Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (33 page)

Before she could answer, the waitress stopped by their table to take their drink order. “I’d like a Lambrusco please,” she said. Of course, Barry ordered a Chardonnay.

He tilted his brow in surprise as the waitress walked away. “Never figured you for sweet and red.”

“There was a lot you never figured me for.”

He at least had the sense to look contrite. “I’m sorry, Vi. I don’t know how many times I can say it, or what more I can do to convince you. I’ve been trying to call you for months, but then, you know that, don’t you? I’ve left messages . . . Losing you was the greatest mistake of my life. If I could go back, I never would have done it.”

“You mean you never would have gotten caught,” she snapped. He hadn’t changed. Men like Barry had their ego in their cock, and the size of the first did not directly correlate with the second. “There is nothing you can do or say that will get us back together. I’m sorry that you had to fly all the way here to hear that. Thank you for your help with the file.” She went to stand, but Barry reached across the table and snagged her wrist. His grip was surprisingly tight.

“No, wait. Don’t go. That’s not the only reason I came.”

Really?
She arched her brow. More than anything, she hated being lied to. Which made her a big-ass hypocrite, because wasn’t that exactly what she was doing to Nikko right now by being here?—a lie of omission?

“All right, well, that’s not the
only
reason I asked you here,” he conceded.

The waitress passed by and set their glasses on the table. She was taking her first sip when he said, “Vi, the practice is in trouble. I want you to come back to New York and be my partner again.”

What? There was no way in God’s green earth she was going back to New York. That he would even suggest it made her question his sanity. Before she could swallow her wine and tell him there was no chance in hell she would be returning to Manhattan with him, movement at the front door caught her eye, and it was at that moment she was sure God hated her. Either that or He had a wicked sense of humor, because in walked Nikko with Dean, Marcus, and a man she didn’t recognize.

Vi gasped when she saw him, said a reflexive “Oh, shit,” and sucked the wine down her windpipe, launching into a coughing fit. How was this possible? Of all the restaurants in all of Vegas, they had to come to Picasso’s? Really? Barry shot up from the table, attracting even more attention, and came around behind her, unhelpfully patting her back as she gasped for air. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

She bristled at the endearment, shying away from his touch. If she could have spoken, she would have told him not to touch her, that he’d lost the right to call her sweetheart when he put his dick in his secretary. She couldn’t breathe. The Lambrusco blazed a trail of fire into her lungs. A few sets of eyes from the tables around them turned to her. But it was only one set she was worried about, and she could feel it the moment it landed on her. If she had any breath in her lungs, he would have taken it away.

Panic gripped her. Her heart actually stopped before kicking into a rhythm that would not be sustaining to life for very long. Nikko said something to Dean, excusing himself from the group. Dean nodded, but his curious gaze followed as Nikko barreled toward her, looking every bit the pissed-off heavyweight MMA fighter.

W
hat the hell was Violet doing here and what the
fuck
was that guy doing touching her?

Like an atomic bomb detonating inside his head, Nikko’s temper exploded, sending a concussive blast barreling through his chest, burning his veins to ash. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and yet here his girl was, having dinner with some suit who had his hands all over her. And she wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop him.

Images of Celeste flashed through his mind—the lies, the deception, the betrayal . . . A lot of shit he’d thought he was past came bubbling to the surface. By the time he reached Violet, he was ready to kill, and wouldn’t it be his luck that Dean, Coach, and the CFA fight commissioner were right behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nikko growled, glaring daggers at the guy standing beside her.

GQ startled, as if he hadn’t been aware before this moment that he was about to die.

“Excuse me?”

“Nikko, keep your voice down,” Violet warned, recovering from her coughing fit as she shot an anxious glance past his shoulder to the men behind him.

But he didn’t give a shit if the Dalai Lama was standing back there; this pencil dick was about to get snapped.

“It’s not what it looks like,” she whispered.

Yeah, he’d heard that one before. “It looks like you’re having dinner with some guy who has his hands on you.” Pinning his glare back on GQ, he demanded again, “I’m going to ask you one last time. Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?”

GQ scowled, resting his hand on Clover’s shoulder. That limb was going to be the first to go.

“I’m her husband.”

“Her what?” Nikko growled, stepping forward, his fists clenched.

Violet leapt up, intercepting Nikko and wrapping her arms around his waist. From a distance it would look like she was giving him a hug, but make no mistake, she was holding him back.

“Ex!” she rushed to add, losing ground when he took another step forward despite her effort to restrain him. “Nikko, this is Barry,” she said in a hushed whisper. “He just got into town. It’s not what you think, I swear. Please don’t make a scene here. Dean and Marcus are watching you from their table. Don’t do this . . . not after you’ve worked so hard to get where you are.”

But her pleading fell on deaf ears. The only thing he could hear was the rushing of his blood pounding in his head. The stir of echoes mirroring Celeste’s lies . . .
It’s not what you think. I can explain.

“You’re Nikko Del Toro?” GQ asked, narrowing his brows. The guy looked like his name might mean something to him. “Jesus, Violet. This is the guy who . . .”

His thought trailed off when she shot her ex a sharp look over her shoulder and shook her head.

“I’m the guy who what?” he demanded. “What did you tell him about me?”

“Nothing, Nikko. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Wait a minute . . .” GQ chimed in, a little slow on the uptake but catching on quick. “Violet, are you . . . ?” His face wrinkled in disgust. “Are you actually seeing this guy? Have you lost your mind?”

That was it. This asshole was going down. Nikko pushed forward and Violet stumbled back, her grip on him tightening.

“Barry, you need to leave, now!”

The urgency in her tone put his feet into motion. He shot her a parting glance and said, “I’ll call you later. Just think about what I said, huh?”

“Think about what, Violet? What did he say to you?” Nikko demanded. He looked down and found her staring up at him, her little hands fisted in his shirt. Tears pooled in her eyes. She looked sad . . . and so disappointed it killed him. Her pain was like a sucker punch in the solar plexus, drowning out the voices in his head, but it did nothing to fix that gut-wrenching ache in his heart.

“Not now, Nikko. I can’t . . . I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. Just . . . go back to your dinner with Dean and Marcus and try to salvage what’s left of your career, because after this scene you just made, mine will most assuredly be over.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, pulling a pained groan from his throat. “Clover . . .” He lifted his hand to wipe it away with his thumb, but she pulled away before he could touch her.

“Don’t, Nikko . . .”

Her hand was shaking as she reached up and swiped at her tear, brushing it away. It killed him to see her hurting and to know that he was the one responsible for it. He’d reacted on impulse. He still didn’t know what she was doing here with her ex, and he damn well wanted answers—but there was no guilt in her expression, only disappointment.

He could feel eyes on him. At this point it was going to be all about
damage control—with Violet and Dean. When she reached down to grab her purse and hoisted the strap over her shoulder, he couldn’t explain the irrational panic that rose up inside him, but something in his gut told him if he let her walk out of here, he was going to lose her.

“I have to go,” she said.

She was leaving. Exhaling a shaky breath, he suddenly realized his legs were weak. If he didn’t sit his ass down, there was a good chance Coach was going to be picking him up off the floor. He couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, clogged by emotion he swore he’d never allow himself to feel again. Except this time with Violet, it was a hundred times worse.

“Good night, Nikko,” she whispered, turning and walking out before he could stop her.

God help him. How in the hell was he going to sit through this business meeting and hold his shit together for the next two hours when all he wanted to do was puke?

Violet was going to be sick. Anger, shame, and regret churned in her gut like a bitter cocktail. How could Nikko believe she’d betray him with Barry? Didn’t he realize that she loved him? For crissake, she’d put her career and her reputation on the line to be with him! She’d crossed just about every ethical boundary there was in her desperation to help him. How could he not trust her?

His lack of faith in her—in them—dealt her a stinging slap of reality, and she’d had to get out of there before a bad situation turned worse. With Dean and Marcus watching them, there was no doubt their private relationship had just gone very public, and she shuddered at the thought of the ramifications. Not only did the CFA know Violet had become intimately involved with her client, but Barry now knew it as well, and she’d be a fool to think he wouldn’t use that against her somehow.

Even if she were fortunate enough to convince the CFA to spare her contract and not report her misconduct to her boss, Barry now had her career to leverage against her. As all these thoughts boiled in the cauldron of her mind, she sat at the kitchen table staring at the manila envelope, unable to bring herself to break the seal. For this file she’d sacrificed everything—her reputation, her career, her integrity. Once she opened it, there would be no going back. She might finally have the truth, but at what price? Her relationship with Nikko? Would he ever trust her again once he discovered what she’d done?

Did she really want to do this? Was she prepared to accept the consequences of invading Nikko’s privacy? It felt dishonest and underhanded, but she was out of options. How many times had she tried to get him to open up and failed? No matter what she did, he just would not let her in. Was it because the past was too painful for him to discuss, or because he didn’t trust her love for him would be strong enough to see him through this tragedy? Either way, both obstacles were posing monumental roadblocks in their relationship, and she just couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t sit by and watch
him suffer night after night, fighting these demons alone.

She truly believed she could help him. If she didn’t, she never would
have contacted Barry and asked him to obtain the file. She’d made a lot
of sacrifices to get her hands on this and had put too much on the line to back out now. Taking a deep breath, Vi broke the seal on the envelope, pulled out the packet of papers, and began reading the contents.

It was funny that she’d never once considered the possibility that she might not be able to handle the truth—that what she discovered in these pages about Nikko’s past would be an obstacle too great to overcome. But after reading the reports in the file and after discovering how deep his secrets ran, it broke her heart to realize she hadn’t really known Nikko Del Toro and that he’d been lying to her since the day he walked into her office.

T
he following two hours were torturous. When Nikko got back to the table, Dean was chatting away with John Lake, the fight commissioner, like nothing had happened. Coach cut Nikko a questioning glance, but his eyes held more concern than accusation, neither of the guys putting voice to the questions that had to be rolling around in their heads. Dean’s attempt to distract Lake appeared to be a success, and that told Nikko just how desperate he and Coach were for this fight to go down.

Nikko was headlining, which meant there was a lot of money riding on his win. Throughout dinner, Nikko half listened as they discussed fight strategies and upcoming publicity events, but the truth of it was, he didn’t care; none of it really mattered. For the first time since coming back to the States, Nikko realized he loved something more than the cage, and if he didn’t fight for Violet, he was going to lose her.

As soon as he could manage it, he cut out of there with the excuse of an early training session in the morning. The guys were several cocktails into their meeting, which was now turning more pleasure than business. There was no warm, welcoming glow of the porch light to greet Nikko as he pulled into Violet’s driveway. He cut the engine and climbed out of the car. It wasn’t a good sign.

Anxiety warred with anger. She was no doubt upset over what had happened at Picasso’s, but what the hell did she expect? She could have at least told him she was having drinks with her ex—not that he would have taken the news much better. But sneaking off to meet with him felt like a betrayal he hadn’t thought Violet capable of. Why would she do it? Why would the woman, who professed to despise her ex, be meeting him at all, let alone behind Nikko’s back?

Thinking about it brought his anger boiling back up to the surface all over again. His heart told him to trust her, while his past experience told him she was lying—question was, lying about what? She was keeping something from him, and if it wasn’t that she was rekindling her old flame, then what? He was sure as hell going to find out.

Slamming the car door, he marched up to the house and grabbed the doorknob. It was locked. Shit. Muttering a curse, Nikko banged
his fist against the solid oak panel. “Open the door, Violet.”

When she didn’t answer, he swore again and fished the spare key
out of the flowerpot, letting himself in. He pushed the door shut with his heel, took two steps that aligned him with the kitchen, and then stopped, his anger deflating like air from a balloon. She was sitting at
the table, red-rimmed eyes staring up at him, her violet irises shimmer
ing through tears. Her skin was unnaturally pale, except for her nose, which was red, no doubt from the tissue clenched tightly in her hand.

He was fired up and prepared to demand she tell him what the hell she was doing with her ex at Picasso’s tonight, but the sight of her made his chest tighten, an invisible band squeezing the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. His heart hammered inside his chest, struggling for release from the panic gripping him.

“Clover . . .” He took a step toward her, then stopped when she tensed and held up her hand. His gaze dropped to the table. A mess of papers littered the surface, but he couldn’t see what they were.

“You lied to me.”

The heartbreak in her eyes, the fragility in her voice, twisted the knife in his chest. Fuck, he couldn’t breathe. “Baby, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He took another step closer and then she blasted him.

“You’re married, Nikko! And you have a child! A child! How could you keep something like that from me? And don’t you dare deny it. It says it right here!” She snatched up a paper and held it in the air. “Celeste Del Toro, 8745 Conway Street, Laughlin, Nevada.”

Nikko froze, the blood in his veins turning to ice, every cell in his body crystallizing, poised to shatter as he realized exactly what it was she held in her hand, and what those papers were scattered across the table.

“What is that?” he demanded, his voice a low growl. He knew the answer without her confirming her betrayal. Rage tore through him like a hurricane. Before he realized he’d moved, Nikko was in her face. The only thing separating them was the table, covered with the evidence of her treachery. “Answer me, Violet!” He slammed his fist onto the table. The leaf snapped, dropping down and scattering his life at his feet like confetti. “Are those my military records?”

She startled, big eyes growing impossibly wider with shock and not just a little fear. “Yes! All right? Yes! I called Barry. He has a friend at the Pentagon who got your records for me. I had to know, Nikko! I had to know what had happened to you because you won’t tell me, and I didn’t know any other way to help you!”

“I don’t want your help, Violet! All I ever wanted was you! But you couldn’t give me that, now could you? Dammit, I trusted you!”

“You didn’t trust me with anything! You wouldn’t even tell me you were married and that you have a daughter!”

“Divorced! I’m divorced, Violet. Those records were sealed when I came home after getting blown to shit and found out my wife was fucking some other guy! Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t tell you about my past because you were my one shot at starting over? That I didn’t want to have to look at you and wonder what you were thinking? If you saw the same fucking failure I see in the mirror every day? But you’ve taken that from me now.”

“I don’t think that, Nikko! I’d never think that! It wasn’t your fault, what happened to your recon team . . . You were under heavy fire and accidently gave air support the wrong coordinates. It was a mistake they were hit. It could have happened to anyone. I know the truth, and it doesn’t change anything!”

“It changes everything!”

“Don’t you see? It doesn’t have to. You don’t trust me to love the darkest parts of you. But what you don’t realize is that it’s those parts that make you who you are—the man I fell in love with.”

If this wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words come from her
mouth, he might have believed her. It was pity talking, nothing more.
Once the shock wore off and she really thought about it, thought about
the man she was letting into her bed every night—the man who failed
to keep his wife satisfied, failed to keep his team alive . . . Give her time,
and she would grow to despise him just as much as he despised himself.

He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t wake up every morning and wonder if today was going to be the day she couldn’t take it anymore and left him. He’d rather walk away now than live the rest of his life waiting to have his heart ripped out. Violet may think she knew what had happened over there, but she didn’t really know. None of them knew . . .

All this time, he’d deluded himself into believing he was getting better—that Violet could heal him, that she was his second chance at having a normal life. But it was all a lie. She was nothing more than a Band-Aid taped over the festering wound of his soul, and her betrayal had torn it wide open again. He was raw and bleeding. The battle-scarred side of his chest physically ached.

Acting on pure survival instinct, he glared at Violet and growled,
“You want to know what makes me sick? Thinking about what you had
to do to get my records from that piece of shit. What did you promise him, huh? A good fuck for old times’ sake? Did I interrupt your payoff
tonight? Is that it? Because that asshole isn’t giving you something for
nothing. Is he coming over here later? Is that why you locked me out?”

Shock filled her face, swiftly followed by rage, but he was too far gone to stop the venom spewing from his mouth. He knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. Nothing he said could come close to the pain of her betrayal.

“Get out!”

Her sharp response rang with an echo of finality. It stung more than he thought it would, though better it was happening now, under his terms, than a few months from now when she realized she couldn’t fix him.
It doesn’t change anything
, she’d said, but that was a lie, even if she didn’t want to believe it. She was still hanging on to the delusion that there was hope for him.

“I mean it, Nikko. Get out!”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said those words to him, but he vowed it would be the last.

Vi stared at the door, unable to wrap her mind around what had just happened. She’d known Nikko would be mad if he found out she’d gotten his military files. Hell,
she
was mad. But the things he’d said, the hurtful things he’d accused her of . . . Never in her life had she felt so dirty, so degraded, and so dishonest. And what a damn hypocrite! He’d been lying to her all along about his past, about having a family, and he still had the nerve to stand there and say
she
betrayed
him
.

Nikko was wrong about Barry. He wasn’t expecting her to have sex with him in exchange for the information in that file, and if Nikko believed, for one minute, that she would actually do something like that, then he didn’t really know her. Trust was the cornerstone of every relationship, and theirs had been built upon a foundation of lies. What was he planning on doing? Hiding his child from her forever as he lived this double life?

It broke her heart to admit it, but it was obvious now that this would never work. Nikko would never trust her with his past, and now that she’d discovered the truth, he’d pushed her away just like he did everyone else in his life when they got too close.

Not even his own mother or sister had any clue about what had happened to him in Afghanistan. Some people were just beyond reach, beyond help, and it broke her heart to realize Nikko Del Toro was one of them. She’d tried so hard to reach him, and, out of desperation, she’d crossed a line he deemed unforgivable—and just like that he’d thrown it all away.

She’d even told him she loved him tonight. Despite all his lies and secrets, she’d given him the words she’d vowed she would never say to another man after Barry’s betrayal. She’d given Nikko her heart, and he’d thrown it back at her right before he walked out that door—the door she still couldn’t take her eyes off of. Surely, he’d come back, right? Wrong. How long had she been sitting there? An hour? Two? She’d lost track of time in her grief. It felt like eternity.

A soft knock sounded on the door, and at first Vi wondered if she’d willed herself to hear something that wasn’t there, but a moment later it sounded again—louder. Her heart quickened, hope blooming inside her chest. Thank God he’d come back. She shouldn’t have kicked him out. Not when he was that angry. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she didn’t mean to hurt him or betray his trust. Somehow, she would make him understand she was just trying to help him.

Vi went to the door and pulled it open, an apology on her lips. “Nikko, I’m sor—”

“Hey, Vi.”

Barry? What the hell was he doing here? Disappointment crashed over her, snuffing out the small flame of hope flickering inside her. “How did you find me?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. You’re not unlisted, you know. Considering the clientele you’re servicing these days, that’s probably not a good idea.”

She didn’t miss the snark in his voice. Her stomach twisted at the familiar warning. Hadn’t Nikko told her the same thing?

“Can I come in?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

The little muscle in his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth, a tell she’d become familiar with over the years that indicated when he was annoyed. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to pop a cap.

“Trust me, I think you’re going to want to be sitting down for what I have to say.”

All cordiality left his voice, sending a prickle of alarm jolting through her. She didn’t consider him a threat, at least not physi
cally, but mentally—emotionally—she knew he could be ruthless.

Vi stepped aside and let him in, closing the door before leading him into the kitchen. It was probably not her best choice, since her
table was now broken and there were papers scattered all over the floor,
but she was not inviting him into a place as personal as her living room.