Grappling for Position (Against the Cage Book 4) Read online

  “Well . . . kinda—through the window of his room. It was late. He was sleeping. I didn’t try to talk to him and I’m not sure that I will. After I left the hospital and dropped Willow off, I wasn’t in the frame of mind to do anything but go home.”

  “It’s understandable. No worries. Wasn’t much you could do, anyway. This whole thing is going to become one big publicity nightmare.”

  Regan yanked the door open, holding it for Kyle to pass through. “You talk to Del Toro yet?” Of all the fighters, apart from Disco, who was on his honeymoon, Kyle was probably the closest to Nikko. He’d stepped up to spar with him when there hadn’t been a lot of volunteers willing to fill Disco’s shoes.

  “Just briefly. He feels like shit for what he did to Coach, but he won’t talk about what happened. I don’t know.”

  As they walked down the hall, one of the doors behind them popped open.

  “Regan, Kyle, just the two guys I’ve been waiting for. Can you step into my office for a minute?”

  Regan turned around to find Dean standing in the hall. The ripple of unease he’d felt since the man had moved his office to Miller MMA turned into an undertow of dread. Regan just wanted to come here, train, and get the hell out. He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with Marcus’s proxy.

  “Sure,” Kyle spoke up, turning back toward the office.

  Kyle was right. Regan didn’t like change and he didn’t warm to new people quickly. But it was more than that feeding his general dislike of Dean. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  They entered a conference room next to his office, and Regan was surprised to find Marcus sitting there.

  “Boys,” he greeted with a curt nod. “Have a seat.” The man looked somber, his tone all business. This wasn’t like him. Something was wrong.

  “What’s up, Coach?” Kyle asked, taking a seat across from him.

  Regan sat beside Kyle, facing Dean and Coach, and got the distinct feeling that, whatever these two were about to say, he wasn’t going to like it.

  “Boys, I’m sure it isn’t any news to you that the CFA needs a contender for the welterweight title. Dean has been researching fighters, counting points, and studying fight records. You two are dead even in points and in wins.”

  “This rarely happens,” Dean added, taking over the conversation. “I was surprised to see it until I watched you two spar. Your styles are different but complement each other unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Where one is weaker, the other is stronger; you’re effectively training each other to close holes in your own game. A match-up between you two would be the fight of the year.”

  “No,” Regan cut in. “No fucking way.” He shoved his chair away from the table and went to stand. This was not fucking happening—especially now. “I’m not fighting my best friend in the octagon for you or anyone else.”

  “Now, Regan,” Coach started with his let’s-be-reasonable voice. “Just hear Dean out.”

  “There’s nothing to hear out. I told you back when you signed Kyle that I wouldn’t fight him.”

  “I know that’s what you said, but it isn’t written in your contract. I’m not only your coach. I’m your manager, and as your manager, it’s my responsibility to think about what’s best for your career and Kyle’s. With a shot at the belt, I have no doubt that one of you will become the welterweight champion.”

  “I refuse to advance my career on the back of my best friend. Give Kyle the contender spot. I don’t fucking care.”

  “I don’t want it,” Kyle snapped, shooting him a snarly glare. “You’re not handing me something I didn’t earn like some fucking charity case. You take it.”

  “It’s not up to either one of you boys who gets it. That’s up to the league and Dean. Neither one of you can sit in the contender spot unless it’s earned, and I won’t have anyone saying my fighters didn’t prove their way to the belt. They’re already sayin’ I can’t control my fighters. The CFA and Miller MMA needs some good publicity to detract from the shit storm Del Toro brought down on us.”

  “We need a bigger story to overshadow Del Toro,” Dean confirmed. “And two best friends fighting for the contender spot will do that.”

  “So, you’re telling me we have no choice, is that it?” Regan demanded, sharing his glare between Dean and Coach.

  “Not if you want to stay in the CFA,” Dean replied, meeting his stare head-on. “You fight for me. I’m the one who signs your paycheck, not Marcus.”

  “Then I’ll jump weight classes.”

  Marcus appeared to be praying for patience as he pinched the bridge of his nose. In that moment, he looked old—tired—and Regan realized Coach wasn’t any happier about this than he was. “You can’t jump weight. Your contract is for welter. If you want to fight middleweight, we can work on adding it to your contract next year, but that isn’t going to fix the situation right now.”

  Fuck . . .

  “If you break your contract by refusing to fight, you’ll be out of the CFA and likely sued by the organization. This fight has the earning potential to easily pull in five mil. You can’t afford that kind of lawsuit, son.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  “I’m sorry, boys.” And Regan had no doubt that Coach sincerely meant it. But it was becoming obvious there wasn’t anything he could do. Dean and Marcus might be friends, but business was business, and money meant more to the CFA than friendship.

  Chapter 24

  Willow was worried about Regan. Since discovering he was going to have to compete against Kyle for the contender spot in the welterweight division, something inside him seemed to snap. He wasn’t coming into the gym anymore, wasn’t training, and now he wasn’t even answering her phone calls. She didn’t know if he was shutting her out or just shutting down completely.

  Kyle wasn’t faring much better. She knew this fight was eating at him, as well. Neither one of them wanted to compete against the other in the octagon. Right now, the only question was which one of them would hit the “Self-Destruct” button first. Over the past week, it had been a close race, and just when she’d come to terms with the fact she was going to have to tell Kyle about her and Regan. Honestly, this fight couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  And on top of it all, another notification from the Department of Corrections arrived today. Sean Campoli’s parole hearing had finally been set. Four weeks from now, she’d be facing her nightmare once again. She hadn’t told Regan—partially because he hadn’t been around, and partially because he had his own shit to deal with. Besides, he’d made his feelings about her appealing Campoli’s early parole abundantly clear. The last thing she needed was him worrying about her.

  And speaking of worrying, she hadn’t told them she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her lately. Perhaps she was being paranoid after the visit from that man in the cemetery. But the niggling of doubt in the back of her mind put her nerves on end. Was Campoli’s father just trying to intimidate her into backing down, or would he make good on this threat? It was impossible to know, but Willow decided to stop by the police station and report her concerns and Campoli’s threat after she finished here.

  Willow pulled into the parking lot of Rush and sent up a prayer Regan would be here. She’d been searching for him all afternoon. Dean was going to be pissed she’d blown off work, but this was it—the last place she could think of to look for him. The club was popular with the CFA. She knew from listening to the other fighters that Kyle and Regan often partied here. And there it was, his cherry-red Camaro.

  Parking beside him, Willow climbed out of her car and headed for the entrance. She pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside. As it closed behind her, the bright afternoon sun was blotted out, leaving her in darkness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting and another for her to spot Regan sitting alone at a booth. She should be thankful for that, she supposed. At least he didn’t have some cage-banger hanging all over him.

  Tamping down
her ire, Willow checked her temper and started toward her man. When she came to a stop beside his table, he didn’t even look up from his glass, staring into it as if the answers to life’s problems could be found in there—if he only looked hard enough.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were avoiding me.”

  Regan’s head snapped up, surprise in his bloodshot eyes. Oh, good, so he wasn’t being an asshole by ignoring her.

  Yep, she was pissed.

  “Is this what you’ve been doing for the last week when you should have been in the gym? Hanging out in bars and getting shitfaced?”

  “Worked for my dad.” He lifted his glass in salute and took a sip of the amber liquid. “Thought maybe I’d give it a try.” Truth, his mind was reeling and he just needed it to stop for a while. The only way he could calm the chaos was with the help of his new best friend, Jose Cuervo.

  Something flickered in her eyes but was gone too fast for his sodden brain to dissect the emotion. Sighing, she dropped into the booth across from him. “Don’t be a dick. You’re not your father, and you never will be.” Reaching across the table, she took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Regan, talk to me. What’s going on?”

  What’s going on? Well, let’s see. He was slowly coming to grips with the fact he was going to have to face his father, the CFA was going to make him fight his best friend in the cage, and, oh yeah, he was currently fucking said best friend’s little sister and lying about it. But instead of laying it all out there like some whiny bitch, he decided to stick with the latest and greatest of his problems. “You don’t know? Kyle didn’t tell you?”

  “He told me. And for the record, he isn’t any happier about it than you are. I suppose if you two keep this destructive behavior up, then neither one of you will be able to fight because you’ll both be in rehab. Great plan there. Did you two compare strategies? Maybe you can request adjoining rooms.”

  He looked up at Willow and concentrated really hard, trying to merge the two images. “You’re cute when you’re mad. Did I ever tell you that? When we were kids, I used to tease you just to see that spark of fire light in your eyes.”

  “When we were kids, you pulled my hair.”

  “I pulled your hair because I wanted to touch you. And for the record, I still like pulling your hair.”

  Perhaps his meaning was lost in his slur. Nope. She blushed, the rosy color staining her cheeks and flushing down her neck. Damn, he wanted to touch her right now, and the thought of it made him instantly hard. That he wasn’t suffering from a case of whiskey dick told him he hadn’t drunk nearly enough yet. But as much as he wanted Willow, he wouldn’t touch her. He was in such a bad fucking place right now. He refused to subject her to his filth. Willow deserved so much better than he had to offer her. What the fuck was he going to do when she finally figured that out?

  “Regan, you’re pushing me away. I can feel it. You have to stop. Let me in. Let me help you.”

  He was pushing her away. Old habits die hard, he guessed. It scared the shit out of him how much he loved her, how much he needed her. But admitting his weakness was an entirely different matter, and he was just lit enough to be a huge fucking asshole.

  “What can you do to help me, Willow? Tell me! Can you stop my father from dying and give me my childhood back? Can you prevent my mother from abandoning me? No? Huh. . . Well, then can you stop the CFA from forcing me to beat the shit out of my best friend in front of several million people? I know his weaknesses, Willow, every single one of them. This isn’t going to be a fair fight. I’ll tell you what you can do. You can let me tell my best friend that I’ve been fucking his little sister behind his back for the last month and a half. If he’s gonna have to face me in the cage, he might as well hate me. At least it’ll make it easier on one of us.”

  The emotion on her face went from shock, to hurt, then anger in the span of sixty seconds. And fuck if he didn’t think he couldn’t possibly hate himself more, but would you look at that? A new low for him. He was breaking his girl’s heart. She was the most important person in the world to him, and he was fucking this up. And like a freight train about to derail, there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do to stop it.

  “You’re right,” she said with a tone that sent a shiver of pure dread licking down his spine. “I can’t help you, not when you’re like this. I can’t wave a wand and fix the cruelty that’s been done to you, any more than you can bring my parents back to me, or you could stop Sean Campoli from slitting my throat.”

  He flinched at the truth of her words ringing out like a stinging slap. Fuck. He was a bastard.

  “The difference between you and me, Regan, is that I don’t push away the people I love. I let them comfort me the best way they know how, because sometimes all we can do is hold onto the ones we care about, and let them into the tragedy of our lives. Being an asshole isn’t going to fix this, but it will cost you the best thing in your life, and if you can’t see that, then you’re right. I can’t help you.”

  With that, Willow slid from the booth and stormed out the door. And the saddest thing was he was too fucking wasted to stop her.

  Willow woke to the sound of the loose floorboard creaking in her room. Her eyes flew open, locking on the shadowy figure standing beside her bed. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped firmly over her mouth, muffling the cry before it could escape her throat. Her mind flashed to the memory of the man at the cemetery. He’d come here to kill her! A bolt of panic tore through her veins, and she struck out at the man hovering above her, but he deflected her palm strike and leapt on top of her, easily restraining her.

  Oh, God, he was going to rape her first! Her pulse pounded so hard in her ears she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When his body pressed down on her, she bucked her hips and drove her knee up into his groin.

  The man bit out a sharp curse. Wait . . . she knew that voice. And all at once the fight left her, but the sting of their argument did not. Regan’s words had wounded her far more than she wanted to admit.

  “Fuck, Willow, I know you’re pissed, but you don’t have to make me eat my balls,” he groaned.

  “Serves you right for scaring the hell out of me like that.” She smacked him in the chest for good measure. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

  “The spare key. I let myself in. Kyle and I have been sneaking in and out of this house since we were kids. I’ve become rather adept at it over the years.”

  Of course you have. “I can see that. What are you doing here, Regan?” He shifted his weight, allowing her room to breathe, but his body still pressed tightly against hers—a body she easily recognized now that she wasn’t afraid she was about to be raped and murdered.

  She reached up and clicked on the reading light above her head. Regan squinted, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust. “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have said the things I did the other day.”

  And this was how he decided to do that? Creeping into her bedroom at one a.m.? “You could have called me to apologize.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t talk to me. I figured my chances would be better in person.”

  “It’s been three days.”

  “Yeah, I know. It took me two to sober up and one to come to my senses.”

  “And what sense is that?”

  “That I’m an asshole. And that I . . . I need you, Willow. I don’t want to go through this alone.”

  The honesty in his voice dissolved her anger. The pleading in his eyes for her understanding, her forgiveness, melted her heart. God help her, she loved this man. Willow reached up, brushing her hand over his stubbled jaw. “You’re not alone, Regan. I’ve always been right here. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No. What I want is to forget. You’re the only one that can make it stop, Willow. The thoughts that keep spinning inside my head . . . I just want to get lost in you.”

  His mouth brushed over hers, his tongue skating along her bottom lip. She knew they were playing wi
th fire here. Kyle was just upstairs, and the risk of getting caught was a real possibility. There was one floor of separation between them, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn him away. Regan was hurting, and he needed her. She wanted to be there for him, to prove to him that he could depend on her, just as he’d always been there for her.

  He was lowering his walls and finally reaching out to her, and that touched Willow’s heart in a way nothing else could. Regan wasn’t the kind of guy who sought comfort from anyone. He always kept everything bottled up inside. Since his mother had left him all those years ago, it was like he’d refused to admit he needed anyone. And yet here he was, seeking her out to help take his pain away. She would gladly do that for him and so much more, even if it was only a temporary balm.

  “I can make you forget,” she whispered the promise against his lips as she hiked up his shirt. He broke contact with her mouth long enough to help her pull it off, then his mouth was back on hers, his tongue plundering, teeth nipping the plump flesh of her bottom lip. His hands fisted into her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss with an urgency she’d never felt in him before. It thrilled and excited her.

  A growl rumbled in his throat, his need echoing through her veins like a divining rod. With renewed urgency, she tugged off his pants and then his boxers.

  “Did you lock the door?” she whispered, encouraging him to roll onto his back. He moved them fluidly with a swift turn, bringing her with him, and depositing her over his waist. The heat of his erection burned through the thin cotton barrier of her panties, turning the dull ache into a full-on throb. Regan didn’t give up his back often, and she secretly loved the feeling of having this formidable fighter beneath her, succumbing to her will.

  “It’s locked.” His voice was a husky whisper that swept through her like a physical touch.

  Regan pulled off her nightgown and then tugged down her panties before settling her back on top of him, his hands nearly circling her narrow waist. “Fuck, I love how tiny you are.”