In for the Win (Against the Cage Book 5) Page 3

  Kyle shrugged, not really wanting to get into all the details. He just wanted to make his point and end the convo that felt more suited for a girls’ locker room than a men’s gym. “Just stuff. Listen, I think she’s really into you, man. You want some advice?”

  Del Toro’s brow arched, but his hesitant expression told Kyle the fighter wasn’t sure if he did. Granted, Kyle wasn’t the most reliable source to be soliciting relationship advice from, but he was pretty confident this was solid. “Don’t mess this up. Let’s face it, you’re no ray of sunshine on your best day, and if that woman still wants to get real with you, let her in. She doesn’t strike me as the type who’s going to be content to sit on the sideline for long. Open up to her, man. What do you have to lose?”

  When the fighter didn’t respond, Kyle barked, “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” he grumbled, sounding none too pleased with the stellar advice Kyle had just laid on him, and that was some good Dear Abby shit.

  Snagging his towel off the bench, Del Toro gave his face a quick rubdown. “I’m gonna go shower before Easton gets here and runs my ass into the ground.”

  Kyle chuckled. “You know what he says…”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s all about the cardio.” As Del Toro headed for the showers, Kyle called out after him, “Great talk, man. We should do it again sometime.”

  Not.

  Thinking of you.

  Pen glanced at the message appearing on her cell and felt her stomach tighten, a wave of nausea threatening to bring up her breakfast. This was the third text she’d gotten since she and Vi arrived at the restaurant. Ignoring it along with the other two, she shoved the phone back in her purse and tried to focus on her conversation with her bestie.

  “My, aren’t you popular,” Vi teased, sipping her mimosa.

  “Yeah. Lucky me.”

  “Who keeps texting you?”

  “I don’t know for sure, but I have a pretty good idea,” she grumbled.

  Vi grinned. “You did say ‘call me.’”

  Pen didn’t recall her friend being quite so smug. It was annoying. “I didn’t say ‘stalk me.’ And everyone knows when you tell a guy ‘Call me’ it means ‘See ya. BTW, don’t call me.’”

  “I knew it!” Vi exclaimed, calling bullshit on their earlier conversation. “You had no intention of seeing Kyle again! And only in Pen-speak does ‘call me’ mean that. Sometimes it actually means ‘call me.’” She stabbed a piece of cantaloupe and popped it into her mouth.

  “Vi, how long have you known me?”

  Vi quickly did the math on her fingers. “Six months, but it feels like six years.”

  True. They hadn’t known each other long by most BFF standards, but Vi and Pen were tight. “And have you ever seen me go out with the same guy twice?”

  She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then dawning lit her friend’s violet-hued eyes. “No, I haven’t. Why is that? You know that’s not normal, right?”

  Normal? Pen couldn’t give a shit about being normal. She just wanted to make it through the day without getting blindsided by panic attacks. Her comfort zone was in control. That was how she coped, by maintaining strict control over her relationships and her environment. As long as she had that, no one could ever hurt her again.

  “It’s just the way I’m wired.” Pen shrugged, making light of her friend’s concern. “What can I say? I get bored easily.” Boredom had nothing to do with it. But it seemed slightly less dysfunctional than admitting she had trust and attachment issues. Pretending to be “normal” was the biggest lie she’d ever told.

  Her cell went off again, a discrete little chime. When the waitress came by with their bill, and Vi made good on her promise to buy breakfast, Pen checked her cell again. As she read the message, a niggle of alarm skittered up her spine.

  How long do you think I’m going to let you ignore me?

  “Willow called me last night. She sounded upset. I take it you talked to her?” Kyle pulled the cage door shut and turned to face Regan. The guy was almost an hour late for training, which was tardy even for him. He looked like shit.

  “Yeah, I talked to her.” Regan fastened the Velcro straps on his gloves and moved into the center of the octagon.

  Kyle didn’t miss the lack of enthusiasm in his friend’s voice. Dude sounded like his dog just died. The thought crossed his mind to ask him how his dad was doing, but he wasn’t ready to let the discussion about Willow go yet.

  “And…?” Kyle pressed, feeling like he was pulling teeth. “Did she give you the bastard’s name?” He did his own glove check and knocked his fists together as he came forward, meeting Regan in the center of the cage.

  The guy exhaled a deep sigh as they prepared to face-off. “Look, man, I want you to know I don’t feel right about any of this. You’re like a brother to me. You’re my best friend, and I don’t take that lightly. But I’m in a really difficult position here.”

  Not the response he was hoping for. The last thing Kyle needed was Regan taking Willow’s side in this and trying to protect her. They were bros—and bros stuck together. Frustration nipped his patience in the ass and he ground his molars, trying not to take his shitty mood out on his friend. Then a sickening thought occurred to him.

  “It’s someone we know, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t want to give me his name.”

  Regan wasn’t trying to protect Willow, he was protecting the tool Willow was banging.

  Regan glanced up and met Kyle’s glare. Holding it with unwavering nerve, he said, “I love Willow.”

  Dude better quit stalling or this shit was gonna get real—quick. “Of course you do. I love Willow too. That’s why I expect you to understand why I need that name.”

  “Nah, man. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m in love with Willow. I’m the guy she’s been seeing.”

  Rage rocketed through him, lighting up his veins and burning them to ash. “Are you kidding me? Is this some kind of a joke?” It had to be. No way would Regan betray him like this.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

  “What? You weren’t happy nailing every cunt that crossed your path, you decided you needed a new challenge, is that it?”

  “No, that’s not it! Willow pursued me. I tried to resist—”

  “But what? She overpowered you and made you fuck her?” What a lying, manipulative sack of shit.

  “No. I fell in love with her.”

  Love? Who in the hell did he think he was kidding? Kyle might have laughed if he wasn’t so furious. “She’s too good for your used-up dick. You forget, asshole… I know you. I know all the pussy you’ve blown through over the years, and you just added my sister to your goddamn coup! You think you’re in love with her now, but just wait until the next CFA party comes around.”

  Regan tensed. The look on his face might have given Kyle pause if he wasn’t so livid. “It ain’t like that, man. That’s not me anymore.”

  “Bullshit.” How stupid did this guy think he was? “How long?” Kyle demanded.

  “What?”

  “How long have you been lying to me? How long have you been fucking my sister behind my back?”

  And this bastard better think long and hard about his answer, because Kyle swore to God if he—

  “We’ve been seeing each other a little over six months.”

  Wham!

  Kyle wasn’t aware he’d even moved until his fist slammed into Regan’s jaw. “You lying piece of shit!”

  Regan’s head snapped back and he stumbled a step before catching his balance. Kyle advanced, moving on pure muscle memory. Rage and betrayal short-circuited the rational side of his brain. He stopped thinking, stopped reasoning. Acting on nothing but instinct and emotion, Kyle threw an uppercut, but this one didn’t connect. Regan retaliated with a haymaker that caught Kyle’s cheek. Pain exploded in his face, but it only fueled his anger, the endorphins flooding his system, doping his blood.

  The hit
sent Kyle spinning around and he used his momentum to send a swinging back-fist into the side of Regan’s head. After ten years of sparring together, they knew the other’s weakness—could anticipate the other’s moves. This was the fight the CFA had been banking millions on, and it was happening right now.

  In his entire career, this was the first time Kyle had ever fought out of anger, and he had no intention of stopping until he knocked Regan’s ass out. But he should have known that wily bastard wouldn’t stand up and bang with him. Regan went at him, and at the last second, he shot low, catching Kyle in the gut with his shoulder, lifting him up and then slamming him on the mat.

  Boom!

  Air exploded from his lungs. Muffled curses echoed across the gym, barely heard over the pounding of his heartbeat hammering in his ears. “Fucking prick!” Kyle snarled from his back, bucking his hips and rolling to displace Regan. But that bastard had his hooks in, dodging the fists and elbows Kyle threw at him from his back.

  A door slammed down the hall and footsteps pounded from all directions. “Scott! Matthews! Break it up!” Dean, the CFA president, shouted. “Goddammit! Who’s reffing these two?” More footsteps, then, “Del Toro! Thorson! Get over here and break these two assholes up!”

  Kyle’s elbow connected with Regan’s brow, splitting the flesh above his left eye. The satisfaction of drawing first blood only spurred his desire to finish this. Blood ran down Regan’s face, dripping onto Kyle as he threw another punch. Regan deflected the blow, shifting his position and wrapping both legs around Kyle’s in a triangle while grabbing his foot. Regan pinned it with his arm, and gripped Kyle’s ankle, savagely twisting. The torque on Kyle’s knee from the heel hook was instant. White hot pain exploded in the joint, lancing up his leg as he felt his ligament tearing loose.

  “Tap,” Regan growled. The whole left side of his face was a bloody mess.

  “Fuck you!” Kyle snarled through the excruciating pain. He wasn’t backing down. He would never give him the satisfaction of tapping.

  “Tap!” Regan demanded, increasing the pressure on his leg.

  His vision began to spot from the pain as shouts rang out beyond the cage. “Matthews, goddammit, save it for the fight! Let Scott go!”

  But Dean’s demands went unheeded until an arm slipped around Regan’s throat in a rear naked choke. Kyle glanced past his opponent to find Del Toro standing behind him, looking furious as he yanked Regan back. But his hold was tight, and Kyle wasn’t sure if Del Toro was doing his knee more harm than good.

  “Let go, Raps,” Del Toro growled. The muscles in his forearm tightened and Regan’s face turned almost as red as the blood running down his face.

  Then the grip on Kyle’s knee loosened—probably because the cocksucker was passing out—and his leg slipped free as Regan was forcibly ripped off him then shoved into a corner of the cage.

  Kyle tried to get to his feet, but his knee gave out and he went back down. On his next attempt, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him up. His knee was on fire and Kyle ground his teeth to keep from shouting out the curses sounding off inside his head. He cut a glare to whoever had ahold of him and locked eyes with Del Toro. The guy’s expression was unreadable, but Kyle could sense a whole lot of what the hell just happened here coming his way.

  He tried to take a step and his knee buckled again.

  Del Toro cursed, “Holy shit…”

  Yeah. His thoughts exactly.

  “Goddammit!” Dean barked, surveying the damage. And considering the blood all over the mat and Kyle’s inability to ambulate independently, it wasn’t looking very good. “Del Toro, get Scott to the hospital and have that knee looked at. And Easton, you do the same with Matthews and have someone fix his face. And for crissake, go to separate ERs!”

  Chapter Four

  “you’re fucked…”

  Kyle shot Del Toro a glower from his gurney. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate your pep talk right now. Your ability to state the obvious is also really fucking helpful.” The icepack the nurse had placed on his knee began to slide off and he caught it, jarring his knee. He hissed a curse through clenched teeth. Damn, this hurt. And the bag of ice was doing absolutely nothing to dull the throbbing in his joint. As he sat there waiting for his x-ray results, he continued to eye the peanut gallery of one, who wasn’t helping Kyle’s foul mood one bit.

  “Hey, I’m not judging. Just saying, this is the kind of shit people expect from me, not you. What the hell happened between you and Matthews? Cuz I can tell you what it looks like, and it ain’t good.”

  “Yeah? What’s it look like? From where I’m sitting, it looks like my best friend just stabbed me in the back by fucking my baby sister.”

  Nikko’s brow arched.

  That was it? Where the hell was the shock and awe? The no way indignation? As he assessed his friend’s less than surprised response, another piece of this little puzzle clicked into place.

  Sonofabitch…

  “You knew!” Kyle hurled the accusation at the fighter and sat up taller, ignoring the bitching going on in his knee. Del Toro tensed as if half expecting Kyle to launch himself off the gurney and take him on next. “You knew they were messing around behind my back? And you didn’t tell me!”

  Del Toro shrugged, but his negligence didn’t meet his steely-stare. “Wasn’t my secret to share, man.”

  Unbelievable. “Who else?” he demanded. “Who else knows?”

  “Not sure. I suspect Easton does. He and Matthews were talking pretty intently at Willow’s birthday party.”

  Kyle swung his legs over the side of the bed, getting vertical. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

  “Don’t you do it,” Del Toro warned. “Don’t you start aggressing on me, or I promise you there will be consequences.”

  The guy actually thought Kyle was going to throw down with him—here in the hospital? Kyle might be pissed, but he wasn’t an idiot. “I thought you were my friend.” The accusation hung in the air between them. He glanced around the room, looking for his goddamn shorts. Reaching behind his neck, he yanked the tie of his ass-baring gown and began to rip it off.

  “I am your friend—” Kyle shot Del Toro a look that said he didn’t believe it for one second. “—and where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “Home.” He was absolutely done with this day and all these assholes who pretended to be his friends. Kyle spotted his shorts in the corner and pushed up on his good leg, reaching over and snagging them off the chair beside Del Toro. Dropping his ass back on the bed, he shoved his bad leg into the hole first, and then the other, before standing to hike the elastic over his hips.

  “You can’t leave, man. Not until the doctor comes back with a report on that knee.”

  “I already know the report. My knee is fucked up. Now, let’s go.” If the fighter wasn’t his ride, he would’ve left the Benedict Arnold-bastard here.

  Del Toro sighed as he got to his feet. “Is this what it’s like trying to deal with me?”

  “Worse. I just nailed my best friend in the face. You hit our goddamn coach.” Just then the doctor walked in and gave Kyle a disapproving scowl at finding him upright. A nurse walked in behind him, carrying a pair of crutches in one hand and a long rectangle box in the other.

  “You shouldn’t be on that leg,” the doctor scolded. “Not if you care about your career.”

  Kyle wasn’t sure he cared about much of anything right now. Least of all his career. What was the point in any of this? The two people he loved most in this world had just betrayed him. He’d sacrificed a full-ride scholarship at Harvard and the last five years of his life for someone who could less give a shit about him or what he thought. And Willow knew he wouldn’t approve of her and Regan hooking up. That’s why she’d lied to him again, and again, and again.

  How many times in the last six months could she have just told him the truth? But instead, she’d deceived him, manipulated him, and betrayed him. They both did. That wasn’t the girl he’
d raised. He’d taught Willow to be better than that. He’d taught her the importance of honesty. The value of developing a foundation of trust in her relationships. He’d raised her to believe she was a woman of value. And what did she do? She threw it all away on a meat-stick who blew through pussy faster than a whore turning tricks.

  How could she be so stupid? Maybe he’d done her a disservice all those years by trying to protect her from his and Regan’s lifestyle. If she’d known the truth, she never would have gotten involved with someone like him. Sure, he’d been a great friend to Kyle—before he’d betrayed him—but that didn’t make the guy good boyfriend material. Shit, the pussy they had thrown at them on a nightly basis was astronomical.

  “So…” Kyle said, redirecting his focus back to the right now so he could hurry up and get the hell out of here. “Is the ligament ruined, or what?” Kyle figured there was no news this doctor would give him that could come close to the blow he’d been dealt earlier.

  “Without an MRI, we can’t know the extent of the damage for sure. I’m going to give you some anti-inflammatories to take, and once the swelling calms down a bit, we’ll get the imaging and then we’ll know for sure.”

  “Know what for sure?”

  “Whether or not you’ll ever fight again.”

  “Damn...” Del Toro bit out the expletive as he turned around to face the wall, his hand dragging roughly through his hair.

  “I’m usually not so blunt,” the doctor continued, “but the fact that you’re up on that knee tells me you clearly aren’t appreciating the severity of the situation here. I want you to realize what’s at stake. So, my nurse is going to fit you with this knee immobilizer, and you’re to remain non-weight-bearing until further notice. The diagnostic department will call you to set up the MRI in a few days and you’ll follow up with an orthopedic surgeon that specializes in sports injuries. Until then, rest, ice, and elevate. And for heaven’s sake, don’t walk on that leg. Who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and this is more inflammation than structural damage.”

  With that last caveat, the doctor walked out and the nurse took over doing her thing. FML…for real.