Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (7 page)

“It’s all right. I got it.”

She made a beeline for the front door like the devil himself was hot on her heels.

“Why don’t you head out and I’ll lock up?”

Katie shot him a grateful half smile and didn’t hesitate to take him up on his offer. By the time he quickly checked the other door and secured the front, she was already in the Yukon and the engine was running. He hopped into the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway. It wasn’t until they’d braked for the stop sign that Aiden noticed the silver Escape parked along the shoulder, pulling out and heading his direction. A niggling of unease crawled over his flesh as the feeling of being watched returned—just like at the hospital. What the hell? Was someone following him? Or worse, was someone following Katie?

Not wanting to alarm her, he took his time heading back to the hospital. “You mind if I fill up before I take you back?”

“No. Of course not.”

Aiden took a sharp left, pulling into the gas station, and parked beside the farthest pump from the road. Hopping out, he rounded the SUV and waited for the Escape to declare itself—which it did a moment later when it drove right on by without as much as a braking hesitation.

Hmm . . . his instincts were usually dead-on. Though it was entirely possible that the last stunt Mommy Dearest pulled was making him a touch paranoid. His thoughts jumped to Ryann, and a twinge of guilt pricked his conscience at the thought of the wrath that woman had probably endured when she’d returned to Manhattan empty-handed. Hell hath no fury like a displeased Madeline Kruze. Nine more days and counting . . .

Bennett Kruze had stuck a lot of start-up costs into his Harvard graduate, and Aiden wasn’t naïve enough to think for one minute that man wouldn’t demand a return on said investment. No, he wasn’t being paranoid. Ditching Ryann in Vegas had been too easy. No way was this the last he’d hear from his parents. Question was, just how far would they go to get what they wanted? Knowing Bennett Kruze?—to any length. He’d been at the helm of his father’s law firm long enough to know that man wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Aiden’s mistake was being dumb enough to think just being Bennett Kruze’s son would somehow make him exempt from his treachery. Everyone was a price tag to that man, including his own flesh and blood.

Now that he was righteously good and pissed off, Aiden ripped the fuel pump free from its holder and shoved the nozzle into the gas tank. He locked the trigger and when the gas began pouring into the Yukon, he came around to the passenger side of the vehicle. When Katie didn’t see him standing there, he rapped the back of his knuckles against the window to get her attention. She let out a startled yelp and jumped, her hand flying up to her throat. Shit. That was real smooth.
Give your bro’s girl a heart attack, why don’t you?

She smiled at his winced apology.

“I’m running inside. Do you want anything?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m good,” she called through the glass.

“Be right back.”

She nodded.

He hurried into the station, grabbing a grape Powerade and vanilla Frappuccino. After settling up with the clerk, he tucked the bottles under his arm and headed back to the SUV. Aiden was pulling the nozzle free from the tank when he glanced up just as a silver Escape passed by. It was coming from the opposite direction this time. Mother. Fuck. Was that the same vehicle? Those things were a dime a dozen and hard as hell to tell apart. Unless you were specifically looking for one, you’d never notice them, they blended in so well.

He stalled another minute, washing the rear window and giving the vehicle some time to pass. When no more silver Escapes made an appearance, he got back into the Yukon. “Here you go.” He handed Katie the Frappuccino.

“What’s this for?” She took the bottle from him and grinned so big it was easy to see how his friend lost his heart to this woman.

Aiden shrugged. “You were drinking them in the hospital. I thought you might change your mind.”

“Thank you. I was just thinking about how tired I was. I haven’t rested well these past few days. This will help give me a boost.” She held up the bottle and shook it before popping the cap.

After taking a healthy swig of his Powerade, he refastened the cap and tossed it into the cup holder. As he pulled forward, heading back to the road, Aiden glanced left, then right, and discovered Katie watching him with a thoughtful expression on her beautiful face.

“What?”

“I don’t get it.” She shook her head as if in disbelief.

His top lip curled in a lopsided grin. “Don’t get what?”

“I don’t understand why a guy like you doesn’t have a woman. I mean, beneath all that Disco bullshit, you’re a really good guy.”

“ ‘Disco bullshit’?” he laughed. See, now this was the problem with having women for friends—they meddled in your shit. “What are you talking about? I have women—lots of them—sometimes two or three at a time.”

Katie gasped in shock, reaching over and slapping him in the chest.

“Oww . . .” he complained, leaning away from her assault and laughing. “What’d you do that for?”

“You are hopeless, you know that? Mark my words, Disco Stick, someday you’re going to meet a woman that’s going to rock your world, and that player guise you hide behind ain’t going to hold up for shit.”

He chuckled. “You think you know me so well, do you, Katie Bug?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and giving him a look of cool confidence. “Because you and Cole are a lot alike.”

“Is that so?” he grunted, not sure he liked where this conversation was going. Casting Katie a raised-brow glance, he turned his attention back to the road. That she thought he and Easton were alike proved just how much this woman didn’t know him. Cole was disciplined, rigid and tough as nails, while Aiden was . . . well, not. If there was a party going on, he was there—booze to drink, he was your guy—ass to tap, he was on it. Wild, unruly, and undisciplined had been Coach’s specific words, if he recalled his last ass chewing correctly.

“Yep, all it’s going to take is the right woman to come along and you’re going to be putty in her hands.”

“But you’re already taken, sweetheart.”

She blushed and gave his shoulder a playful shove. “You’re such a flirt,” she laughed. “And your smooth-talking distractions will not work on me. Besides, you wouldn’t want me, I’m a mess. For some crazy reason, I’ve yet to scare Cole off. I figure if taking a bullet for me didn’t do it, nothing will.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid you’re stuck with him,” he teased, giving her a playful wink. “Just so you know, he was a wreck when you left him. Don’t ever do that again.”

The smile fell from her face and was replaced by a concerned frown. “That’s what Uncle Marcus said.”

“Yeah, well, Coach is a smart man.”

Her smile returned, but this time it held a touch of nostalgia. “That he is, Aiden.”

CHAPTER

 8 

I
t was nearly midnight by the time Aiden reached the Embassy Suites near the MSP airport and checked in for the night. Before heading to his room, he took a detour to the Corner Bar, not yet ready to abandon his plan of getting shit-faced and laid—not necessarily in that order. On his way to an empty table, he stopped at the bar and ordered a tequila shot with a beer chaser. As he waited for the bartender to load him up, a redhead two stools down shot him a flirty grin.

“Do I know you?” she asked over the music. It was a classic pick-up line, but in his case, most people who asked genuinely meant it. Sports bars usually televised MMA fights, and a lot of the people who frequented these places were fans.

“Sorry, sweetheart, this is my first night in Minneapolis. Just killing time before my flight leaves.”

“Oh . . .”

Her duck-lipped pout accentuated the fullness of a mouth that instantly sent his mind to other places he’d like to have those lips right about now. She was a beautiful woman. Not as gorgeous as another redhead he’d been finger deep in a few nights ago, but she was totally fuckable, and he was all for getting Ryann out of his system. The woman’s breasts were smaller, her hair more orangish than fiery deep red. Come to think of it, the eye color was wrong, too, but hey, he was still game.

“Now, don’t look so disappointed, baby girl. I’m not leaving until tomorrow morning. I’ve got all night.”

At his open invitation, she smiled like she’d won the lottery. And by the time he was done with her, she’d be believing it, too. The bartender came back over with Aiden’s drinks. “Thanks. Can you get her another of whatever she’s having?” He nodded toward the woman.

“Cosmopolitan,” she told the bartender, handing him her empty glass.

The man refilled her drink and she slid off the stool, sauntering up to him. That’s when he noticed how petite she was—a few inches shorter than Ryann. She just might have to keep those heels on.

He turned to find an empty table, and the woman followed him as he weaved through the crowd. Finding a quiet spot in the corner, he slipped into a chair and she sat across from him.

“My name is Mandy.”

“Aiden.”

She reached across the table and offered her hand. “Are you sure we’ve never met?” He took her outstretched hand and shook it. She beamed at him with a flirtatious grin. “I swear . . . you look so familiar.”

“Are you a fan of MMA?”

“Are you kidding? I love MMA! There’s nothing sexier than watching two hot men get into a ring and beat the shit out of each other. Did you see the last CFA fight? I—”

Ding, ding, ding.
There . . . now she got it. A little slow on the uptake, but his dick wasn’t too picky about IQ scores.

“Nooo . . . seriously?”

His top lip curled in a crooked grin and he tipped back his tequila while he waited for all her synapses to start firing.

“Oh, my gosh! It
is
you! Disco Stick Kruze! Oh, man, I gotta tell you, you’re way hotter in person. Not that you aren’t hot on TV but . . . Wow . . . You’re like a freaking celebrity!”

And there it was, signed, sealed, and delivered in one neat little take-me-home-and-fuck-my-brains-out package. It was too easy, really. And for the first time since Aiden could remember, he found the simplicity of it—dull. There was no thrill of the hunt, no excitement, no making him work for it. It was just there, thrown at his feet. All the pussy he could want—easy and effortless. Not like . . . No. He wouldn’t go there. This was what he wanted. It didn’t matter that Mandy hadn’t shut up since she sat down. There were many ways to occupy that yappy trap of hers. A couple more shots and he should be ready to go.

Four tequila shooters later, Aiden was starting to rethink his decision to bag this babe. He’d met women who could talk, but holy fuck, this one would not shut up. Seriously, he was starting to get a headache. This woman was killing his buzz. “You want to go upstairs?” he interrupted.

She gave him a knowing smile full of promise. “Sure. Just let me grab one more drink first. I’ll get you another shot.”

Normally, he would have objected to a woman buying him booze, but considering the fine line of sobriety he was walking, another shot was definitely in order. She slipped from her chair before he could offer to go, leaning forward to give him a perfect titty shot.

“Be right back,” she promised, planting a wet kiss on his cheek before heading to the bar. She smelled of coconut tanning lotion—light and tropical. Not bad, but it was a far cry from the lavender scent of the woman who shan’t be named, searing his senses with her feminine essence.

Redirecting his thoughts that seemed to have taken on a will of their own, he watched Mandy go, appreciating the sway of her gently flared hips and the rounded curve of her skirt-hugging ass as she weaved through the crowd. Once she disappeared, he turned his attention back to his beer and downed it before retrieving his phone and checking his messages. He had an itinerary alert, notifying him that his flight was leaving an hour early due to an impending snowstorm they were trying to avoid.

Shit.
Aiden checked his watch. It was almost one. He shot an antsy glance toward the bar, but couldn’t see Mandy through all the people. Returning his attention to his phone, he was verifying his flight details when a flash of red hair caught his peripherals and Mandy sat back down, sliding another shot of tequila his direction. “If we’re going to do this, baby girl, we gotta go. My flight’s been rescheduled.”

“Wow, that’s a shame.”

The familiar voice held a feminine huskiness that put Aiden’s cock on notice. His head snapped up and he locked eyes with the redhead sitting across from him—not Mandy. No fucking way . . . His initial surprise and—goddammit—pleasure at seeing Ryann again quickly gave way to anger as a melee of emotions rocketed through him. It didn’t matter whether he was glad to see her or royally pissed, amid his warring emotions there was one common denominator that couldn’t be denied—hard-core lust. Holy hell, Aiden couldn’t decide what he wanted to do more, fuck her or strangle her. He couldn’t believe it. That tenacious little ginger just wouldn’t give up. She’d actually followed him halfway across the US.

Masking his surprise, his brows drew tight and he arrowed her with a glare that had cowed many a man in the cage, but not his gutsy little PI. She arched an unimpressed brow, looking dutifully bored, and took a sip of her drink before fishing the speared olive from her martini glass. With her stare locked on him, a triumphant gleam shining in those mischievous emerald eyes, she trapped the green ball between her teeth and smiled. Pulling the toothpick free, she closed those lush lips around it and bit down.

A tortured groan unfurled deep in his chest that ended in a snarled growl when his cock shot hard as granite. The rush of blood heading south made his head feel light, or perhaps the tequila was finally catching up with him.

“Where’s Mandy?” There were oh so many other things he wanted to say to this woman right now, none of which were fitting for the public ear.

“Oh, her?” Ryann asked innocently, flippantly waving her hand. “I don’t think she’ll be back.” She flashed him a sexy grin and nudged the shot closer, holding his chaser hostage.

“Why not?” Suspicion threaded his husky voice made raw from four tequila shots, soon to be five. He lifted the small glass to his lips and tipped his head back, swallowing the booze in one searing gulp.

The hot amber burn was on its way down his throat when she casually replied, “I told her you had crabs.”

Aiden inhaled, choking on the fire searing a path into his lungs and sending him into a coughing fit. Mother. Fuck. “You did what?” he wheezed.

The corner of Ryann’s mouth twitched, and he swore to God, he’d never been more close to throttling a woman in his life.

“I. Told. Her. You. Had. Crabs.” she repeated slowly, enunciating each word more clearly than the last.

Like he really needed to hear her say it twice. “That shit’s not funny, Ryann!”

“It’s funny to me.” She shrugged and took another sip of her drink, giggling into the glass.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.

“I think you know why I’m here.” Growing serious, she set the beer chaser on the table and slid it toward him.

“How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t very hard. I
am
a private investigator—kind of my job to find people. Oh, by the way, Del Toro said to tell you that’s for his broken rib.” She shrugged as if the message meant nothing to her, though he knew damn well that wasn’t true.

Fuck. Me.
He grabbed the chaser and slammed it down. “So what are you going to do, baby girl?—cock-block me until I leave with you? Cuz I can tell you right now, I’m not going back to Manhattan. I don’t give a shit what you say or what you do, it ain’t happening.”

“I just want you to listen to me, Aiden. Hear me out.” She shot a quick glance at her watch before locking gazes with him, and if they weren’t the most entrancing green eyes he’d ever seen. “Your parents are worried about you.”

His harsh bark of laughter drew the attention of the people sitting at the tables nearby, but at this point, he didn’t give a shit if he was making a scene. His buzz was burning through his veins like liquid fire making him reckless and edgy. “Is that what my mother told you? That she was worried about me? Because that’s a big-ass lie. She might be worried all right, but I guarantee you, it ain’t about me.”

Ryann scowled in concentration, like she was having a hard time understanding what he was saying. No clue why, because he had a Harvard fucking degree that claimed he knew English quite well.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh, she tried again. “Look, Aiden, you can’t keep running forever. Between you and me, your mom doesn’t actually strike me as the type to give up easily. What would be the harm in coming back with me and just talking to her?”

“That you can sit there with a straight face and ask me that tells me you have no clue who you’re dealing with.” Another wave of dizziness crashed over him and he grabbed the corner of the table to steady himself.

“Are you all right?” Ryann reached for him, laying her hand over his.

At her slightest touch, heat rushed up his arm, sending his pulse hammering inside his chest. That his cock didn’t seem to notice should have been his first clue something was seriously wrong here. He never got whiskey dick—ever.

“I’m fine,” he growled, ripping his hand out from under hers.

“How much have you had to drink?” Concern tightened her brows in the most gorgeous frown. Damn, she was beautiful . . .

“Obviously too much,” he grumbled. Even to his own ears, his words sounded slurred. He needed to get to bed. Sleep this shit off and forget he’d ever met this beguiling redhead. Aiden shoved back his seat and tried to stand, but the lead weight in his ass kept him grounded, sending him listing to the side. Holy shit, this tequila was really nailing him. The room was spinning, his arms and legs felt cement heavy, uncoordinated, and reluctant to move.

“Aiden!” Ryann shot out of her chair and rushed to his side, using her delectable body to brace him up as she slipped an arm around his waist. “Here, let me help you.”

“Don’t want your help,” he slurred, but contrary to his words, his arm came around her, holding her tight against him. Holy hell, he felt like he’d spent the last half hour on a Tilt-a-Whirl.

“Maybe not, but I’m helping you anyway.”

She pulled him up and he stood this time. Sweet. Progress.

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” he snapped with all the arrogant confidence of any drunk worth his salt, but the feat took a hell of a lot more effort than it should have. Crissake, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this wasted. Ryann guided him out of the bar, and though he’d never admit it to her, he was glad for the help. His vision was going from clear to blurry and spending a lot of time in the blurry. If he could just get to bed, he’d be fine in the morning.

“Key. Grab my pocket,” he told her.

At least that was what he thought he said until Ryann huffed impatiently, “I’m not grabbing your rocket, Aiden.”