KAGE (KAGE Trilogy #1) (30 page)

I was in the belly of a great white shark, cruising out to God knows where on the outskirts of Sin City, leaving the lights and bustle behind. It was terrifying in a way to leave the oddly comforting artifice behind— the commercials, the casinos, the bachelor parties, the
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
It was all a big, expensive facade, wasn’t it? A tourist attraction built around darker business.

And sometimes you had to be driven out to the desert.

I shivered at the thought and tried to shove away the montage of gangster movie scenes that assaulted me. Surely that wasn’t what this was. Kage’s uncle couldn’t possibly be that unsavory a character. Look at the boy he had raised.

A boy with issues. That much was becoming clearer.

The drive out was quiet— almost too quiet. Whatever it was that Aldo and Aaron normally talked about, they weren’t talking about it with me in the vehicle. Then again, I’d never actually heard Aaron speak. Maybe he was mute.

“Could we have some music?” I asked.

Aldo touched the dashboard computer screen, and some opera song came blaring out of the undeniably good speakers. I sighed and leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and wished like hell I hadn’t asked for music. Because
damn
. Couldn’t he have turned on some rap or pop? Even country would have been better than this, mainly because now I felt even more like I was in a gangster movie. Didn’t they always play opera when they were slitting someone’s throat?

Fortunately I made it to our destination in one piece, despite the creepy opera music.

Aldo shut off the Land Rover and opened my door for me. The uncomfortable look on his face had me almost feeling sorry for him. He clearly hated my guts, and though I couldn’t fathom why, the fact that he was forced to serve me had to have been humiliating for him.

When I stepped out of the SUV, I was greeted by the sight of a warehouse surrounded by cars. That was all. No lights, no fanfare, no valet parking. Just a warehouse that looked like it had seen better days, and a parking lot full of cars that ranged from broken-down to luxurious. Most of them were of the luxurious type.

Aldo and Aaron approached the warehouse, and I followed. The lack of conversation with these two was always a little disconcerting, making me feel more like a prisoner than a guest.

Aldo pulled the door open, and the loud squeal of metal on metal announced our arrival. About fifty men and women were inside the building, dressed in much better clothing than I was wearing. In my mind, I had imagined an underground fight would be a bunch of guys in torn flannel with dirty fingernails, shaggy hair, and prison tattoos crowded around a makeshift ring surrounded by chicken wire. The scene before me could have easily been intermission at a Broadway show.

I scanned the room for any sign of Kage. The sight of his handsome face and imposing body would have instantly put me at ease, especially since I hadn’t seen it for days, but he wasn’t anywhere in the crowd. He was probably in some back room meditating or sparring with Marco.

Meanwhile, I was sweating bullets.

As I was studying a man whom I could have sworn was famous, I felt the presence of someone very close behind me. My heart immediately jumped, and I spun around expecting to see Kage. Instead, I came face-to-face with a dapper, dark-haired man of about fifty. He was thin and tall in a ridiculously well-cut suit, and he practically sparkled, as if he’d been buffed and polished. I knew who he was instantly. He had the same vague Latin look as Kage, with the perfect perma-tan and five-o’clock shadow, but his eyes were a deep brown rather than green like his nephew’s.

“Jamie,” he said in a smooth, deep voice. “I’m Peter Santori.”

I swallowed and tried to find my own voice. “Mr. Santori? I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you.”

He shrugged, but his eyes were shrewd. “I stay busy. It’s not a simple affair to set up meetings with employees these days.”

Employees. Yikes.

The guy was good at maintaining distance and superiority. I wondered how superior he’d feel if he knew about the intimacy his nephew and I shared. If he knew I’d wrapped my lips around his cock and swallowed his cum. Would he welcome me into his inner circle then, or would he have me taken out into the desert and dismembered to a soundtrack of opera music?

Looking into his calculating eyes, I’d have to say I was leaning toward the latter.

“Interesting place you have here,” I said. When he didn’t reply, I continued. “So this is where Kage fights. I can’t wait to see him in action. So far I’ve only seen him train.”

“Marco tells me you’ve been present at a lot of training sessions, and that you’ve even taken to utilizing his services for yourself.”

Funny, when Mr. Santori said it, it sounded like I was stealing from the company. Like I was swiping staplers and post-it notes from the supply closet.

“Um, well, Kage invited me to participate in the workouts. Of course, I don’t do anything major. None of that advanced stuff they work on.”

He nodded slowly. “Well, I need to speak to some colleagues of mine before the fight begins, so I suppose we’ll say goodbye for now.” He shook my hand, and somehow he made it feel like a great honor was being bestowed upon me. I disliked him for that— for making me feel truly inferior.

I stood by myself in the center of that small sea of glitterati, watching Mr. Santori make his way deliberately through the crowd, occasionally stopping to speak to someone.

This was his place. In this warehouse, he was the man. That much was crystal clear.

There were folding chairs set up all around the octagon, and I found one near the front, plopped down in it and stayed there. Long minutes of boredom stretched into even longer minutes of awkwardness, until finally there was a commotion near the entrance of the cage. A stocky middle-aged man in a red t-shirt stepped into the ring, and people began moving in and claiming all of the seats around me. Soon, it was standing room only.

An announcer stood behind a corner podium and spoke into his microphone, his voice booming over the sound system. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to another exciting fight night. As always, if the fighter in the blue corner can best the as-yet-undefeated Michael “The Machine” Kage, he will walk out of here with a hundred-thousand-dollars in cash. Let’s wish both men good luck as they embark on this virtually no-holds-barred evening of fun and games.”

The small crowd cheered for a moment, and then the challenger came trotting through a door at the back of the room. He had a small entourage of his people with him. It was nothing like the dramatic entrance of the fighters on UFC pay-per-view. It was somber and a little scary, with no music to dress it up. No theatrics. This was going to be nothing more than a fight, plain and simple.

After the first fighter, who remained nameless and was referred to only as
the challenger,
entered the octagon, Kage appeared at the door. My breath caught in my chest when I saw him.

That’s my guy
, I thought.
My lover.

He stalked intimidatingly into the ring wearing nothing but a pair of red trunks, his hair pulled into that cute little queue atop his head. But that was where the cute ended. This Michael Kage looked alarmingly unlike the guy I was falling for. His green eyes appeared darker and more calculating than I’d ever seen them, even that day in the restaurant. I hated to admit it, but he looked frighteningly like his uncle— whom I had no problem believing would have me assassinated and dumped in the desert.

Kage walked into the ring looking neither hyper nor plodding. He had an air of confidence about him that made posturing unnecessary. I waited for him to notice me, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that I was even present. Probably a good thing. It meant he was focused, and according to Marco, that was half of winning.

The referee called the two men out to the center of the ring, had them touch gloves, and sent them to their respective corners. Then the announcer rang a bell, and the fighters were on the move.

The contender was aggressive, pressing in on Kage even before the echo of the bell had died. He released a combination of powerful if predictable punches— jab, cross, left hook to the body— presumably to get Kage off balance and on the defensive, but Kage was light on his feet. He easily sidestepped the guy’s attack before catching him with a right cross to the side of his head. It rocked the guy good, but he recovered quickly, and smacked Kage with a leg kick before moving out of reach. Kage didn’t flinch, though I saw an ugly red mark spreading on the outside of his thigh.

He glanced at the mark, then looked up at the guy, raised his eyebrows and smiled. I couldn’t believe it. He looked perfectly delighted that the guy had finally landed something.

There was a flash of panic across the other guy’s face, but he masked it quickly and moved back in for another rapid-fire combo. He was fast, but he was no match for Kage’s unorthodox footwork or his ability to anticipate movements. With smooth efficiency, Kage either dodged or blocked everything his opponent threw at him. Then he spun around and took the guy’s back.

Wrapping his arms around him from behind, Kage lifted the man into the air, thrust his hips forward and bent his knees, and slammed the man backward over his shoulder in the smoothest suplex I’d ever seen. Before the man could get his bearings, Kage was on top of him.

He was able to pull a half guard on Kage before being pounded half senseless by Kage’s brutal hammer fists and elbows. Over and over he struck the fighter, until I was afraid he might kill him. Still the ref didn’t stop the fight. Then when the guy was nearly done, had almost stopped fighting back completely, Kage jumped to his feet and let him up.

It almost looked like mercy, but I knew. It was exactly the opposite.

The entire round was a game of cat and mouse, with the cat looking like he was ready to eat the mouse at any second. Kage wasn’t playful exactly, but he was enjoying the chase, getting off on toying with his opponent.

I wondered if the other spectators could see that, or if it was just because I was coming to know him so intimately. Of course, there was always the possibility that I was imagining it.

I didn’t have to wait long for my suspicion to be verified.

In the final seconds of the first round, the challenger, who looked frighteningly banged up in the face, caught Kage with a hard right cross to the temple, splitting the skin next to his eye. My throat tightened and my heart skipped a beat. The thought of him getting hurt— really hurt— and of me having to watch it happen had not really hit home until then. It was the first time I’d ever seen a wound like that on his face, and I hoped it would be the last.

I saw the change in Kage’s demeanor when it happened. A blank mask dropped over his face, and he looked like he was officially not playing anymore. If the bell hadn’t sounded when it did, I imagine he would have unleashed his full fury on the guy. Instead, they separated to their corners, and the challenger got patched up while his coach yammered nonstop at him.

Kage kept his eyes locked on his opponent the entire time, looking strangely like he’d never experienced an emotion in his life. Cold, calculating, the antithesis of the guy who had held me while I cried for my mother, and then let me fall asleep in his arms.

I couldn’t hear what Marco was telling him, but Kage smiled and jumped up ready to go when the bell sounded for Round Two.

Kage came in with a couple of sly jabs, bounced lithely out of the way when his opponent attempted a flailing counter attack. The guy’s face looked like he’d been in a car accident. His left eye was swollen, and blood ran from his eye socket to his throat. He was done already at that point. I don’t think there was a doubt in anyone’s mind. But somehow he summoned a burst of energy— or more accurately desperation— and attempted to take it back to the ground, presumably to try for a last ditch submission. But Kage, with his lightning fast reflexes and talent for anticipating moves, saw it coming. The second the man changed levels and ducked down to shoot his legs for the takedown, Kage caught him with a vicious flying knee to the face.

The guy dropped like a sack of potatoes. Knocked out cold.

I sat there in my chair, my breath coming way too fast. Kage had finished the guy in exactly the way I had requested. How could that be? My mind spun, trying to seize on anything that made sense other than the fact that he had been in control the entire fight. That he had orchestrated it.

Inside the octagon, the referee, a doctor, and several other men were examining the fallen fighter and trying to rouse him. Kage glanced back at him once, saw him move, and then strutted right over to the edge of the cage where I was sitting. As he passed by me, he tapped his fist against his chest once, right over his heart, then looked directly into my eyes just long enough to give me a secret wink that sent shivers down my spine.

That’s when I realized he was peacocking for me. The entire fight had been nothing more than my lover proving himself to me, and his message was clear:
I just smashed that guy’s face for you. Just like you asked
.

For a moment, I thought I might be sick. With no more thought than ordering from a takeout menu, I’d just ordered a man knocked unconscious with a brutal knee to the face. And what’s worse, I got my wish.