In for the Win (Against the Cage Book 5) Page 2

  Pen was fully aware she had issues. She didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her that—friend or not. As much as she feared the suffocation of commitment, she also detested being alone, and there was the rub. This was her middle ground, taking pleasure and comfort on her terms, but never letting anyone close enough to see the tragedy that lay beneath the surface. Her confident, in control exterior was truly nothing but window dressing for a life wrought with things so ugly, if anyone knew the truth, they would never want her.

  So, as unconventional and socially suspect others may view Pen’s promiscuity, this was her life, and that was all it would ever be—a series of one-night stands, glimpses of pleasure to be grasped like a life-raft in a sea of brokenness.

  She did not waste her time feeling sorry for herself, nor did she apologize for her wanton behavior. Pity was as useless an emotion as hope. Both had taken her down rabbit holes she’d barely managed to crawl out of. One thing people could say, whether they liked her or not, was that Penelope Cantrel was a survivor.

  Casting the naked man one last long look, she went to head for the shower. With any luck, he’d be gone by the time she got out. Pen crawled off the bed and was putting her feet on the floor when a hand latched onto her wrist and pulled her back down. A moment was all it took—a look, a touch—for her to flash back to another time, another place. She swallowed back the scream threatening to tear free, but she couldn’t completely suppress her startled gasp as her ass reconnected with the mattress.

  By the time she whipped her head around, reality had already shifted her from the past back into the present, and she was mostly able to disguise her reaction with a forced smile she’d perfected over the years. She didn’t worry he wouldn’t buy it. They all did. Or if they suspected it was false, no one ever cared enough to ask. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Sleep roughened the fighter’s sexy voice, the deep rasp rolling through her like a good Patrón, warming all the right places. No doubt about it, Kyle Scott was intoxicating. She’d have been lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to crawl back under the covers with him for one last round of hot, sweaty sex, but this was it for them. Their clock had struck midnight and their fairy tale was over. No matter how undeniably gorgeous he may be, or how fantastic he was in bed, her time with Kyle Scott had, sadly, come to an end.

  “I’m just going to take a shower.”

  “You sure you don’t want to reconsider? We could go for round five.”

  She laughed. Spoken like a true MMA fighter. His smile was pure sin—straight white teeth and a set of full lips that softened the hard, masculine angles of his face. It was no wonder Against the Cage magazine had named him Sexiest Fighter of the Year. Despite what Kyle may have assumed, Pen wasn’t a cage-banger. She had a genuine love and appreciation for the sport, and their hook-up last night had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he was undefeated and in contention for the welterweight title.

  “Hey, I got a good ground game,” he cajoled, tugging her wrist and pulling her a little closer. With his free hand, he caught her around the back of her neck.

  Her pulse quickened, but the tingling sensation flooding her veins was more fight or flight than arousal. Forcing back the memories that were never far from the surface, she cursed the triggers that were often unexpected, catching her off guard.

  “Yeah?” She casually reached up to take his wrist and pulled his hand from the back of her neck, dragging it to her breast. The diversion was smooth and well-practiced. “Your stand-up isn’t so bad, either,” she teased, nipping his bottom lip and then kissing away the sting.

  Pen recalled, with vivid detail, the way Kyle had backed her up against the door, kissing her senseless as he proceeded to strip her bare and then fucked her up against it. Round one had gone to Kyle Scott—and round two, and round three, and four… He’d been insatiable.

  “I think I need a shower before you show me any more of your moves,” she teased, giving him one last kiss before slipping from the bed.

  Pen took an extra-long time in the shower, dallying until her skin became wrinkled and waterlogged. Unable to postpone the inevitable any longer, she shut off the faucet and grabbed a towel from the rack. After toweling off most of the water, she stepped onto the mat and headed into the bedroom. As she pulled the door open, her gaze went to the empty bed. Covers were strewn haphazardly across the mattress.

  Oh, thank God… He’s gone.

  She detested those awkward morning-after I’ll call you later promises. Why even bother with false farewells? Especially when they both knew they’d never see each other again. Maybe it was something guys said to make themselves feel less sleazy, or perhaps they thought that was what women wanted to hear. Well, not this one. They could spare her the lies and insincerity.

  Pen grabbed a black tank-top and a pair of black and white checkered lounge-shorts from her dresser. As she pulled her bottoms on, she called out sarcastically, “Where’d you go, Scott? I’m ready for some of that ground and pound you were talkin’ about.”

  She was shoving her foot through the hole when the unexpected response rang out. “I’m in the kitchen—with Violet.”

  Pen startled. Snagging her toe on the waistband, she tripped and stumbled forward, almost taking a header into the closet. Damn and double damn! “Vi? What’s she doing here?” Though Pen was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that question. She wasn’t sure which was worse, Kyle still hanging around, or Vi showing up to rip into her for the stunt she’d pulled with Nikko last night.

  In Pen’s defense, Violet had been feeding her a load of shit for weeks, so she’d done what any self-respecting bestie would do in her situation—she called her friend’s bluff. In retrospect, dragging Nikko onto the dance floor and kissing him might have been a bit over the top. But if that was what it took to make Vi own up to the fact that she had it bad for that fighter, then so be it. Just call her Cupid. Though Pen was pretty sure Vi was going to be calling her something else.

  She finished dressing and twisted her damp hair into a messy bun before heading out to face the music. Painting on an Oscar-worthy smile, she entered the kitchen and headed for the coffee pot. “Hey, Vi. Everything okay?”

  She poured herself a brew and headed to the fridge for cream. Kyle stood and pulled out his kitchen chair, offering it to her as she came over. “Sorry, gotta go, babe.” Before she could sit, he dipped his head and planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “I’m meeting Nikko at the gym to lift before training. We’ll have to save your next grappling lesson for some other time.”

  Relief swept through her that he was leaving, and although she hated the cliché good-byes, she found herself saying, “See ya. Call me.”

  He turned to leave, and she couldn’t resist tipping her head to watch his backside as he walked out. Once Kyle’s ass was out of sight, she turned her attention back to Vi and casually sipped her coffee as her friend stared at her. “What?” she asked, as if it were an everyday occurrence that a sexy MMA fighter strolled out her front door.

  “What the hell, Pen? I came over to apologize for bailing on you and just about had a heart attack when Kyle answered the door.”

  Her grin would have impressed the Cheshire cat. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “You think I should be thanking you?” Vi squeaked indignantly. “For what?”

  “For your birthday present. I bet Nikko gave it to you good, huh? I knew you wanted him.”

  Vi closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, appearing to be praying for patience. “You knew? Then why did you throw yourself at him all night?”

  “To prove to you that you wanted him. Please, Vi.” Pen lifted her mug to take another sip. “It was so obvious you were into him. I was just pissed you kept lying to me about it. I knew if I pushed you hard enough, you’d snap.”

  “You kissed him!” Vi cried, sounding increasingly exasperated.

  Pen shrug
ged. “That was for funzies. He really is gorgeous, isn’t he?” She was baiting her friend and loving every minute of it. Served her right for lying.

  “I can’t decide if you’re either the craziest ‘wingman’ a girl could have, or a complete bitch. I’ve been worried sick you were going to be mad at me for taking off with your date and well…you know.”

  “I am pissed—pissed that you’ve been lying to me for weeks about not wanting Nikko when it was sooo obvious you did. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you finally went for it, but WTF, Vi? You’re my best friend. And what do you mean you’re surprised to find Kyle here? Do you even know me at all? In what bizarro universe do you live that I would pass up the opportunity to bang Kyle ‘The-freaking-Killer’ Scott?”

  When her friend just stared at her like she had no idea what Pen was talking about, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Really, Vi, you seriously need to start watching Unchained. This guy is the shit in welterweight right now.”

  “You know he’s a person, right, Pen? He’s more than just a fight record and a title shot.”

  She uttered a snort of disgust. Of course she knew that—but that wasn’t the point. What Vi was getting at went way beyond Kyle Scott. Vi didn’t approve of Pen’s extracurricular activities, or the length of her roster. “Kyle’s a big boy, Vi. He knows the score.”

  “Does he?” Vi challenged. “Because I think he might really like you.”

  Shit, she hoped not. Pen smiled, despite the nausea churning in her gut, adding a hopeful lilt in her voice. “You really think so?” Because she did not want her friend getting a clue how completely messed up she really was. What girl wouldn’t want the attention of Kyle Scott? Besides her...

  Vi shrugged and gave Pen a hopeful smile. “Maybe… But you’ll never know if you don’t give him a chance.”

  Sorry...never gonna happen, my friend. “I said ‘call me.’”

  Vi scoffed. “Yeah, right. I know what your ‘call me’ means.”

  “I’m starved,” Pen announced, changing the subject. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll let you buy me breakfast. It’s too gorgeous out to waste the morning sitting around. I’ll drive, and you can tell me all about your wild night with Nikko.”

  Returning Pen’s grin, Vi stood and carried her cup over to the sink. “You remember me telling you about that guy I met on the plane, flying out here, and the hot sex we had in the bathroom?”

  Did she ever. After hearing that tale, Pen had vowed she, too, would become an official member of the mile-high club. “Yeah. Was it hotter than that?”

  “That’s the guy.”

  “Shut the front door! That’s the guy?” Pen busted out laughing. “I can’t believe you were sitting next to Nikko Del Toro on a freaking airplane and you had no idea who he was. And you propositioned him for sex! Who does that?”

  “Someone who didn’t know who he was, obviously,” Vi grumbled, a blush staining her cheeks.

  “And you still didn’t figure it out until he walked through your office door? That’s hilarious!”

  “It didn’t feel so hilarious at the time. How would I know, Pen? I don’t watch MMA. I hardly go down to the gym and, when I do, I use the back entrance by the offices.”

  Pen was still laughing as she snagged a napkin off the table to dry her eyes.

  “Are you about finished?” Vi snapped. “I’m starting to rethink this whole buying you breakfast thing.”

  “Okay, okay… I’m done,” she promised, holding up her hand and placing it over her heart. But they weren’t done—not even close.

  Chapter Three

  Kyle gripped the bar above his head and lifted the weights off the hook. Lowering them to his chest, he pushed three hundred pounds of metal into the air and started a circuit of up-down and repeat while he waited for Del Toro to show. Entering his zone, Kyle blocked out all distraction and went to work—or at least tried to. His focus kept drifting to thoughts of a blonde-haired, dark-eyed hell-cat that had left her mark on him. A few of them, actually…

  In the hours they’d spent together, Pen had managed to accomplish something no other had before her. She’d made him forget. And considering the chaos his life was in, that was pretty much a miracle. In addition to the status quo of shit he usually carried on his shoulders—guilt over his parents’ death, inadequacy of his piss poor parental skills, the loss of his identity—he now got to deal with the fact that, in right short order, he was going to have to face his best friend in the octagon. Winner got the shot at the welterweight title. Not that he really cared. He was probably the only fighter in the industry that didn’t want to be an MMA fighter, and didn’t that make him a total fucking asshole. There were thousands of guys that would have given their left nut to be in his shoes, to have the shot Kyle had been given. So that truth was a carefully guarded secret, one that only Regan knew, and oddly enough, he was the guy standing between Kyle and the title shot—and vice versa.

  If it was up to him, he’d step aside and let Regan have it, but A.) that’s not how things worked in this business. And B.) Regan would never stand for it. That guy fought for everything he’d ever gotten in life and he wouldn’t stop now. Even if it meant facing his best friend in the cage.

  And if that wasn’t a big enough FML, Kyle not only had to train for the fight, but his sparring partner was also his best friend—and soon to be opponent. Talk about your conflict of interest. Where the hell was Regan, anyway? And Del Toro? Both of those dickheads needed to buy a watch.

  He was anxious to talk to Regan and get the deets on Willow. Hopefully, he’d had better luck discovering the identity of her lover than Kyle did. If he had to venture a guess, the answer would be “no.” When he’d checked his cell this morning, Kyle had two missed calls from her and a message to ring her back ASAP. She probably wanted to bitch him out for sending Regan to do his dirty work and vet the bastard out.

  This was the last thing he needed to be dealing with. Mark his words, that girl was going to be the death of him—or someone—more likely the sonofabitch who was screwing her. And all this was just one more layer on the shit sandwich that had become his life.

  And ranking right up there with facing his best friend in the octagon and discovering Willow was lying to him, he’d recently learned that Sean Campoli was up for early parole. It had only been five years since that bastard had killed their parents in a car wreck, and then tried to murder Willow by slitting her throat to eliminate her as a witness. Willow was planning to go before the parole board and petition his release be denied, but Kyle didn’t want her anywhere near Campoli. He was worried about what seeing Campoli again would do to the years she’d spent in therapy trying to reconcile this shit.

  The door to the weight room swung open and, what do you know, in moseyed Del Toro. He sent Kyle a chin lift of acknowledgement as he crossed over to the lat machine and dropped one leg over the bench, offering no apology or explanation for his tardiness. Not that Kyle expected one. Del Toro was an I-do-what-I-want-when-I-want-and-if-you-don’t-like-it-you-can-fuck-off kinda guy.

  Neither of them spoke as Kyle finished his reps. Del Toro adjusted the weight pin and got busy pulling down the bar above his head. Kyle deliberated over saying anything to him about Violet’s drop-in at Pen’s this morning. She’d had a lot of questions about Del Toro that Kyle hadn’t felt at liberty to discuss. Besides, he had enough of his own shit to deal with. The last thing he was interested in was playing Dr. Phil to those two. And yet he liked the cantankerous fighter. The guy deserved a spot of happiness in his ugly life, and it’d be a shame to watch him mess it up. Which was the most likely scenario in this story.

  Placing the bar back onto the rack, Kyle sat up, grabbed his towel off the bench, and scrubbed his face before dragging it over his sweaty hair. “Saw Violet this morning.”

  Nikko released the pulley a little too soon and the weights clapped together sharply. He canted his head and shot Kyle a glare. He knew the fighter well enough to surmise Del Toro was makin
g the effort to tamp the surge of jealousy rising inside him like a volcano about to erupt. There was no disguising the mistrust glinting in those steel-gray eyes.

  He couldn’t blame the guy for having trust issues after the mind-fuck his ex-wife had pulled on him when he’d been over in Afghanistan fighting for his country, but it still stung more than Kyle wanted to admit. Sure, he may sleep around—a lot—but never with another fighter’s woman. Del Toro should know him better than that. Shit, he’d been putting his ass on the line for this guy, sparring with him after hours since he’d been banned from fighting at the gym. They were friends—well, as much as anyone could be friends with Del Toro.

  Either way, you just didn’t mess around with another fighter’s friends or family. It was an unspoken rule. They had to hold each other to some moral standards, otherwise the place would become a testosterone-fueled cesspool of immoral assholes.

  “She went to see you, or did you go to see her?”

  “Neither. She wanted to see Penelope.”

  “You went home with Pen last night?” The surprise on Del Toro’s face was comical.

  “Yeah…” he chuckled, shaking his head to clear his mind of the replays highlighting his mental reel before he sprouted wood in his poorly supported gym shorts. “That girl’s wild, man.”

  Del Toro’s lip curled into a lopsided grin. “So…what did you and Violet talk about?”

  “You, of course.”

  That earned him a scowl.

  “What about me?”