hadn’t realized he’d gotten injured during that fight.

  “Come with me.” Taking Aiden’s uninjured arm, she led him through the dining room and toward his bedroom.

  Nikko chuckled as they passed by. “Looks like you’re in good hands, Disco. Since I’m officially off duty, I think I’m gonna head out and explore Manhattan a bit. See ya in the morning, Gingersnap.”

  “Good night, Nikko,” she called behind her.

  Ryann didn’t let go of Aiden’s hand until they were in his bathroom and standing beside the Jacuzzi. She bent over the side and turned on the water, testing the temperature with her wrist. “Wait here,” she told him, returning a moment later with a small bag of essential oils. She sat on the tile ledge of the tub and unzipped the pouch. After sorting through the vials, she found the one she wanted and poured several drops into the water.

  “What are you doing?”

  She could hear the fatigue in his voice, but the husky undertone of desire was unmistakable. “It’s lavender. It will help you relax.”

  When she turned toward him and lifted the hem of his T-shirt, he quirked his brow, giving her a skeptical, lopsided grin. “You’re not going to make me smell like a girl, are you?”

  Ryann laughed as she tugged his shirt over his head, taking care with his right shoulder. “Maybe a little. But it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

  Aiden watched her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. The fatigue etched in his face was quickly disappearing. She dropped his T-shirt on the ground, and her gaze swept over his sculpted chest, down the rigid muscles of his torso. Lower still, she could see the outline of his erection straining against the cloth of his sweats, the waistband riding low on his lean hips.

  Aiden hissed, a breath sucked in through clenched teeth. “Fuck, Ryann, you gotta stop lookin’ at me like that, or . . .”

  She mentally reprimanded herself for the detour her thoughts were taking. She knew where that destination led, and although she really wanted to go there, this wasn’t about her. Aiden had fought for her tonight. And she wanted to show him how much that meant to her. How much she supported him. How much she loved him.

  He grabbed for her, but she scooted out of reach before he could get ahold of her. “Just be patient,” she teased.

  “Baby, I’ve got so much testosterone pumping through my system right now, all I can think about is working it out on you.”

  The flutter of heat licking at her core burst into a full blown inferno at his confession. This was the first time he called her baby that she didn’t want to punch him. Gone was that carefree, flippant pet name. This was an endearing plea for mercy that melted her heart.

  Focus! Ryann stood behind him, hoping he’d be easier to resist from the back than the front. She slipped her thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and worked them over his hips. She was wrong. Oh, so very wrong. The wide span of Aiden’s shoulders began the V down his muscular back to the most spectacular ass she’d ever seen.

  As the silky material dragged down his legs, he let out a throaty growl. “If your goal here is sadistic torture, I’d say you’re spot fucking on.”

  Her laughter rang out, and she forced herself back on task. She stepped around him, studiously keeping her eyes averted from his front, and turned off the faucet. As she touched the button for the jets, the motor beneath the tub started to life and the water became a turbulent rush of inviting chaos. Fragrant steam rose from the tub, an earthy floral fauna filling the air.

  “The water even smells like you . . .” he groaned.

  “Go on, get in,” she instructed.

  Keeping her back to him, she tried to block out the throaty masculine sounds coming from the tub as Aiden sank into the hot whirlpool. Not wanting to get her only pair of pajama pants
wet, Ryann slipped them off and took her time folding them before placing them on the towel rack. She brought a towel back with her. Wearing a maroon tank top and shell-pink panties, Ryann knelt on the plush terry-cloth towel and began soaping a loofah. “Come here,” she said, motioning him closer.

  Aiden scooted in front of where she knelt and presented her with his back. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  “I know. I want to.”

  “You’re going to spoil me,” he groaned, when she began running the sudsy sponge over his shoulders and up the back of his thick, corded neck. Her hand dipped beneath the water to follow the path of his spine.

  “You deserve it,” she whispered beside his ear.

  Aiden lifted his hand out of the water and threaded his wet fingers into her hair, holding her there as he turned his head and captured her lips. His mouth plundered hers, his kiss so erotically delicious and hungry. She was awash in the taste of him, defenseless to resist the skill with which he drove her senseless. In a sudden move she wasn’t expecting, Aiden turned and grabbed her, pulling her into the tub with him. Water splashed over the side as she landed in his lap.

  He laughed at her startled yelp, ignoring her protests as he proceeded to remove her soaked tank top. “I’m trying to take care of you, and you’re not cooperating,” she complained half-heartedly.

  “You are taking care of me,” he growled, nipping playfully at her throat. “My way . . .”

  He ignored her playful objections, ripping the thin elastic straps of her panties, and lifted her to straddle his lap. If his shoulder was hurting him, he wasn’t babying it now. When he set her down, he entered her with a well-timed thrust, seating himself against her core. Her pleasured cry was mingled with his lustful growl as his hands dropped to her hips and began working her up and down the hard length of his cock.

  “Fuck, Ryann . . . I’d fight every day if it meant coming home to this.”