Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (41 page)

CHAPTER

 43 

I
’m worried about this fight.”

Aiden locked eyes with his friend, who was busy securing his hand wraps. “What are you worried about? I got this.”

“Your head isn’t in this, man. You know it and I know it. And in about ten minutes that fighter out there is gonna know it and you’re going to get your ass kicked. If you’re worried about Gingersnap—”

“It’s not Ryann.”

Nikko chuffed a
don’t lie to me
grunt.

Aiden vacillated on how much to tell his friend. Though he’d been careful to keep everything confidential up until this point, he didn’t want Nikko getting caught off guard when the shit hit the fan tonight. Del Toro had some touchy triggers, and there was a good chance an FBI raid was going to set one of them off. The only peace of mind Aiden took solace in, his only anchor to sanity right now, was that Ryann was at home—safe. Through this all, his main goal had been to keep her out of it. She’d already been through so much with the death of her father. He wanted to spare her the ugliness of bringing his father and Moralli down. In some respects, he’d failed—miserably, actually—but at least she was safe. In that, he had succeeded.

He’d had another long and exhausting day with the feds. This time, he’d had to go to One Police Plaza. There had been issues with his recorded confession, more red tape to cut, and last-minute scrambling to get the warrants in place and make sure the cases were airtight for tonight’s raid. They’d confiscated his phone as evidence, since it had photos of documents he’d taken at the firm.

He’d hoped to get out of there with enough time to get back to the penthouse and try to talk to Ryann again, but that hadn’t happened. He prayed Nikko was right and she just needed some time to sort the truth from fiction in her head. Maybe tonight, after it was all over and he could finally tell her everything, maybe then she’d believe him and see that everything he’d done from the moment they’d returned to New York had been for her, because he loved her.

“Listen, man, there’s something I gotta tell you—” But before Aiden could say anything more, there was a sharp rap on the door. It swung open, and Vincent Moralli strolled in with Frank Luciana on his heels. Moralli was wearing a tailored pinstripe suit, looking like he was ready to go to a gala instead of an underground fight club. What the fuck was he doing down here in the pit?

“Aiden, getting ready for your fight, I see. Good, good . . . It looks like I caught you just in time.”

Apprehension needled up his spine. The arrogant glint in the bastard’s eyes warned Aiden he was up to something. “About your fight tonight . . . There’s been a change of plans.”

Aiden cocked his brow, feigning nonchalance when every instinct inside him was clamoring to attack. In sixty seconds this could all be over. He could KO this piece of shit, drag him out the back door, and deliver him to the FBI himself. It was a temptation he was giving serious consideration to when Frank, Moralli’s enforcer, slipped his right hand inside his jacket, no doubt resting his palm against the butt of his gun. Of course the bastard wouldn’t be dumb enough to confront Aiden unarmed.

“What kind of change?” he asked, tempering his voice but unable to completely banish his loathing growl.

Moralli grinned like the Cheshire Cat. Lacing his fingers, he steepled his index fingers and brought them up to rest beneath his chin. “You are going to lose this fight.”

Nikko swore at the same time Aiden snarled, “The fuck I am.” He shot to his feet and saw Frank tense from the corner of his eye. “I don’t dive, and that was never our agreement.”

“I think you’ll change your mind.”

“Don’t fucking count on it.”

Moralli shrugged. “We’ll see . . .”

It took every last bit of Aiden’s frayed self-control to let that fucker walk out the door.

“What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t know.” Aiden began to pace, his mind racing with scenarios. He hadn’t seen this change in the game coming. “How long ago did you talk to Ryann?”

“Half hour ago. I texted her to let her know you were here. I told her we’d be home after the fight.”

“Did she respond?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. Well, as fine as she can be. She’s worried about you. I think she feels really bad about what happened last night.”

Aiden exhaled a pent-up sigh. “So do I. I didn’t handle that very well at all.”

Nikko stood and clasped him on the shoulder. “Well, you can tell her that when you get home. Let’s go get this over with, huh?”

The arena was packed. Stepping into the spotlight, Aiden couldn’t see beyond the blinding glow beaming down on him. The noise was chaotic, the cheering, the booing . . . Aiden kept his gaze down, his focus centered. For the next five rounds nothing mattered but winning this fight. He would not cow to Vincent Moralli, not now—not ever. Soon this bastard would know that Aiden was not a man to be trifled with.

As he made his way to the ring, he refused to give Moralli the satisfaction of his gaze. When he won, and only then, would he look that bastard in the eye and claim his victory.
Lose this fight . . .
not a bloody chance in hell. The announcer called his name as he stepped onto the platform. But it wasn’t Disco Stick that entered the cage tonight. He wasn’t here to entertain, to thrill, or to wow. This was no show. He was here to fight—fight for his and Ryann’s freedom. As he slammed the door of the octagon closed, it all came down to this moment—the moment where he put his faith and his life on the line for justice.

His opponent was already in the ring, pacing his corner like a caged animal. As Aiden stepped forward, he noticed there was no referee to call out the fight, and he had all of two seconds to digest the significance of that before the fighter charged him. Aiden sidestepped at the last minute and used his momentum to send a spinning round kick into the guy’s side. The fighter hit the cage, and dug his fingers into the links, clinging to keep himself on his feet. Aiden closed in and the fighter exploded, sending a swinging back fist around that caught Aiden in the cheek. The blow rocked him, sending him stumbling back as the fighter moved in, raining haymakers down on him. Aiden weathered the storm of his fury and took some damage, waiting for the fighter to gas out—waiting for his opening. Aiden thought he heard a woman scream but it was too hard to distinguish cries from the cheers.

Aiden was a fighter known for his stand-up and his rock-solid jaw. It was his ability to take damage and keep fighting that made him such a dangerous competitor. This fighter was good, but Aiden had fought better in the CFA. He sparred with better every day he stepped into the ring with Nikko “the Bull” Del Toro to train. Nikko hit harder and moved faster. There was never a doubt in Aiden’s mind that he was going to win this fight. It was only a matter of time before his opponent made a fatal mistake. The error occurred moments later when his opponent dropped his guard and Aiden countered with a one-two punch.

The first strike was to the gut and the second an uppercut to the jaw. The fighter flew back and hit the cage again, and this time Aiden followed, shooting for his hips. He took the guy to the mat and braced his hands on the fighter’s biceps, holding his arms down as he hopped to his feet. Aiden rocked back and shoved his knee up, passing his guard and taking side control.

He dazed the fighter with a few well-placed elbows, and moved in for an Americana submission. Pinning him with his chest, Aiden swept his arm beneath his opponent’s and grabbed his wrist, leveraging his elbow toward the mat. The fighter was locked up, all he needed to do was pull down and the guy would tap—or his arm would break, Aiden didn’t care which one. The challenge with this fight was going to be making it last long enough for SWAT to move in, or so he thought, until Aiden glanced up at Moralli, pinning him with a
fuck you
glare and froze.

In that moment time seemed to stop. The cheers and screams of the crowd dimmed to white noise as Aiden’s heart seized inside his chest. The terror lancing through his veins was like shards of glass. Paralyzing fear gripped him in its merciless, unrelenting grasp as his eyes met and locked on Ryann.
Oh, my God, how did she get here? Why would she have come?
She knew it wasn’t safe, he’d told her she was in danger. What could possibly compel her to disregard his warning and enter the devil’s lair?

Tears streamed down her cheeks. The desperation on her panic-stricken face gutted him. And there, sitting beside her was Vincent Moralli, wearing a smug, triumphant grin. His hand was clamped tightly on her arm, restraining her to the place of honor at the dais beside him. All at once the realization slammed into him with the force of a freight train,
Moralli knows
. . .
He knows what I’ve done and he was right. I’m going to lose this fight.
Aiden just prayed the FBI would get here in time to save Ryann before it was too late.

She was too late . . . too late to stop the fight. Moralli and his men had been waiting for her the moment she’d entered the Lion’s Den. It was as if they knew she was coming. She hadn’t made it fifty feet
before his enforcer had descended on her. She’d never stood a chance of escape. Whether Madeline Kruze had set her up, or if she’d innocently played into her evil husband’s hand, Ryann couldn’t know. Not that it really mattered at this point. They were going to die, of that Ryann was certain. But first, Moralli was going to make sure Aiden suffered, and was going to force her to watch it.

You should have become a rook, Ryann, but I think I’ll enjoy you better as a pawn after all.
The bastard’s taunting words played through her mind as she frantically tried to figure a way out of this, but her thoughts were a quagmire of desperation. She’d felt a flicker of hope, watching Aiden fight. The way he moved, the way he dominated his opponent, she’d had no doubt he was going to win, but then he’d stopped, seconds from a submission and with the flicker of his gaze in their direction, everything had changed.

The crowd gasped in surprise, and many booed, when Aiden released his hold on the fighter and rolled to his feet, letting his opponent up. “What the fuck are you doing?” she heard Nikko yelling from the sideline as he rushed the cage.

“Aiden, no!” she screamed. She didn’t know whether he heard her or not, but when he cast her one final glance, her heart broke as she stared at the face of defeat. It was a look she’d never seen in her fighter before, and one that would haunt her for as long as she lived. Her only consolation was that wouldn’t be very long.

When the fighter slammed his fist into Aiden’s jaw, he didn’t even try to block it. The blow knocked him back, but he refused to go down—stubborn male. A sob broke from her throat and she covered her face. She couldn’t watch another moment of this brutal assault . . .

Vincent grabbed the back of her head, his hand fisting into her hair and yanking her head up. He leaned close, his hot breath like scalding pungent vapors against her cheek. “You’re going to watch this, Ryann . . . You’re going to see what happens to those who betray me.”

The fighter hit Aiden again—and again—and again. Nausea gripped her as the thud of fists striking flesh and bone sent a surge of bile up the back of her throat, bitter and burning. He dropped to one knee, refusing to fall and refusing to fight. His guard was down, heavily muscled arms hanging loose at his sides, arms she would give anything to be in right now.
Oh, God . . .