Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (38 page)

Nikko pulled his cell from his pocket and pushed a few buttons. As he stared at the screen, his generally disgruntled countenance darkened.

“What’s wrong? What are you doing?”

“I’m pinging him on my GPS.”

Un-fucking-believable . . .
“You’ve known where he was this entire time and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know, because I don’t check up on him. I’m not his mother, and neither are you. Sometimes people need their space.”

He means from me . . .
Maybe Nikko noticed the glassiness in her eyes, or maybe he realized what he’d said, because he muttered another curse and dragged his hand through his close-cropped hair. “I didn’t mean he doesn’t want to be with you. That’s not what I was saying . . .”

Oh, no? Well, it sure as hell sounded like it. She held up her hand when he took a step toward her. “It’s fine.” She turned away to face the window, feigning interest in the skylights. It wasn’t like her to be this emotional, but with all the stress of the last few days, and Aiden’s growing distance . . . “Just please go and make sure he’s all right. I think I’d like a little space myself.”

Nikko didn’t say anything else as he shrugged on his coat and left. Something was wrong. Ryann had good instincts, and the persistent niggling of unease told her Aiden was keeping something from her. She just wished she knew what and why.

Note to self: Be careful what you wish for.

CHAPTER

 40 

W
hat in the hell are you doing here?”

Aiden didn’t need to turn and look at the man taking the seat next to him to know he was fucked. Dammit, he hated lying to his friend almost as much as he hated lying to Ryann. Could he feel like a more miserable prick? Apparently so, because the condemning daggers Del Toro was glaring at him right now made him want to crawl underneath a fucking rock.

“You haven’t changed, have you?”

The accusing growl spoken above the bump-and-grind bass coming from the center stage lit the very short fuse of Aiden’s even-shorter temper. Never mind that his back was to the topless dancers. Of course Del Toro would believe the worst. It was a believable front for Disco Stick Kruze, and exactly why he’d chosen this place to meet Ike for the last two weeks. Still, it would have been nice if his friend had given him the benefit of the doubt for even one fucking second.

Today had been hell. After confronting his father about Ryann’s dad, he’d come here to meet Ike and the federal agent he’d been working with to hand over the recording of his father’s confession and Ryann’s flash drive. For the last eight hours, Aiden had been sequestered in the back room where he had told his story, confessed to a lot of shit that would more than likely get him disbarred, and probably would have bought him some jail time if not for the immunity deal Ike had negotiated for him beforehand. He’d answered all their questions and helped build an airtight case against his father and Vincent Moralli. By the time they were done, he was tired as hell, but the lead agent was confident they had enough to make their arrests.

He told Aiden it would take roughly twenty-four hours to file the indictments and obtain their warrants. They planned to pick up his father tomorrow as he left the office after work, but since locating Moralli and getting past his security was a concern, the feds planned to move on him after Aiden’s fight. With any luck, after tomorrow this nightmare would all be behind them, but until the arrests had been made, Aiden couldn’t say shit about what he’d been doing here.

“What in the hell is wrong with you, man? You’ve been a goddamn ghost for days and this is what you’re doing?
This
is where I find you? Do you have any idea what it would do to Ryann if she knew you were here?”

Aiden snapped, and he was just drunk enough to cast caution to the wind. Spinning on his friend, he grabbed Del Toro, twisting his fist in his shirt and jerking him close. “She better not hear it from you,” he growled.

“If you don’t get your hands off me right now, I’m going to plant my fist in your face and then drag your stupid ass back home and let you explain to Ryann why I knocked you the fuck out.”

By the determination in Del Toro’s steely glare, he knew his friend wasn’t fronting. Aiden might be lit, but he wasn’t wasted enough to miss the edge of protectiveness that iced into Nikko’s voice when he mentioned Ryann’s name. He didn’t appreciate having it directed at him, either, and he was tempted to tell the guy to fuck off and mind his own business. Del Toro had no idea what he was doing here, what he was going through, and he’d be damned if he was about to sit here and explain himself to someone who was supposed to be his friend and sure as hell should have a little faith in him.

Sure, he’d stayed here longer than he needed to, and he’d had a lot more whiskey than he should have, but dammit, he needed to decompress after one hell of a bad day. Right or wrong, part of him was desperate to purge the guilt from his conscience. For just a little while he wanted to escape the weight of condemnation pressing down on him. Was that so fucking horrible? Looking at Del Toro’s forbidding countenance right now, the answer to that question was most assuredly yes.

After a long pause, he released his friend with a
fuck off
shove and turned back to the bar, draining his glass of whiskey before waving the bartender over for a refill.

“How many of those have you had?”

“Not enough,” he growled.

“Too fucking many, by the looks of it. You know, she’s not stupid, man. Ryann knows something’s up. Do you really want to throw it all away for bad booze and some used-up pussy? Ryann deserves better than this. I thought you’d changed.”

Dammit, he
had
changed. And there it was again, that unmistakable icy shard spiking him in the back. “Perhaps you should take care with your concern, friend, that I don’t misunderstand your intentions.”

“If you’re going to fuck around on her, perhaps you haven’t.”

Well, what do you know . . . the cherry on top of the goddamn cake. Just when he didn’t think this day could get any worse. Aiden sat there, statue still, gripping his glass and putting its durability to the test. He kept his gaze locked on the ice cubes floating in his whiskey. He should have seen this fucking coming. “Does Ryann know how you feel about her?” It took every ounce of strength to temper his voice and not smash this glass upside the bastard’s head.

“Nope, and neither would you if you weren’t such an asshole.”

Rage exploded inside him. In all of two seconds, Aiden was out of his chair and in Del Toro’s face. “
I’m
the asshole?
I’m
not the prick getting hard for my friend’s girl. Let’s get something straight here. I am
not
cheating on Ryann. Nor am I about to stand here and explain myself to you. It may not look like it, but I am fighting like hell for her, fighting for a future with her, and if that’s going to be a conflict of interest for you, then I think it’s time you go back to Vegas, amigo.”

“The only problem I have,” Del Toro growled, “is seeing how fucking miserable that woman is, worrying about you while you’re MIA. I’m sick of her asking me if I know what’s going on with you, or why you’re avoiding her. Which I don’t and you obviously are.” He shoved Aiden a step back. “Or is this not a strip club I just found you getting lit at while Ryann’s crying at home, rife with fear that something has happened to you? I know how often you come here. GPS doesn’t lie, asshole. Maybe you should shut your tracking off.”

“Fuck, is she really crying?” The power of Nikko’s words hit him in the gut like a sucker punch. He exhaled a defeated sigh and dragged his hand through his hair as he dropped back in his chair. “God, I’m going to lose her,” he muttered to himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until spots dotted his vision.

Seconds passed while Del Toro stared at him as if trying to puzzle out what he’d just said, then chuffed a masculine snort. “What the fuck are you talking about, man? That girl is crazy about you.”

“I’ve been lying to her. And when she finds out the truth . . .”

Nikko’s steely glare darkened. “What are you lying to her about?”

Fuck it, he might as well practice the truth on his friend. If he couldn’t say it to him, how in the hell was he going to tell Ryann? “My father had Axel Andrews killed.” The words tasted like bitter acid on his tongue, and getting them out failed to cleanse his soul of the consuming guilt.

“Ho-ly shit . . .”

Del Toro stared at him like the universe had just imploded. Well, Aiden’s was certainly on the cusp of doing just that, because Ryann was the center of his and there wasn’t any scenario, short of lying to her for the rest of his life, where he saw this working out for them. Who in the hell stays with the guy whose dad is responsible for killing theirs?

“Oh, fuck . . .”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Not terribly helpful, though, but thanks for that.”

“Why? Why would a senator want to risk being caught for murder?”

“Ryann’s father had a lot of gambling debts. He was into Moralli for seventy-five grand, and apparently he thought the best way out of that was to blackmail my father. He began investigating him and dug up some pretty unsavory shit.”

“This is crazy.”

“Tell me about it.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve suspected it for a few days. I hoped I was wrong, but when I confronted my dad about it, the bastard didn’t even try to deny it.”

“Oh, wow, man, this is really bad. Poor Ryann . . .”

Aiden shot him an irritated scowl. “You think?”

Del Toro’s glare darkened, reminding him of a CFA weigh-in. That protective glint was back in his eyes, sparking Aiden’s already raw nerves.

“You want to know what I think?”

Suddenly Aiden wasn’t so sure that he did, but by the determined glare in Nikko’s eyes, the option was nonnegotiable.

“I think you’d better tell her before she finds out some other way. She’s not stupid, Disco, and sooner or later she’s going to figure it out. Maybe you’re not giving her enough credit.
You
didn’t kill her dad, and it’s not like your parents are Ward and June Cleaver. Sure, she’s going to be upset at first, but I don’t think she’s going to leave you. Not if you’re up front with her. But if you lie to her about this, if you break her trust . . . you
will
lose her.”

If only it was that simple. In telling Ryann the truth, he could possibly lose her forever, and Aiden wasn’t sure he was willing to take that risk.

Having Nikko gone gave Ryann the freedom to pace without the scrutiny of his all-too-perceptive gaze. Suspicion, regret, and indecision plagued her every waking moment. Had she done the right thing by giving Aiden the flash drive? The realist in her wasn’t so convinced. Ever since that night he’d become withdrawn and evasive. Had she made a horrible mistake by ignoring her father’s and Henry’s warnings? Could she trust Aiden to make the right decision?

And if her doubts weren’t bad enough, Nikko’s behavior tonight further confirmed that something was definitely wrong. He might think he was hiding his emotions from her, and generally he was pretty stellar at it, but not today. He was being . . . nice. Which could only mean one thing: Nikko pitied her. He knew something he wasn’t telling her. Call her paranoid, and maybe she was, but her gut was seldom wrong about these things, and the knot in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was going on.

Now that she was finally alone, she took another pass through the living room before heading into the kitchen to uncork a bottle of Moscato. Maybe a hot, soapy bath would help unwind her nerves. She carried her glass of wine into the bathroom and set it on the tile rim of the Jacuzzi. She was about to turn on the faucet when she heard her phone ring in the other room. Her pulse quickened and hope fluttered alive in her chest as she rushed to answer the call before it rolled over to voice mail. Maybe it was Aiden calling to let her know he was all right. As she checked the caller ID, her hope was quickly replaced by dread, and the sinking feeling in her gut made her nauseous. When would this be over? When would that bastard finally get what was coming to him? Knowing from experience it would do her no good to ignore the call, Ryann swiped her thumb across the screen and raised the phone to her ear.

“Hello.”

“Good evening, Ryann.”

She recognized the voice, but it wasn’t Luciana’s gravelly baritone like she’d been expecting. No, this voice was smoother, more aristocratically arrogant . . . “Mr. Moralli . . . What do you want?”

His insidious chuckle made the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Until meeting Vincent Moralli, Ryann hadn’t known she possessed the ability to hate another human being as much as she despised this man.