Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (34 page)

“What happened here?”

“Nothing,” she said, stooping to gather the papers. When she stood, she could feel Barry’s pale-blue eyes on her. “Sit down.” She motioned to the vacant chair and stacked the papers in her hands on top of the others before sliding them into the envelope.

He took the seat but didn’t say anything, continuing to watch her. He was waiting for her to give him her undivided attention before speaking. Exhaling a sigh, she shoved her hair out of her face and met his watchful gaze.

“I take it that didn’t go how you were expecting, huh?”

“What do you want, Barry?” No way in hell was she discussing Nikko with him.

“You. I want you back, Violet. I want things the way they were before.”

“Before when? Before you were fucking your secretary or before you got caught?”

“This is still a sore spot for you. I can see we’re going to have to work on that.”

“What? You can’t actually think there’s a chance that I’m going to get back together with you?” Lord help her, Barry was more crazy than Bob.

“I do.”

“Why? Why would you possibly think that?”

“Aside from the obvious? You’ve violated moral and ethical codes of conduct by getting intimately involved with a patient. You used me to obtain illegal documents for your own personal gain while leading me to believe I was helping one of your patients. Is he worth your career, Violet? And if you would answer yes, then ask yourself this . . . Are you worth his?”

Her heart stuttered inside her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t read that file very well did you?”

He chuckled, the sound grating over her flesh like sandpaper.

“Math was never your strong suit, sweetheart. What happened to the missing solider?”

“What missing solider?”

“The file never says, does it? A recon team of seven went into Alice-Gahn, and six came out. Why do you suppose that is?”

She hadn’t noticed. She’d been so preoccupied with discovering that his team had been hit with the air support sent in to help take out the insurgents that the number of recovered bodies hadn’t caught her notice. Then she’d learned he was married with a child, and everything after that had become a blur.

“It’s a good question for CNN, don’t you think? I bet they’d love to get their hands on this story. Missing soldier, recon commander killing his own team . . . It all reeks of a cover-up to me.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Vi. Her heart stuttered at Barry’s implication. “You wouldn’t . . .”

“I wouldn’t? Vi . . . sweetheart, if you really believe that, then you don’t really know me.”

“Why . . . why would you do that? What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I want my life back—the life you took from me when you walked away. Unless you want Nikko’s past smeared across the headlines of the national news, you will return to New York with me. You will come back to the practice as my partner, and back to my bed as my wife.”

“This is insane. Barry, you can’t possibly still love me.”

He shrugged and the guise fell from his face, revealing a man that
Vi no longer knew. Looking into his pale-blue eyes was like staring into
the face of a stranger. “You’re right, Vi, I don’t. But I’m willing to fake
it. You see, a few months ago, I was cleaning out some records from our
old file cabinet and I found an interesting document in the bottom of
the drawer. Did you know you’re the executor of your parents’ estate?”

Of course she knew that; they’d given her the document.

“I did some digging. Did you know that their net worth is over ten million dollars?”

That
she did not know. She wasn’t close with her parents, and they’d never discussed finances. Her parents lived comfortably but not in excess.

“Yeah . . . it was a shocker to me, too. Baby, I hate to break it to you, but your folks aren’t getting any younger.”

So that was it? That was why Barry had been hounding her all these months? Vi’s stomach lurched with the force of reality Barry had just slammed her with. What had she done? How could she have been so stupid? Unwittingly, she’d just given Barry the opening he needed to dig his hooks into her, and in the process, she’d unleashed a man she loathed into Nikko’s life. Barry knew his secrets, which ran far deeper than she’d even realized. Fragments of their fight echoed in her mind.
You don’t know anything
. . .

If her knowing his past could wreck him like it had, how would he handle the world discovering what happened? Oh, God . . . In her misguided attempt to help the man she loved, she’d given the man she hated the tools to destroy him. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let Nikko pay the price for her mistakes.

“Just leave him alone. Let it go and I’ll return to New York with you.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, defeated and broken.

At his triumphant sneer, bile surged up her throat. “That’s my girl. I thought you’d see it my way. Oh, and I’m sure it goes without saying, but if you tell him . . . if you tell anyone about this, our little deal is off and I’m contacting CNN.”

Barry glanced at his watch. “My, will you look at the time. It’s been a long day. Our flight leaves tomorrow evening.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an airline ticket, placing it on the counter. “I’ll meet you there. Don’t be late, sweetheart.”

He stood and she followed him out. Barry stepped onto the porch, but before she could close the door behind him, he turned toward her, framed her face with his hands, and pressed his mouth against hers. She tried to pull back, but his grip was surprisingly strong. Holding her still, he molested her mouth. Her stomach lurched at the invasion, and tears sprang to her eyes. God help her, this was going to be her life, suffering through the touch of a man she hated to spare the one she loved from ruin. But she had no one to blame but herself.

Y
ou want to talk or you just want to fight?”

Nikko flipped on the overhead lights that illuminated the cage and shot Tommy a dark scowl.

“Okaaay . . . fight it is.” Tommy said, answering his own question and raising his hands in surrender as he headed to his locker to don his gloves and guards. Nikko was right behind him. Anger burned through his veins like octane, and the only way he knew how to get rid of it was to gas out. The Viking wasn’t his first choice, but Kill wasn’t answering his phone, and there was no way in hell he was calling Easton. He’d have to be careful to avoid Tommy’s face so his cranky coach didn’t figure out what they were up to.

“Easton know where you are?” he asked Tommy, unsure of the newbie’s solidarity.

“Nah . . . told him I was heading to the Strip. Don’t worry, he’ll be too preoccupied with Katie to miss me. I told them I’d stay at a motel while I’m here, but Bug insisted I crash with them.”

“Bug?” Nikko pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the locker. “You call Easton’s girl
Bug
, and he doesn’t break your neck?”

Tommy chuckled as he pulled on his gloves. “I’ve known that girl since she was wearing pigtails and braces—made her eat dirt in kindergarten. We used to call her Katie Bug in elementary school. Guess it kinda stuck.”

Nikko fastened the straps of his mitts and grabbed his mouth guard before slamming his locker shut. “Word of advice. You may want to keep that story to yourself. Easton finds out you made his girl eat dirt, he’s gonna kick your ass. I don’t give a shit if it is twenty years later.”

Tommy laughed as he turned and followed Nikko to the cage. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Think I’ll keep that story on the down low.”

Nikko shook his head as he climbed the steps and entered the cage. Despite himself, the fighter was starting to grow on him. He had an easy way about him that was oddly cathartic. The guy was quick to laugh and slow to anger, a combination Nikko could not lay similar claim to. “Close the cage behind you,” he grumbled, knocking his gloves together.

Both fighters mirrored each other, arms up, legs positioned at ten and five—yin and yang facing off. Nikko was about to strike when he heard the back door slam, followed by the pound of footsteps coming down the hall. “Get out of that cage, Thorson!”

Nikko didn’t miss the note of alarm in Kill’s voice. Did he think Nikko was going to kill the guy?

“You need someone to pound on, you hit me.”

Guess so . . .

“Thorson’s too green to get into the cage with you when you’re like this, and you know it.”

“Like what?” Tommy asked.

“Like this.” Nikko sent an uppercut into Tommy’s ribs. It was a
cheap shot, but what did he care? He’d done a hell of a lot worse in his
life than turn his sparring partner into a punching bag. Tommy stum
bled back, putting him in range for Nikko to take his head off with a crescent kick, but just before the blow connected, Tommy nailed the inside of Nikko’s thigh with a solid punch. And the fucker hurt.

“Holy shit!” Kill cursed from the sideline.

Cramping pain shot up Nikko’s leg when he tried to put his weight back on it. The limb refused to support his full weight, and he limped to circle Tommy. Green, his ass. Easton had taught this kid to fight, and he was a force to be reckoned with. Limited to his fists now, Nikko let them fly, pushing forward until he had Tommy backed against the cage. The fighter ate a few but blocked a good number of them, letting Nikko go, waiting for him to gas out.

His arms burned from the lactic acid searing his muscles, his heart pounded in his chest, and his lungs ached as they struggled to feed enough oxygen to his bloodstream. This was what he needed, the physical pain of exhaustion that was so much better than the torture in his mind. If he could just turn it off and forget about violet eyes and pale-blond hair—forget about all the mistakes he’d made, all the lives he’d lost . . .

His swing missed Tommy’s ribs, and the fighter trapped Nikko’s arm between his side and his bicep, pulling Nikko in for a clinch. He had a tight hold on him, and that was the difference between sparring with someone like Kill, who was two weight classes beneath him, and fighting with Tommy. There was no powering out of this hold that was starting to feel a hell of a lot like a bro-hug.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Nikko growled. “Let go of me.”

“Not gonna do it. Not until you hug me back.”

He tried to jerk away but was locked tight in this clinch. “I’m not hugging you, man.” Just to prove he meant business, Nikko used his free arm to nail him with a kidney punch.

“Listen,” Tommy growled. “You’re my sparring partner, which means you’re my new best friend. Congratulations,” he said, repeating Nikko’s exact words back at him and then adlibbing, “even if you are an asshole. As my new best friend, you’re either going to tell me what your damage is, or hug me back, man.”

This was bullshit. Maybe he wanted Kill in the cage, after all. Screw that, what he really wanted was Kruze back. That guy knew how to fight, and there was no cuddle time afterward, not like this Winnie the Pooh hugging motherfucker.

“I don’t know how they fight in Minnesota, but this is MMA, not kumbaya. Get off me!”

Nikko drilled his fist into Tommy’s side over and over, but the guy weathered the storm. Nikko yanked back, stepping to the side, but his leg buckled. He caught his balance by throwing his free arm up around the fighter’s neck and hoisted himself back up. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. Nikko’s forehead dropped to the fighter’s shoulder in defeat, lungs heaving for air. Tommy squeezed him tighter, really hugging him, and something inside Nikko just broke. He couldn’t do this anymore—couldn’t keep carrying this burden that was destroying his life, but he didn’t know how to let it go.

Nikko’s arm tightened around him, the muscles involuntarily squeezing. Emotion swelled in his throat. Shit, he was a fucking mess. Aside from Raven, he’d just thrown away the best thing that had ever happened to him. After a moment, he tapped the guy’s shoulder, signaling defeat and telling him to let go. When he did, Tommy was wearing a smug shit-eating grin.

“See, wasn’t that better than—”

Wham! Nikko nailed his partner in the jaw with a right hook and growled, “Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“Then don’t call me down here in the middle of the night to be your punching bag,” Tommy growled back.

Nikko stormed out of the cage, tearing his gloves off as he headed toward his locker. Kill was hot on his heels.

“Del Toro, hold up, man.”

Nikko grabbed his shirt and yanked it on. “I can’t do this with you, Kill. Not now,” he snapped, turning to walk away. Kill grabbed his arm and jerked him to a stop. “How did you know I was here?”

Kill shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“Bullshit.”

“All right, I called Vi when I saw I missed your call and couldn’t reach you. She was in tears. Said you broke up with her, which only proves you’re nuts to let that girl go. I knew the only reason you’d call me was to fight.”

“I don’t know what I want, Kill. All I know is that I’ve got to get her out of my head, and Winnie the Pooh here isn’t fucking helping.”

“He’s helping you more than you know. You quit feeling, and you’re going to go dark. We’ve all seen what kind of shit you get yourself into when that happens. You’re on the edge, man. Vi was your anchor, and you just cut her loose. I don’t get it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to stand here and explain it to you.” Jerking his arm out of his friend’s grip, Nikko headed down the hall. Each step sent a blast of pain shooting into his right thigh. He savored the burn. It gave him something to focus on, something other than the riotous thoughts clawing at his sanity or the knifing pain twisting into his heart.

Nikko wasn’t sure how long he’d been driving. Driving usually helped to clear his mind, but not tonight. Tonight he found himself turning down Violet’s road with no clue how he’d gotten there. It was like she had some invisible leash connected to him, and hard as he tried to break it, he just couldn’t get away.

It hadn’t been his intention to go back to her. He had no idea what he was going to say or if she’d even see him. But for some sick, twisted reason, just being in the same vicinity as her calmed his demons enough that he could begin processing his own thoughts a little more rationally. Kill told him she’d said he’d broken up with her. Was that what he’d done? The way he remembered it, the parting had been pretty mutual. But in all honesty his head was such a mess he couldn’t remember half of what he’d said. Only the echo of shock and the sting of her treachery remained.

How could she do this to him? Of all the people in his life, Violet was the one person he’d trusted never to betray him. He gave her more of himself than he’d ever given anyone before, but that hadn’t been enough. Because
he
hadn’t been enough for her—just like he hadn’t been enough for Celeste. And now he was left with nothing but this shell, because she’d gone behind his back and stolen his secrets. Only, they weren’t truly his secrets. Those were lies fabricated by the government to cover up a fucked-up mission that had killed five of the six best men he’d ever known. And Nikko had let them do it, because if he hadn’t, he’d have to explain to his commanding officer why he wasn’t with his men when that AGM-65 Maverick exploded, and the truth behind that lie was so much worse.

As Nikko drove closer to her house, he could see that her yard light was now on, illuminating a swath of the front yard and driveway.
What the fuck?
Nikko hit the brakes and cranked the wheel, hard to the right, parking the Challenger along the road. Whose Tahoe was parked in Violet’s driveway? He had a pretty damn good idea.

When he’d accused Violet of messing around with her ex, there had been a part of him that hadn’t actually believed it was true. But he’d seen the possessive look in that bastard’s eyes tonight. And now that Nikko had taken himself out of the picture, there wasn’t a better opportunity for him to swoop in.

Nikko cut the ignition and lights. The darkness of night would camouflage his black vehicle while he waited. Yeah, he was really good at waiting. How many hours had he and Remmy spent on rooftops, waiting out insurgents? Nikko clutched the steering wheel, hands aching for the comforting weight of his M16. The tip of his trigger finger itched. He touched it to his thumb and slowly began to rub circles—eyes locked on his target.

His cell began to vibrate in the cup holder. Nikko let it ring, eyes not deviating from that door for even a second. A moment later, it stopped, and everything was silent. Seconds passed before his cell started up again. He was about to reach for it when her front door opened and the bastard appeared. He stepped out, but before walking away, he turned abruptly and took ahold of Violet’s face and kissed her.

Motherfucker!
Fury rocketed through Nikko’s veins, burning his last semblance of his control to ash. He’d kill him! He was going to break that bastard’s neck and bury him in the desert so fire ants could feast on his wretched body. Nikko’s hand dropped to the door, his body tensing to jump out of the car, when the air left his lungs in a sudden woosh, a sucker punch of reality dealt to his gut.

Why wasn’t Violet pushing him away? She wasn’t fighting to break his hold, wasn’t hauling off and nailing him with that indignant slap he’d been the recipient of when he’d stepped out of line. Did she . . . want this? Kill had said she was crying and upset. In the aftermath of their fight, had she turned to her ex for comfort? After reading his file and discovering what she was getting herself into, had she decided he wasn’t worth it, after all? He knew it would happen. It was only a matter of time, though he’d thought it might
take more than a few hours for her to realize it.

Fuuuck . . . It really was over. He never should have walked out on her. He’d lost his four-leaf clover and had no one to blame but himself.
And with that realization, for the first time in his life, all his fight left him. There had been times that he’d been broken—physically and mentally, but never emotionally, not until now.