Passing His Guard (Against the Cage #2) (28 page)

After showing her around, he headed to his room, shedding his suit on the way as if he couldn’t get out of the thing quick enough. She wouldn’t think about how gorgeous he looked in that charcoal-gray pinstripe with the black silk shirt. That he’d left his piercings in added an element of badass to the contradictions that were Aiden Kruze. She loved his complexity, she loved his depth—she loved . . . him.

Sighing, she turned away from the wall of glass and did another slow take of his home. Plush rugs broke up the dark marble flooring that appeared to be variegated shades of maroon and black. The place was sparsely yet elegantly decorated. It was nothing like she pictured Aiden’s home would be. She found herself smiling as she thought of the first time she’d seen him at the gym. If someone would have told her then that this place belonged to that man, she never would have believed it.

The cool feel of the place didn’t surprise her, or the lack of personal effects. In fact, she’d yet to find so much as a degree on the wall or a photo on a shelf. The most personal thing she could find was the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lining one of the living room walls, opposite the stone wall fireplace. Slowly, she made her way to the mahogany case and ran her finger along the wooden shelves as she scanned the titles. Most of them were law books, but then she found the shelf she was looking for—his leisure reading.
The Catcher in the Rye
, by J. D. Salinger. She pulled the book from the shelf and turned it over. Interesting . . .

She slid the book back into its home and pulled out the one beside it.
East of Eden
, by John Steinbeck. Deep and dark . . . she wasn’t surprised this would appeal to him. Ryann replaced the classic novel and pulled out a third.
The Art of War
, by Sun Tzu . . . Hmm . . .
“Conflict is an inevitable part of life, but everything necessary to deal with conflict wisely, honorably, and victoriously, is already present within us.”

“Ryann . . . ?”

She startled at the sound of Aiden’s voice, much closer than she was expecting. How long had he been standing there watching her? She hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Cripes, you scared the crap out of me!” she exclaimed, putting the book back before turning to face him. Now she knew what had taken him so long. He was freshly showered, the dampness in his hair turning the dark spiky strands black. The gray graphic T he wore was threadbare and had a faded yellow Batman emblem across the chest. It was so classic male and yet it had such a boyish charm, she bit the inside of her lip to hold back her grin.

What was not boyish, however, was the way said T-shirt clung to all those chiseled contours and hard muscles. That was all man—100 percent pure male fighter, to be exact—and Ryann found it difficult not to stare. It was such a sharp contrast to the couple-thousand-dollar suit he’d had on less than an hour ago. His loose-leg black sweats hung low on his hips, the bottom hem brushing over the tops of his bare feet.

Ryann couldn’t decide which was hotter, the suited-up lawyer or the dressed-down fighter. One thing was for certain: Aiden couldn’t look more out of place in his own home if he tried. She felt like she needed to get dressed up just to sit on the couch. Perhaps the transparency of her thoughts was a bit too obvious, because Aiden gave her a crooked grin and said, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’ll get used to it.”

What?
She stared at him a moment, dumbstruck. And then her brain reengaged and she started laughing. “Oh, you mean the penthouse. Yeah, it is . . . impressive.”

The wicked grin he gave her sent a rush of heat into all her feminine places. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Never you mind. Your ego doesn’t need any more stroking.” She tried to move past him, planning to get unpacked and then head into his office to try and get some work done, but Aiden caught her arm before she could get away and gently dragged her back to stand in front of him.

“My ego isn’t what I want you stroking.”

Butterflies battered around inside her chest, making it difficult to breathe as his amber gaze raked over her. Under the scrutiny of his gaze she felt naked and exposed, both physically and emotionally. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of him, not after the day she’d had. A part of her wanted to throw herself at him like a shameless wanton, while another part wanted to run for the hills and try to protect the last vestiges of her raw, exposed heart.

Aiden dipped his head, coming close enough she could smell his spicy, masculine scent. The olfactory foreplay teased her senses, heightening all the others—the feel of his touch on her arm, the husky sound of his voice, ignited a slow burn of desire, making her core ache to be filled. She knew how good it could be, knew how easily he could make her come apart for him. Yet, something was holding her back. Fear? Self-preservation? She didn’t know. All she knew was that everything between them had changed. And if she gave herself to Aiden again, there would be no holding back and this man would own her—body and soul. She wasn’t ready to give him that kind of power, especially when she wasn’t sure he was capable of giving it in return. Not if he couldn’t fully trust her.

Perhaps he sensed her hesitation. Maybe he had reservations of his own, because he didn’t give her a chance to respond before releasing her arm and heading down the hall. A moment later, the door shut behind him, and she heard the dull, rhythmic thud of the heavy bag start up.

CHAPTER

 29 

A
iden always did his best thinking with his fists, and he was counting on this time being no different.
Fff-fff . . . fff-fff . . .
He concentrated on his breathing as he let his fists fly, connecting with his bag in one-two combos, high kick, low kick, spinning backfist. He ignored the persistent ache in his shoulder and laid into another round of striking. It was just one more thing he didn’t need to deal with right now.

One goddamn day . . . That was how long he had before stepping back into the cage. He knew nothing about his opponent or fighting in the underground circuit, except there weren’t a lot of rules. It was no-holds-barred shit, and if he got caught fighting unsanctioned, his career with the Cage Fighting Association was going to be over.
Fuuuck . . .
How in the hell was he going to prepare for a fight so quickly? When the answer came to him, he forcibly dismissed it and tabled that problem to move onto another.

Ryann . . . Just the thought of her made his chest cramp. Despite everything Ryann had been through today, she was holding herself together remarkably well. The fighter in him recognized a kindred spirit when he saw it, connecting them on a level that quite honestly scared the shit out of him. He wasn’t someone ruled by his will or his emotions, yet since Ryann burst into his life, he felt like he’d been stuck on one never-ending emotional roller coaster.

She was his number one priority—his first and foremost concern. Bottom line: Despite how bad it looked, Aiden believed she was telling him the truth. Her dad hadn’t been the man she’d thought, and to learn the truth—that he’d been working for the Mafia—had to have been a devastating blow to take. Aiden remembered how shitty he’d felt when he discovered how deep his own father was in with Moralli, and that Bennett expected Aiden to take over his client base as he pursued his career in politics.

Aiden had no idea what Ryann’s father had done to piss Vincent off so royally, but the consequences had been severe. Keeping Ryann safe and away from Moralli wasn’t going to be easy, and neither was taking Vincent Moralli down. But make no mistake, that bastard was going to pay. That arrogant son of a bitch had finally fucked with the wrong guy, and Aiden would be damned if he was going to spend the rest of his life constantly watching over his shoulder.

No, this was going to end—for his and for Ryann’s sake. She deserved a shot at happiness, a chance at having the life she wanted. Whether or not that included him in it, they’d have to figure that out later, he guessed. But right now, the question was how in the hell he was going to accomplish watching over Ryann, prepare for a fight, and still figure out how to destroy Moralli.

When the answer returned, as persistent as before, Aiden muttered a nasty curse and slammed his fist into the heavy bag.

“Hey, man, how’s our little cage banger?”

“Real funny, asshole. How’s your ribs?”

“Not too bad. So where the fuck are you? Sparring these pansies is boring as hell.” Metal weights clanked loudly in the background and someone yelled “Fuck off, Nikko.” But he kept on talking. “I was starting to wonder if Gingersnap didn’t pull some
Silence of the Lambs
shit on you. You know, ‘It puts the lotion on its skin.’ ”

Despite himself, Aiden laughed. What in the hell was he thinking? It wasn’t too late to change his mind and say sayonara to this prick, but as much as Aiden hated to admit it, he needed Nikko Del Toro. They hadn’t known each other very long, but in the months Easton had been out on medical, they’d become sparring partners. Aiden figured he knew the guy about as good as that surly bastard let anyone know him, so yeah, they were friends—he guessed.

“Listen, I’m in Manhattan and I really could use your help.”

Silence.

Ah hell . . .
“You there, man? Fuck, I knew this was a mis—”

“What kind of help are we talkin’ about?”

All trace of humor was gone from the fighter’s voice. With the flip of a switch, Nikko could turn stone-cold, emotionless—ruthless. Aiden had witnessed it more than once and been on the receiving end of it in the cage when shit got too real. But he’d never asked and he didn’t judge. Sure, he’d heard the rumors, the talk going on behind the fighter’s back, and a whole lot of speculation about how he got those scars, but Aiden had stayed clear of it.

“The kind of help only you can give me, I suspect.”

“What the hell is it you think I do, man?”

Aiden could hear the tension in the fighter’s voice, the defensive edge a sharp, warning growl to tread lightly.
Fuck it . . . in for a dime, in for a dollar, right?
“MARSOC stuff.”

Nikko snarled an oath and Aiden tensed, preparing to get an earful. “First of all, I ain’t into that shit anymore. I left the Special Forces two years ago. Second of all, I don’t talk about MARSOC. You assholes do enough of it around here for me—”

“Hey, don’t you dare lump me in with that group of vaginas. Your shit is your shit, man, and I don’t need the deets. But Ryann is in trouble and I need your help. Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice, but you’re my sparring partner, so partner the fuck up.”

“Wait, hold up. What do you mean Ryann is in trouble?”

“I mean someone snagged her yesterday and I’m damn lucky I got her back. I’m about to go toe to toe with some really bad guys here. I can’t be with her all the time, and until this shit gets resolved, I don’t want her alone. I need you to come out to Manhattan and help me watch out for her. If these guys discover what I’m up to, shit is going to get ugly fast. Oh, and did I mention I’m fighting tomorrow night and I need someone I can trust to corner me?”

“The fuck you say? That shoulder of yours is in no condition to fight, and if you get caught brawling outside the CFA, you can kiss your career good-bye.”

Aiden closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. There wasn’t anything Nikko could say that he didn’t already know. “My shoulder will hold. And I don’t have a choice. These guys are the real deal, man. Told me they’d kill her if I don’t fight, and I have zero doubt that bastard would carry through.”

“What the fuck are you still doing in New York, man? This is crazy. Get her the hell out of there!”

“I can’t. It isn’t that easy. My family is involved, and this is the goddamn mob we’re talking about, man. If I screw this guy over, he won’t quit until he finds her and me. We’ll constantly be looking over our shoulders, and I’m not running. This shit stops here. I’m going to take that bastard down. But until I do, I have to play his game by his rules, which means I fight. I can’t do this if I’m worried about her. I need you to help me keep Ryann safe. But here’s the thing—if she finds out you’re here watching out for her she’s going to be furious. Right now, she’s agreed to stay with me until this is over, so try to keep a low profile, huh?”

“How are you going to explain why I’m there?”

“I’m going to tell her you’re here to corner me for my fights. Which is true—I need someone I can trust in my corner.”

“Whatever you say, man. She won’t hear it from me. Give me your address. I’m on my way.”

Ryann sat at Aiden’s desk and flipped to the last page of papers he’d haphazardly tossed into his office. Her eyes stung, tears blurring her vision as she raced to finish the contract before they fell. She lost. A giant drop splattered on Aiden’s hastily scrawled name, smearing the black ink.

“Shit . . .” She pulled off her cheaters and dropped them onto the desk. Closing her eyes, she pressed the heels of her palms against them, hoping that would somehow dam the moisture determined to fall. When another landed on his paper, she grabbed a tissue from the desk and dried her eyes before blotting at the contract.

“What are you doing?”

A startled “Oh . . .” escaped her lips. Ryann’s head snapped up to find Aiden leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. How long had he been standing there watching her? By the accelerated tempo of his breathing, she’d guess not very long. She hadn’t noticed when the muffled cadence of the heavy bag had stopped. He’d been in there for hours, giving her more than enough time to begin researching the fighter Aiden was up against and read through his contract.

Ryann quickly tossed the wadded tissue into the trash beside her knees, hoping he hadn’t caught her crying. “I was just reading your contract. Did you know that according to this schedule, you fight every two weeks? And this man you fight tomorrow, Joe Paskel, he’s really bad news. He just got out of prison last year for aggravated assault and robbery—”

“I’m not surprised. How do you know all this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what I do for a living. I find people. I investigate them. I study and gather information. I don’t want you fighting this guy.”

“I don’t have a choice, and arguing about it won’t do me any favors. Just because the guy’s an asshole doesn’t mean he’s a good fighter, Ryann.”

“No, it doesn’t. But his sixteen-and-two fight record might.”

Aiden shouldered off the doorway and strolled into the office, moving with that undeniable grace that defied his size. “I can take care of myself in the cage. I’m not worried about it. What I am worried about is you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. If that means I have to fight, then I’ll fight.” Aiden shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Moralli needs to believe he’s won.”

“Why? What are you going to do?”

Planting his palms on his desk, he lowered himself until they were eye level. The knot in her gut dissolved into a battering of butterflies. God help her, this man was gorgeous. His amber-flecked eyes bore into her with the intensity of the sun, scorching her to her very core.

“What I should have done a long time ago. Listen, I have a friend coming to stay with me for a while. He’s going to corner me when I fight. I don’t trust any of Moralli’s men to do it.”

“Okay . . . Is there anything I can do to help you? I feel terrible you’re in this mess because of me.”

A measure of tension eased from his shoulders. “It’s not your fault. I should have known that bastard wasn’t going to let me go. If you really want to help, you could put together a dossier on every guy I’m scheduled to fight. I want to know everything you can find out about them. If you can get me videos of their fights, that’s even better. I always study my opponents before I get into the cage with them, and by the looks of things, I’m going to be short on time.”