Tap Out (14 page)

Sophie looked on in horror as it took three EMTs to pull Caden off his opponent.

That sexy smile, the light-hearted playboy appeal depicted on his billboard, had been a lie. The man she knew—or thought she’d known—was an illusion.

Chapter Nine

LAY AND PRAY: When a fighter plays dead, and prays his opponent will fall for it and stop beating the hell out of him. Seems like the best way to get out of the cage alive

The fists pounding on his motel room door echoed loudly around the bathroom. Or was that his pounding headache beating in time with whoever the fuck was out there? Whoever it was clearly hadn’t seen the fight. A rational person, or even someone with a smidgeon of common sense, would know enough to leave him alone. Give him time to recover and work through the second battle playing out in his head.

Rage
. No other word described what had happened back there in the cage. A killing rage. The crowed picked up on it, alright, chanting Killer Kelly like they’d been cheering for their favorite baseball player up at bat.

He’d lost control. Allowed the demons to resurface, and along with them, anger and hurt. His daddy’s fists. Bracken beaten to near death, with cracked ribs and a broken nose. Child Protective Services, who did more harm than good by separating the brothers. Foster homes suitable for tough, hardcore, mean-looking kids, not an attractive boy looking for someone to love him. Life afterward, in the backstreets of Nashville, fighting for food. Fighting to survive.

Since he sobered up, he’d gotten good at redirecting his pain, using it as motivation to rise above it all. Win Tetnus. Prove once and for all that he mattered.

Tonight, that pain had eaten him whole.

A quick, hot shower hadn’t been enough comfort. He needed a hiatus from the promise he’d made to himself. A bottle of booze was just what he had in mind.

His mind flashed full of Sophie. Her hair fanning out on the mattress, her lips swollen from his kisses, her eyes shimmering with pleasure. The image was all wrong. She was officially off limits. Tonight, she’d pissed him off like nobody’s business.

“Knock if you need me,” he muttered. She’d promised to stay put, then had blatantly ignored it, putting herself in unnecessary danger. Man, he should have expected it from her. Typical woman—couldn’t be trusted. Caden wore two belts, figurative ones. The first notched with all the women he’d fucked, and another with the women who’d outright lied to him. The latter was beginning to catch up to the first.

Promises were something he didn’t take lightly because, in spite of the endless let downs he’d experienced over the years, Caden had never made an idle one. His word was his word.

That is, except for the promises made to himself. Breaking them were the biggest let downs of all.

He hurled the damp towel clenched in his fist onto the bathroom countertop. Tugging on a clean pair of sweats, he scowled at the sharp pain from the wound on his arm. The EMTs had looked at it and given him some antiseptic and bandages to bind it with after he’d showered the stench from his body.

The pounding continued. Relentless and unmerciful. One more ballbuster to be dealt with. “Just a fucking second,” he shouted at the door.

The combination of somebody’s blaring television and whoever was beating the hell out of his motel room door only worsened his headache. Just like the woman in the adjacent room—the one that had better be in there, and not banging away outside.

Fuck. One more reason not to answer it.

Shit. And double shit. Was she in trouble? His head throbbed at the thought, knowing he’d promised her his protection and hadn’t exactly hurried to the door.

Without further thought, Caden stalked over and yanked it open.

“Boy-oh-boy, that was something,” Sal murmured, stepping past him into the room. The man was as annoying as hell, and just as oblivious. “Jerry’s mad as the dickens, too. Thought you were a no-show—he didn’t see your car out front, you didn’t check in to the room he’d reserved. So he put his mouth and money on Jaysin. Lost big time.”

The news wasn’t surprising. Caden had dealt with his share of Jerrys in his lifetime, sure. Guys who were slaves to the dollar, who’d use fighters any way necessary to fill up their bank accounts. Fuck, for the better part of the evening he’d been watching the man, waiting to catch him red-handed. But a guy who traded in human flesh
and
sold dope? That took the cake...

Sal stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze searching the room. “I bet you didn’t expect Caden to put a licking on that felon?” he loudly asked. Dried blood had formed beneath a nostril, signs that the old timer had seen some trouble. Knocked loose some marbles within that head of his, with the way was talking—like there was another guy named Caden in the room.

“Holy tarnation,” Sal continued, eyes searching, then widening. “She’s not here. Thought she followed you back. I’ve been waiting for her to...eh...finish up in here.”

Fucking
tarnation.

“That was you in Sophie’s room, with the television amped up to 100 decibels?” he demanded, knowing full well the answer. He stalked over to the chair, grabbed his black T-shirt off the back, and slid it over his head. The cut on his arm smarted but he ignored it as he slid on his sneakers.

The room fell silent, drawing attention to the fact that the commotion outside had died down. No news to be had out there. Bad news for Sophie, any way you looked at it. He had to find her, and fast.

Sal was already at the door. “I’m going to get her,” he announced, drawing the same conclusion.

Caden scowled.
Shit on a brick
. Lord knew what Sophie had gotten herself into out there. He moved past Sal, jerked the door open, and strode out into the parking lot.

Light from a full moon illuminated the area enough for him to spot the huddle of thugs lurking over by the deconstructed cage. No one else was around. The thought that Sophie might be held against her will by those shitheads, or worse...

He headed toward the group, lengthening his strides. Sal’s loafers sounded on the pavement behind him, hustling to keep up.

Caden heard her voice, coming from deep within the circle, but he had to see her. Had to see for himself that she was okay. The fact that her voice sounded polished and professional, calm even—that it was the voice she used while interviewing celebrities—was lost on him.

“What else do you want to say to the MMA fans out there?”

“Uh...”

Caden elbowed his way into the thick of them, guided by the sound of her. He paused once to glance over his shoulder and make sure the old timer was close by.

“Come on. Don’t be camera shy. Let me remind you:
Live
on KAN. Anyone else care to comment?”

He pushed through the front line of bodies and stopped short. His gaze landed first on her, then on the camcorder.

Sal drew up next to him and sucked in a breath. “Holy Toledo.”

Sophie stood on the second step of what remained of the stairs. Her blouse was wrinkled and her pants creased, but despite the worse for wear, she seemed unharmed. Dead serious, with her camera held high. Holding court to all of the thugs, riff raff, and street punks who lingered about after a fight, looking for trouble.

Guess they found it. All five foot seven of her.

Except, they hadn’t figured it out yet. That she was pure trouble. That the Pittsburgh Pirates cap on her head was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t from these parts. That she wasn’t a reporter for a local news channel.

That the fucking camcorder wasn’t even on.

“Please, somebody speak up. Remember, we’re on
air.
”

He wanted to punch the three assholes closest to her, all of them smiling manically. Gullible as shit, but built like tanks.

She hadn’t noticed him.

Her gaze darted toward the three thugs, nervously. A sign that common sense hadn’t entirely vanished.

“Okay guys, a little change in topic, here. Any comment on the illegal betting taking place tonight?”

A rumble of angry curses came out of his lips, overshadowed by the louder rumble of voices rolling through the crowd. Like a dark, ominous cloud over an already torrential downpour of bad losers. Caden was willing to bet they’d bet against
him.

“How many of you gave Jerry money?” Sophie continued, unaware that it was about to rain on her parade. Damn. Given her profession, you’d think she’d know when danger surrounded her. The tension had grown so thick, a chainsaw wouldn’t slice through it.

Sophie shifted her weight and tucked a hand into her pants pocket, with the dark lens of the camcorder held steadfast on the crowd.

“That weasel got me for a hundred bucks. Told me that fucking fighter of his, the one with the scorpion on his head, was un-fuckin’-beatable. If he hadn’t been hauled out on a stretcher, I’d beat the shit outta him myself.” The fan’s face grew redder as he ground the words out from between clenched teeth.

The guy next to him chimed in. “Got me for a hundred, too. I want my money back. The fights were fixed.”

Silence fell, and then the men’s eyes swung Caden’s way, finally noticing him.

Caden ground his teeth together, readying himself to have at it.

“Don’t do it,” Sal said, surprising him.

He grunted, his gaze shifting off the trio and onto Sal.

The old timer was shaking his head at Sophie.

Hell.
His gaze quickly fell back onto her. Man, this woman drew trouble to her like honey drew butterflies.

He let out a healthy stream of curses as she stepped down off the makeshift stairs, drew out a small notepad from somewhere beneath her camera, and stepped closer to the trio.

It was too late to stop her.

“Tell me, how much does Jerry charge amateurs to fight professionals? And, how does he get the word out and find the hardest guys? Does he cull from local prisons? Detention Centers?”

“Cull? Like seacull? Honey, do I look like some damned bird?” The red-faced fan growled. “You’re the reporter. You get stuff done. So, go get my money.”

“You know, KAN sucks. How about—”

“Woo, bitch, is that thing even on?”

It wasn’t their words, or the fact that she’d been made that sprung Caden into action. It was the look on the faces of the three thugs, staring at Sophie as if they’d been interviewed by the devil in high heels.

Great, he was going to have to fight his way back out of here, with a headache that felt like an iron vice squeezing his temples.

In three long strides, he stalked up to her and grabbed her beneath the elbow.

Sophie jumped, yanking her arm from beneath his grasp, but he held on firm. Turning, her eyes widened on his face a second before her arm relaxed beneath his fingers.

“Show’s over,” he stated, loud enough for the crew around them to know he meant business. “Let’s go,” he added in a softer voice, tugging her arm and leading her back through the crowd.

“Hey, what time can we watch our interview?” the guy who’d been crowding Sophie as he approached the ring. Clueless as crap.

“Eleven o’clock news,” Sophie calmly lied through her teeth. “Run home and turn your televisions on.”

It was well past midnight. Good thing this crew wasn’t the watch-wearing sort.

“Sophie, sweetheart, I hate to rustle your feathers but do you know that your camera isn’t even—”

“Zip it, Sal,” he growled, shooting him a clear look of warning.

Man alive, no way was he making it outta here without a battle.

His temples throbbed along with his splitting headache. The sharp pain in his arm matched his sore cheek. He ignored it all. Fuck, he’d fought through worse situations, before he’d even learned how to defend himself.

The biggest guy decided to play hardball by blocking his path. Showing off for the crowd more than anything else. Large-oaf syndrome.

Caden shot him a warning look. For a second, the guy looked nervous enough to step aside. He shuffled around on his feet, his movements hesitant before stupidity had him holding ground. He felt sorry for the man. Now it was about saving face.

Before any chants of encouragement could begin, Caden balled up his fist and sucker punched the guy in the stomach. A shame, but he had to make his point clear.

Sophie’s arm jerked beneath his grasp. He heard her gasp.

What the fuck did she expect? His fingers tightened around her arm as they made their way without further incident back to his room.

He released her arm, and she rubbed the spot with her hand, as if to wipe away his repulsive touch.

“Inside.”

She didn’t hesitate, stepping around his body in the doorway. Careful not to brush up against him as she passed.

He studied her face.

She tucked her chin and avoided eye contact.

“Hell,” he murmured, exasperated.

She shied away from him and hurried into the room.

Letting out another stream of curses, he followed her inside. Her reaction pissed him off.

She’d been cool as a cucumber surrounded by street punks and ex-cons. Resourceful and hell-bent on getting the goods on Jerry. Nervous yes, but fearless nevertheless. And unbelievably stupid—any number of things could have happened to her tonight, if he hadn’t interfered.

Had he hurt her? He rubbed his temples, hard. It didn’t help the drumming in his head.

Fuck. What she’d witnessed in the cage earlier more than justified her fear.

Sal stood shifting on his loafers, just outside the doorway.

Freakin’ great—the old-timer too?

Sal moved about nervously on the cement walkway. “Wow, that was a close call. Thought I was going to have to take that guy down. Unfortunately, you beat me to it. The least I can do for you, Caden, is go and get something for the swelling. Motel manager has got to have ice or something.”

Caden frowned, and then winced in pain. People fussing over him left a foul taste in his mouth, as if he couldn’t take care of himself. But he nodded in agreement anyway. Less noise with Sal gone.

“You got it. And, Caden...um...she’s not all that bad. You might wanna cut her some slack. Even though it looked like she was handling herself okay—”

He slammed the door before Sal finished. Stalking into the bathroom, unwound his bandage, grabbed a towel, wet it, and pressed it against the oozing cut on his arm.