Tap Out (17 page)

She let a few minutes slide by and focused her attention on removing the camcorder from its case. Oh, she was getting this interview, alright. “Don’t you want the recognition you deserve after all the physical training you’ve done for Tetnus?”

Anthony ignored her.

“This documentary is going to be the first of its kind. Think fame. Think endorsements.”

He moved a fraction of an inch closer.

Good, she had his attention.

“I’m willing to pay you for your time.”
With Caden’s pimp money.
Oh, she’d fork over a piece of her profits to Houdini Jr., along with a piece of her mind.

That caught his attention. “How much?”

Bingo.
“How does a couple hundred sound? But first, you need to sign a waiver giving me permission to use the footage.” She shuffled through her camera bag and retrieved the authorization packet and a pen. “Here. Read through this, and initial on the lines by each clause. Then, sign on the bottom line on page three. By the time you’re done, my camera will be ready to roll.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Ask me anything you want and I’ll give you a direct answer.”

“What happened to your face?” He looked horrified. Was it really that bad? A sudden flash of vulnerability bubbled up inside of her, as if the rash on her cheek left her open and weak. Sophie did not like the feeling.
Not.
One.
Bit
.

“Some asswipe pumped me and dumped me. He thought roses would make me feel better. Moron—I’m allergic.”
Alrighty
. She sounded like good ole Sophie Morelle at her finest.

Anthony jerked back as if she’d tossed a scorpion onto the seatback in front of them. She’d shocked him for sure.

“Go on. Fill out the paperwork. I’ll be ready in a second.” Unfolding the viewfinder, she went through her meticulous routine of checking the battery life and monitoring the GB usage on her SD card. The percentage shown caused her to shake her head. She hadn’t filmed much of anything yet, except last night’s fiasco. Maybe her camera had been on during her KAN interviews after all?

She hit Rewind and waited a few seconds. Her eyes shifted to Anthony, who was initialing the agreement like a good boy. Remembering the footage shot of shady Jerry, she positioned the camcorder comfortably on her thigh, angled it so Anthony couldn’t see the screen, and pressed the mute button. Then, she hit Play.

Caden’s smug face filled the viewfinder.

She fell back in her seat as if he’d reached out and sucker punched her.

“Careful or you’ll make me smudge my initials,” Anthony warned.

When had Caden gotten a hold of her camera? Her eyes narrowed as the answer became obvious. There he was, bare from the chest up, with a sheet tugged over his lap and the yellowed headboard from the motel behind him. Smug as could be, lying beside her. He must have filmed this after they’d...

The camera tottered precariously on her leg as her heart jumped in surprise. He was talking, his expression first thoughtful, then animated. She thought about moving back to the front seat and listening to exactly what Caden Kiss-n-Dash Kelly had to say for himself. It couldn’t be good.

With her attention fixed on the screen, she watched as Caden rambled on and on, wondering what he was up to and wishing she could raise the volume—but she didn’t dare. If he was giving a recount of last night...?

Anthony asked her a question. She answered yes, not really hearing him. How long was this footage?

Her breath hitched when Caden stopped speaking and shot the camera one of his infamous grins. His eyes danced. She realized deep down inside, she hoped he’d been reliving their evening, hoped that smile might be for her.

He panned the camera lower.

Her mouth went dry, and drier still, as it shifted across his torso, followed the thin line of hair leading downward over his abdomen. The sheet barely covered him. Most viewers would think he was as naked as sin.

The camera jostled, up at the ceiling and then down onto...
Oh.
Holy.
Crapola
.

There she was, grinning in her sleep. Looking like she’d gone to heaven. His finger was in the shot, a lock of her red hair twined around it.

“Here you go. So, what do you want to know about me?” Anthony was shoving his release forms toward her.

She fumbled with the camera and hit fast-forward. “One second, okay?” Relief filled her senses at being found out. But it was mingled with disappointment. What the heck was that video all about—with him curling her hair? Some weird form of sex tape, taken
after
the fact?

Caden had snuck out on his exclusive...and on
her
, she reminded herself
.
This giddy nonsense had to stop.
Must.
Focus.
On.
Documentary.

She sat up straighter on the hard seat. “Ready. The first few questions will be background stuff, okay?”

Anthony grabbed a small black comb from his pocket and ran it through his hair. Once satisfied with the results, he tucked it away, and faced her. Lifting the camera, she pressed play. “Rolling. Tell us a bit about yourself, Anthony. Where you’re from and what you liked to do as a child,” she directed.

“My name is Anthony Mastrantonio. I’m an Italian-American.” He looked at her for approval.

Sophie nodded. “Such a grand name, Mastrantonio. I’m guessing you’re from a family of fighters, all built like brick houses, right? Muscular and in prime shape. Brothers whose butts you kicked all over Chicago—or wherever you were raised? Practicing and honing your immense talent?”

Anthony shook his head. “I’m an only child, from New Haven, Connecticut. Mom and Dad are both doctors. They wanted me to go to medical school but I couldn’t pull the grades. Guess I didn’t inherit the smart gene. Plus, I didn’t care for school much. Rather be outside, running around. I have focus issues which didn’t help. Do you know what ADHD is?”

“Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. A common disorder that a lot of successful people just like yourself have. Come to think of it, I bet you’d make a terrific spokesperson for an ADHD organization, being someone who’s overcome challenges and achieved their goals, like fighting in the Tetnus championship.”

“My parents might disagree with you on that one. I wanted to be a quarterback or first baseman. Took a long time to convince them that I wasn’t doctor material. They caved, and let me go to a public school to play.” He grunted. “They didn’t know about the underground fight clubs. I found out awfully quick I was good at something. I fucking love this sport.”

Sophie frowned, thoughtfully. “You went to a private school before that?”

“Yep, Shady Brook Prep.”

“You know, I’m glad you agreed to do this interview,” she commented, honestly. “The general impression of MMA fighters—the Boys, which is what one of the old time trainers has coined this group of athletes,” she clarified for the camera, “is that you’re kind of like the WrestleMania guys. You know, with every move pre-choreographed.”

Anthony’s eyes hardened.

His reaction was clear enough for viewers to pick up on. “Or,” Sophie hastened to redirect their discussion, thinking back on Caden, and how the mere memory of wrestling around on the mattress with him caused a curl of lust to fire up inside of her, “another misperception is that MMA fighters are a bunch of rough-around-the-edges, beefed-up brawlers, with no rhyme or reason behind their fighting. Street punks and no-holds-barred fighters. Not private school kids.”

She peered over the camera at him to assess his reaction, hoping her comment didn’t hit another nerve. He seemed puzzled so she added, “Like hardcore back alley city boys.”

“Like Caden, you mean.”

“What?”

“Street-bred. With skills you can’t learn in a gym or from a teacher. If you’re talking hardcore, he’s the real deal. One time, he took on this total animal, a fighter with at least fifteen pounds on him. Won the bout in three seconds, giving the guy a hammer fist to the nose. See, it’s not just skill, but mad instincts. Guess when you grow up on the streets, where you survive by defending yourself...hell. Hey, are you okay?”

Okay? She couldn’t find her breath.

“If you could only see the expression on your face. Never judge a book by its cover, ain’t that right?”

“Could you please clarify what you mean when you say
street-bred
?” She hoped the lift in her voice wouldn’t be easily detectible to viewers. A curveball had been tossed her way, and Sophie’s journalist’s glove instinctively reached high to claim it. Oh, she’d known there was more to Caden Kelly than met the eye. Something the general public would be more than thrilled to discover. Last night, she’d succumbed to his charm instead of pressing him for information. Given the state of their relationship, she couldn’t afford to make the same mistake with Caden. No matter how much hearing the truth bothered her.

“Ah, I don’t know that much about him. Just repeating what I’ve heard.”

“Which is?”

“That Caden’s one tough motherfucker, much tougher than he lets on. A lot of guys underestimated him—still do. He’s the man to beat at Tetnus, though. I’d bet my last dollar on him.” Anthony crunched the hundreds in his palm, a thoughtful look on his face. “The way he handled himself last night...”

Good thing she kept the camera fixed on Anthony because her cheeks were scorching, the rash only adding to her misery.
If he only knew.
Man, at the next stop, she was
so
going to delete Caden’s sex tape.

“Explain for the viewers what you mean by how he...um...handled himself. I saw him land a few solid kicks, and some solid throws.” She frowned, remembering the way Caden sat on top of the bald thug, raining punches down on the guy.

“Well, Caden can read his opponent like nobody’s business. When a fighter comes at him with a haymaker, Caden’s elbow is already up and he’s feeding the guy a mouthful of teeth. Or else Caden’s wrapping him up and taking him to the ground. That’s where street smarts gets you, into the head of your opponent. Mix that up with mad martial arts skills, and you’ve got yourself one helluva fighter.”

“Haymaker,” she began to clarify, “is a lethal punch. Don’t let these names fool you. It’s not two fighters wrestling around in a barnyard.”
Or two consenting adults making hay of each other on a motel mattress.

Anthony looked at her like she’d just taken a roll around the grimy bus floor.

She continued, thinking hard about what she’d learned about MMA striking skills. “It’s a standard tough guy move, like when someone winds up, swings, and puts their entire body weight behind the punch. If you know it’s coming, all you need to do is block it with the outside of your elbow. Leaves the guy completely open for retaliation from either a punch or a take down.”

“Correct,” Anthony said. She could tell she’d surprised him with her explanation. “A take down,” he added, “is when a fighter is wrestled to the mat.”

“But Caden didn’t wrestle his opponent to the mat last night.”

“Nope. That’s why he’s got mad street smarts. Instead, Caden used a spinning hook kick. Now, that’s usually used on an opponent’s head, but Caden nailed him in the leg. Knew he had the guy off balance. Knew he’d put a hurting on him big time.”

She remembered the way the EMT crew had rushed into the cage. The way it took three men to yank Caden off the guy. A street fighter with the good looks of someone who’d been weaned at a country club. A street fighter with a gentle side.

If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in him last night, she’d have realized he’d shown her both sides of himself. The mean snarling brute had demanded she leave, and the more wholesome guy had been nothing less than spectacular. She might be pissed at his Houdini act but there she had nothing negative to say about his skills between the sheets.

Anthony turned away from the camera. All this talk about Caden was probably making him weary. The guy wasn’t even here and he’d still managed to steal someone’s thunder.

“What would you get out of winning Tetnus, Anthony?” she questioned. “Besides the million-dollar purse.”

Anthony grunted and turned back her way. “What any fighter wants. To be recognized as the toughest man in America. Fame. A better name for himself. Better future fights. Better life. The money doesn’t hurt though.” Her eyes fell to the crumpled bills in his hand, and she wondered at what the real cost had been for him to leave the comfy confines of Connecticut for this hell ride to Vegas.

As if guessing her thoughts, he held out his palm. “Here. I don’t want your money. I was only messing with you.”

Dang-diggity.
A fighter with a conscience. She smiled weakly, and accepted the bills.

A time long ago, when she’d been desperate to get out of Hawley, she’d have done about anything for money.

“You know, Sophie, you’re not the bitch I thought you were.”

“I kind of like you too, Anthony. Maybe you’ll become a star because of Tetnus. I hope so.” Her comment was genuine, and not for the cameras.

The bus hit a pothole, sending Sophie airborne. The new driver Jerry’d hired wasn’t any better than the rest of the lot.

A chorus of dirty curses sounded from the back of the bus.

Time to seek shelter far up front.

She clicked off her camera.

Disappointment was written all over Anthony’s face. “It’ll do you justice. You’ll be amazing, I promise you,” she whispered. “But this rolling sardine can isn’t the best place for this. I’ll compile a list of questions and we’ll resume our discussion in Vegas.”

Anthony looked puzzled, which gave her pause. According to her schedule, Vegas was the next and final stop. Something Sal had said earlier, back in the shack motel, about the next appearance, not
final
...but
next
. Dang-diggity, this joyride wasn’t taking another unplanned pothole, right?

After carefully packing her equipment away, she climbed over Anthony and made her way back to her seat, far away from Mr. Scorpion King.