Authors: Michele Mannon
His eyes told a different story. Hard. Piercing. Full of some unidentifiable emotion. Disappointment? Anger? It couldn’t be good. Whatever it was, it affected him deeply. But the second she realized it, it was gone.
He was wearing a tight, black Ultimate American Male T-shirt, gray shorts, and ratty sneakers. Even dressed down, the sight of him caused a surge of pleasure deep within her. The sight of him...
Oh Crapola
.
No.
Common sense seemed to reach out, grab her by the throat and shake her until logic sank in. “What are
you
doing?” The answer hit her like a three-hundred-pound weight, stealing her breath and making her head spin. No, this was not happening.
“For fuck’s sake, go back to your room.”
“I’ve been pounding on my wall for hours. Where the heck have you been? And more importantly, what do you think you’re doing?” She repeated, this time with more force.
Caden grunted, looking past her to the fighter prowling around the cage.
“You’re not stupid enough to fight that man? Jeez, he just got out of jail.”
Ignoring her, he grabbed hold of the bottom of his black T-shirt and stripped it up and over his head. Every muscle in his abdomen and chest flexed.
He climbed the steps until he was beside her. Somehow, he seemed bigger. Bigger in every sense of the word—his entire being, not just the packaging.
His fingers touched her arm and gave a gentle squeeze. Sure, there was lust but it was quickly overwhelmed by the tight knot that had formed in her stomach, leaving her breathless. Talk about conflicting emotions. Which, in truth, was how she always felt around Caden. Confused. Turned on.
Worried.
“You’re a well-respected champion in the making. Not someone who fights in some ramshackle ring, in some thug fest. I didn’t peg you for being the kind of athlete who’d participate in this kind of brutal bloodbath.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t know the first thing about me. If you don’t head back to the room, forget about me helping you. Fuck, forget that you know me at all,” he literally growled into her ear.
Releasing her, he moved up the stairs and into the ring.
Sophie descended, hoping to give the appearance that she was actually listening to him and following orders. But the last thing she wanted to do was abandon Caden to that beast, without knowing the extent of the beating he’d received. How many broken bones needed resetting, or the depth of medical attention he would require. If he survived the fight.
She paused, and looked around for the EMTs, all the while muttering to herself. “Foolish. What is he thinking? He’s going to get throttled, ruin his beautiful face, end his modeling career for good. Disappoint women across the country. Get himself killed. Damn. Damn. Damn.”
Her bodyguard snorted as he got to his feet to stand beside her. “About our interview, can it wait? Gotta go place a bet. No one’s gonna expect this. I’ll make a killing. Meet up with you by the bus out front—the yellow one, can’t miss that hunk of junk. Okay?”
Sophie ignored the comment. Something had to be done about this fight, and fast. Her bodyguard was turning out to be more useful than expected.
“Organized betting? Sounds shady to me. Who’s collecting the money?” She already knew the answer. This was for the camera alone.
He pointed in Jerry’s direction. Darn. She needed him to say it. Quickly.
“Joseph somebody?”
“No, the tall guy inside the cage. The one with the horn in his hand.”
Terrific.
“Jerry Batelli? The promoter,” she emphasized, making sure the censure in her voice translated well. She glanced toward the cage and met Caden’s glare.
The knot in her stomach tightened in a death grip.
Knowing he was going to lose was heartbreaking, an unexpected elephant on her chest, pinning the breath within her lungs. Aside from lusting after the hunk, she was surprised to discover she
liked
him. Liked the protectiveness he’d displayed earlier, with his insistence she knock on the wall if she needed him. Liked how he was sensitive enough to know when he’d hit a nerve and backed off without going for blood. Heck, he’d probably agreed to help her simply because he felt sorry for her.
There was much more to Caden Kelly than jaw-dropping good looks. Charisma. Humor. A keen sense of intelligence. The elephant bore down to the point where pain welled up in her chest. He was better than this ramshackle ring, this brutal bloodbath. He should have his comeback without having to lower himself to Jerry’s unorthodox level of chaos in order to do it. Caden was going to ruin his good looks
and
his chance to compete in Tetnus, big time.
She shook her head at him.
No.
Don’t do it.
He scowled, then nodded toward the motel. A short, sharp gesture.
Abruptly, he turned and sauntered toward the far corner, effectively dismissing her.
“Yep, that’s right,” her bodyguard continued, oblivious to the wave of emotion playing havoc with her heart. He moved toward the ring and shouted, “Hey, Jerry. Hold up!” Without waiting for the shady promoter’s reply, he hustled off, leaving Sophie feeling anything but victorious, despite having recorded confirmation of Jerry’s wrongdoings.
She knew moving away from the ring wasn’t an option. Escaping the mass of testosterone-infused bodies, safeguarding her exclusive interview, shielding herself from the drama about to unfold, none of it was important. What mattered was the fighter in the cage.
The bullhorn sounded. Sophie pushed until she managed to squeeze right up next to the metal fence.
Caden sauntered forward, offering his fists in greeting to the bald prison escapee. The classy gesture was lost on the man. Instead, he took a pot shot at Caden, who ducked and narrowly missed being slammed in the side of his head.
Then he smirked.
Sophie cringed.
Madman.
Glancing around, she waved to the EMT guys, clearly identifiable within this crowd, their white uniforms like cream in an Oreo cookie, surrounded by black and brown. They responded by waving back. She noted their proximity to the cage, close enough to reach Caden when the time came. Judging by Caden’s reckless, nonchalant behavior, it would be sooner rather than later. Couldn’t he tell the guy wanted to kill him, and would resort to any means necessary to do so?
Baldy charged across the ring, fists raised and shouting like a wild man.
Caden didn’t budge. His arms hung loosely by his sides, his stance relaxed and unthreatening. Quiet movements, so unlike the man himself.
The oversized beast threw his entire body weight at Caden, and ended up face-first against the cage. She zoomed in on Baldy’s very pissed-off response. The indentations from the cage’s wiring looked like deep-set frown marks on his face.
She would have laughed, if it hadn’t been for Caden turning and slowly heading across the cage. Toward her. His back was to Baldy. Any fool knew what a huge mistake that was.
He didn’t seem to notice her. Three choices: duck out of sight, brazen it out and watch Baldy pummel him, or...warn him?
Once more, Baldy charged.
Sophie opened her mouth. “Caden,” she shouted, “watch—” Her words were interrupted by a gasp, as Caden turned at the last second and swung his leg around full throttle.
They connected with Baldy’s side, smack in the kidney. Baldy bellowed in rage.
Caden leaned in toward his opponent, saying something. Sophie didn’t need to hear his words to figure it out, having been on the receiving end of Caden’s wry humor. Something provocative, for sure.
Judging by Baldy’s snarling curses in English, Spanish, and surprisingly, Chinese, the word
provocative
was putting it mildly.
Baldy whipped a shiny object out of his pants.
A mixture of admonition and admiration rumbled through the crowd like dark, treacherous wave. Light flickered off the object, and Sophie gasped.
A knife.
Not a butter knife, either. She refocused the camera lens for a closer look. A curved blade the length of a large banana. Baldy must have had it sheathed within his sweatpants. Holding the camcorder steady, she looked around the parking lot. Someone had to stop this. Brass knuckles were bad enough. Now knives?
Didn’t Sal warn you there are no rules tonight?
Her nervous mind scolded.
Her windpipe constricted, making her lightheaded. No one had stepped forward to help. And she felt...helpless, a feeling so long buried that it took her a second to recognize it.
Where was her bodyguard? He was big enough to end it.
Caden gestured with his hands, drawing her attention back to him.
Oh.
Crapola
. He was taunting Baldy. “Bring it on,” his hands motioned.
Helplessly, she looked around once more. Someone had to stop this fight before Caden goaded his opponent into committing murder.
The crowd’s attention was fixed on the fighters. Sophie’s hands shook so hard she was forced to lower her camera. Tucking it beneath her armpit, she angled it up toward the cage and left it running.
Baldy charged, forcing Caden’s back against the cage. Sophie swallowed hard; the rage on Baldy’s face was purely animalistic. In one swift motion, the knife swung through the air and sliced Caden’s arm. Blood sprayed from the cut like from a lawn sprinkler, showering the cage and the spectators below. A fist came sailing from the other direction, connecting hard with Caden’s cheekbone with a resounding crack.
“Damn it, Caden. Move!” she heard her own hoarse cry, wiping his blood from her arm with the hem of her cotton blouse. Darn, the stain was never going to come out. She didn’t care. All she cared about was Caden fighting for his life in that cage.
He moved, shifting sideways so she could see his profile. See the vicious cut on his arm. See the look of utter rage he shot her in a single glance.
“Get the fuck outta here,” he shouted. “Now.”
Baldy laughed sadistically. “What? The handsome pussy wants me to leave his pretty boy face alone? Got news for you. I’m not going nowhere. And, the only way you’re leaving is by the ambulancia. Dǒng mᾱ?”
Caden rolled his shoulders, then his neck. Warming up. Jeez, now? Or was he too hurt to know that the time for preparation had long since passed?
He glared at her. With so much fury, it was like someone sucker punched her, stealing her breath.
Then, his face became completely void of expression. He shifted on his feet. Relaxed and composed, or so it seemed. Contrary in every way to Baldy, who was all huff and puff, with steam blowing out of his flaring nostrils.
Seconds passed. Despite all the noises coming from Baldy, Sophie’s gaze rested on Caden. He looked ready for a nap. Or the beach. Or...bed. He didn’t look her way again, and hopefully he’d forgotten her. What did he expect anyway? She had a job to do. She...
needed him in one piece.
The warm summer night had turned sweaty with crowds of men packed in shoulder to shoulder. Still, the camera humming against her side felt cold. She felt chilled to the bone.
Baldy raised his knife again. Then, everything became one crazy blur.
Caden kicked his wrist, sending the knife flying across the cage. Pivoting and raising his uninjured arm, he elbowed Baldy squarely in the nose, surely breaking it. His fist followed, swinging up and hitting Baldy underneath the chin. The brute was literally lifted off his feet by the impact.
Baldy landed on his feet, and stepped backward. His eyes popped out of his head, surprised as hell. His crooked nose spewed blood down his chin.
Sophie could relate. Awestruck, she was speechless as she focused on the stranger in front of her. A fine sheen of sweat coated his taut chest. His jaw clenched tightly but his hands hung loosely at his sides. So different than what she’d thought. So incredibly virile. Deep inside her, something stirred. A primal feminine reaction to his pure, unadulterated masculinity.
The crowd was eerily quiet. Waiting with bated breath for Caden to go in for the kill.
Caden smirked briefly, a reassuring glimpse of his sarcastic self hidden within the vicious fighter standing nonchalantly before her.
Nonchalant.
No way
, she thought, just before Caden sprang forward. His fists pounded both of Baldy’s sides, then his face. Rapidly. Repeatedly. Viciously.
It wasn’t the brutal punches that made her cry out, though. It was the look that fell across Caden’s features. A look so fierce it caused her to want to hug herself protectively.
Never in a million years would she have guess that behind that lazy smile, breathtaking good looks, and sharp, sarcastic wit, lurked such a brutal man. A warrior. The kind of guy you wouldn’t want to get involved with if you valued your life. Gone was the man who’d made her knees tremble from his kisses, her heart do a jig at his touch.
And to make matters worse, he
liked
this, wanted it, gave up a safe, comfortable career for this...the beatings and bloodshed.
Sophie shuddered. Clearly, she wasn’t the good judge of character she’d credited herself with being.
The EMT crew sprinted past her for the stairs.
Caden swung his leg high, connecting with Baldy’s thigh, and the man crumbled to the ground. Caden was on him a second later, pinning him to the mat.
Blood poured out of his cut. His bruised cheek had swelled up. Yet his relentless fists pounded his opponent’s side again and again.
Baldy raised his hand and tapped the mat.
“Tap out! He fucking tapped out,” chorused the stunned spectators.
The camera nestled against her side was still rolling, right in unison with her heartbeat. Her documentary had taken a surprising turn, and had the makings of being something spectacular. She’d heard he had mad skills but this model/playboy had a down-and-dirty side. A brutality you’d expect to find in a back alley brawler, not America’s favorite loverboy. One thing was clear, though. Caden was a champion no matter the cage he fought in. Viewers were in for a wake-up call.
“Killer Kelly, Killer,” the crowd chanted.
Holy crapola
.