Fighting for Control (Against the Cage Book 3) (29 page)

W
alter Reed Medical Center . . .”

“Hi, this Dr. Violet Summers. Can you please transfer me to your medical records department?” This was Violet’s last hope before she broke down and called Barry. As she sat on hold, she offered up a quick prayer that the military hospital would be able or willing to help her. The hospital in Ramstein, Germany, had been another dead end. They claimed all Nikko’s records were sent with him when he’d been transferred to Walter Reed.

After a series of clicks, someone came on the line. Violet explained who she was and that she was treating Nikko for PTSD and requested a copy of his medical records be sent to her office. She faxed his release of medical information waiver while the woman was looking up Nikko’s records.

“I’m sorry,” she said, coming back on the line, “but his records are restricted to military personnel only. I can’t send them to you.”

“But I’m his therapist. How can I properly treat him if I don’t know what happened to him?”

“It says here that Mr. Del Toro was offered psychiatric services through the military and he declined them. Upon discharge, he signed a form stating he was aware that his records would not be available to civilian institutions. Again, Dr. Summers, I am sorry, but there really is nothing I can do. If he is in need of treatment, I suggest you transfer his care to a military-based facility.”

As the woman disconnected the call, Vi’s hope deflated. This was
it . . . After weeks of searching, she was finally out of options. She’d done everything in her power to get those records on her own. Someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to hide the details of
Nikko’s service. Why? What secrets were they fighting so hard to keep?

Exhaling a sigh, she dropped her cheaters on the desk and pinched the bridge of her nose. The thought of contacting Barry and asking him for a favor made her stomach churn. She’d been dod
ging his calls and knew he was angry with her for refusing to talk to him. The last thing she wanted was to be indebted to him. But what other choice did she have? He was the only person she knew with a connection to someone who worked for the Pentagon.

She could do this for Nikko—for their future. He needed her far more than he even realized. Since their visit to his sister’s house, something had changed, deepened, in their relationship, and over the last few weeks they’d spent together, she’d come to the inevitable realization that she was falling for him—hard. She was hopelessly in love with this man, and losing her heart to someone she didn’t
truly know scared the hell out of her.

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate . . . She knew he liked heavy
metal music and his coffee black. She knew he had a wonderful family who loved him dearly and were just as worried about him as she was.
She knew he was an amazingly talented fighter because she’d begun
YouTubing his past fights and was fan-girling for her boyfriend—hard core. She also knew how he liked to be touched in the bedroom, where he liked to be kissed, and his favorite ways to fuck.

But there was a part of himself he refused to share with her—his demons. He kept them secreted away, buried deep in his subconscious until they refused to be denied their due. He didn’t know they visited her every night, taunting her with her failures as she watched them torture the man she loved. She was helpless to stop them as he writhed in sweat-drenched agony—his heart was racing, he was hyperventilating and caught in the unrelenting grip of his own personal hell.

When they came for him, the only thing she could do was curl into his side and whisper reassurance, telling him she was there and everything was going to be all right as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. Eventually the demons would retreat, but not before they’d gutted
him
and gashed open
her
soul—night, after night, after night . . .

Each morning, she felt like she’d gone to hell and back. Watching Nikko suffer was almost worse than enduring it herself. At least then she’d know what had happened and could begin battling against the darkness. As far as helping him went, Vi was on her own. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Nikko was fighting to protect her from his past just as hard as she was fighting to free him from it—and they were both failing miserably.

She wasn’t being naïve, nor was she walking into this blind. She’d spent a lot of time this past week measuring the risks and considering the consequences if Nikko ever discovered what she was about to do. He wasn’t a man who gave his trust easily; once she broke it, would it ever be something they could recover from? As much as he’d kept from her, he’d also given her a great deal, opening a part of himself up to her and sharing his family. Problem was, she wanted all of him. He was trying—for her—and she loved him for that. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough. As a therapist, she felt duty-bound to help him. As his girlfriend, she couldn’t fully commit to someone who was hiding secrets, especially not after Barry.

Exhaling a defeated sigh, Vi picked up the phone and called the person she’d vowed she’d never speak to again.

Wham!
A roundhouse kick connected solidly with Nikko’s jaw. His head snapped to the side and stars burst behind his eyes. This kid was good. Tommy Thorson was no joke. Easton had trained him well—maybe a little too well. The dude was a beast. Give him some braids and a horn helmet and he’d look like he just stepped off a Viking ship. Nikko wasn’t used to his opponents outweighing him, but his new sparring partner had at least thirty pounds and two inches on him, and, at two twenty, Nikko was no lightweight. If he didn’t get his head in the game, Tommy was going to kick his ass.

“Good shot, Thorson,” Easton praised his underling. “Now watch your guard. You might think you rocked Del Toro, but he’s going to be pissed after eating that kick. Get those hands—fuck!”

Nikko quit listening after that. He shot for Tommy’s hips and took him to the ground. The guy went down hard, and it knocked the wind out of him, giving Nikko the ten-second advantage to take full guard. He punched him in the face a couple of times, just to remind him who he was playin’ with. When Tommy raised his arms to protect his face, Nikko grabbed his left wrist and forced it to the mat, wedging his elbow between Tommy’s ear and shoulder. He slid his free hand under the guy’s arm and locked his hand with his wrist. Wrenching up, he torqued Tommy’s shoulder until he felt the succinct tapping on his back.

The Americana arm bar was one of his favorite submissions. He released his new partner and hopped to his feet, spitting out his mouth guard. That’s a wrap. It was almost six thirty and they’d been going strong since six this morning. Easton had him on a ball-busting schedule, and Nikko was spent. All he could think about right now was violet eyes, pale-blonde hair, and soft, lush lips.

“You see that, Tommy? Ten seconds. That’s all it takes to go from the top to tap. Other than eating Thorson’s foot there, you’re looking pretty tight, Del Toro. At this point, Viper’s nothing but a stepping stone, then it’s on to August ‘The Reaper’ Grimm.”

That was the first half-assed praise Easton had given him in the two weeks they’d been training. He wasn’t expecting it, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to hear, especially coming from the guy who was going to be cornering him. “Thanks.”

Nikko was rockin’ a killer headache, though. His jaw felt like it was out of place, and every muscle in his body was on fire. Lactic acid was burning through his veins, and he was going to be pissing myoglobin for the next twenty-four hours from all the punishment he’d put his body through today. He felt every fucking one of his thirty-two years, but he was damned if he’d give Easton the satisfaction of knowing it.

“Nice kick, kid.” Nikko offered his hand to his partner and hiked him to his feet.

“Thanks. Your Americana is a killer. Thought you were going to pop my shoulder,” he said, wincing as he gingerly tested his range of motion.

“Submissions are my specialty. Anyone can KO an opponent, but outmaneuvering them, making them swallow their pride and submit to you, that’s way more rewarding.” Nikko turned and exited the cage, anxious to get out of here and go see Clover. He couldn’t wait to climb into a nice hot bath with her, just like they’d done every night for the past week, soaking away the aches and pains of his poor, abused muscles. Nikko had his gloves and mouth guard stowed and was about to enter the locker room for a quick shower to wash off the sweat when Easton stopped him.

“We’re hitting Rush for a beer on the way home. You up for joining us?”

No. But he couldn’t very well say that. Nikko wasn’t one to cave to peer pressure, but under the circumstances it’d be a bad move to shit on Easton’s olive branch. “Sounds good, man. Just give me a minute to get cleaned up.”

Nikko grabbed his cell out of his duffle and shot off a quick text to Clover before stepping into the shower.
Going to be a little late. Sorry.
Frowning-face emoji.

He rushed through his shower, anxious to get this over with so he could get back to her house. These last two weeks with her had been incredible. Violet Summers was every bit as amazing as he knew she would be—in bed and out. His mother and sister adored her, and he loved absolutely everything about her—from her sweet, gentle nature to her fiery spirit that rose up whenever her temper was piqued. Violet may be soft-spoken and easygoing, but that woman was by no means a doormat.

Like a starving man, he craved the normalcy she provided in his life. It was comforting, relaxing. Spending time with her was . . . cathartic. Since he’d started seeing her, his head had become clearer, his mind more focused. He was more in control than he had been in years. Sure, his demons still haunted him. He could never fully escape their evil grasp, but now they only visited him in his dreams, someplace where they could never touch his precious Clover. She was safe from the darkness that shadowed his soul, safe from the memories that were his cross to bear. And he would do everything in his power to keep it that way. In order to do that, he must protect her from the truth. She’d never know what evil he had done, or that every night she welcomed a murderer into her bed—into her body.

Muttering a self-damning oath, he cut the shower and toweled off before wrapping the towel around his waist and walking over to the benches. He grabbed his cell from his bag and checked his messages.

No worries. Don’t be too late or I’ll have to start this bath without you.
Winky-face emoji.

Don’t you
dare!
Scowling face.

LOL!

Yeah, he wasn’t laughing.

H
ey, there . . .”

Nikko sat at the bar, nursing his beer, waiting for Easton and Tommy to finish theirs so they could get the hell out of here. He ignored the airy, feminine voice of the woman who had entered into his personal space. Damn, he hated crowds. Uneasiness churned in his gut, souring the beer in his stomach. Unfortunately, the woman who’d slipped between him and Easton wasn’t going to be deterred so easily. Even more unfortunate was that Easton noticed and was watching them with rapt amusement. Her hand fell on Nikko’s shoulder and he flinched, muscles involuntarily protesting the contact.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Oh, for shit’s sake. He hadn’t even been here ten minutes and some woman was already pawing at him. Between Easton and Tommy “The Viking,” he thought he’d be in the clear from attracting the cage bangers. But then there were always those women who went for the scarred, damaged type.

Sighing, he set his beer on the bar, letting the glass rap loudly against the counter, and then turned his head to give her his attention long enough to tell the woman he wasn’t interested. She was pretty—too pretty to be hanging out in clubs and hitting on cage fighters. “Should I?” he answered her question with one of his own.

Taking one look at his scowling face, her flirty smile faltered. “Dean didn’t tell you I was coming?”

“No, he didn’t.” Nikko flashed Easton a
What the fuck?
glower. “Who are you?”

“I’m Meghan, your new girlfriend,” she announced, presenting her perfectly manicured hand. “Your publicist hired me. Dean thought we should meet before your press interview tomorrow. Probably so you don’t look at me like you are right now when we’re in front of a bunch of cameras.” She laughed nervously, tucking a brunette curl behind her ear.

Shit . . . he was being a dick. It wasn’t her fault his boss had blindsided him. “It’s nice to meet you, Meghan.” He accepted her hand and forced an obligatory smile. He’d had a long day, and this was so not the way he wanted to end it. Well, at least now he knew why Easton had asked him to come out for a beer—traitorous prick.

“This is my sparring partner, Tommy, and my trainer, Cole Easton.” Replace with: He shot the man—who was watching the whole thing with an amused smirk on his face—another glare. She stepped behind him, keeping her hand on his back, and shook each guy’s hand before sidling back up to him. “So”—she trailed her fingers up and down his spine—“you want to grab a table somewhere a little more private so we can get to know each other better?”

Not really. But since he suspected this was why he was here, no was not an option. “Why don’t you grab us a table, and we’ll be along in a minute?”

As she sauntered away, Easton chuckled, shaking his head. Tommy stood to follow the leggy brunette, but Nikko snagged his arm, pulling him close. “All right, Thorson, listen up,” he growled loud enough to be heard over the band. “You’re my sparring partner, which means you’re my new best friend. Congratulations. So you’re going to take one for the team by clam-jamming that chick over there. You got it? Keep her the fuck off me.”

Tommy looked at him like he’d lost his ever-loving mind.

“What’s the matter, Del Toro?” Easton taunted. “You don’t like beautiful women?”

“I like them just fine, smart-ass. In fact, I’m particularly fond of the one I’ve got waiting for me at home.”

Easton muttered a curse, looking pretty damn guilty as he scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “You’re seeing someone? Shit . . . why didn’t you say something to Dean?”

“Because I keep my personal life personal.”

Easton busted out laughing. “Good luck with that. Let me know
how it works for you. Katie’s in those rags as much as I am these days.”

“Well, of course she is. She’s dating Hugh Hefner’s illegitimate son,” he mocked, quoting one of the more outlandish lies printed about Easton in the last year. The guy had become a tabloid favorite, thanks to all the drama surrounding him and Crazy Dan DeGrasse.

“Shut the fuck up,” Easton growled. “You know that shit’s not true.”

“Case in point, man.”

“Well, until you’re willing to go public with your girl, guess she’s going to have to share you. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your publicist and Dean have a paparazzo coming here to shoot you and Meghan together. They’re planning on pimping you to the press hard-core since you’re headlining this fight.”

“You knew they were going to do this when you asked me here. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have come if I had?”

“No.”

“Case in point.”

“You’re a dick,” Nikko growled, pushing past him to go find Meghan so they could get this shit over with. If he thought there was a chance in hell he wouldn’t get fired, he’d leave right now, but press time and PR bullshit were a part of his contract, so he was pretty much screwed. “As soon as those cameras go, I’m outta here.”

Meghan wasn’t difficult to spot. She’d taken a booth not far from the band. It was near the dance floor but not so close that they couldn’t hear each other speak. He took his obligatory seat beside the woman and tried not to look as pissed off as he felt.

“Dean mentioned you were camera shy,” she said, scooting closer and wrapping her arms around his biceps, squishing her breasts against his arm. “Don’t sweat it, sweetheart. I’m here to make you look good.”

When a man with a camera showed up a few minutes later, he
made a mental note to tell Dean
fuck you very much
. Nikko didn’t like
surprises. Guess he was a lot like Clover in that respect. At the thought
of his violet-eyed beauty, a knot of guilt fisted in his gut. He shouldn’t
be here—not without Violet. She was the woman he wanted at his side,
the woman he wanted plastered against his body. Not this stranger . . .

This was by far one of the most miserable nights of his life, and he’d had more than a few to boost that bar. As Nikko sat there like a stone statue while some woman hung all over him, brushing her tits on his arm and flashing her cleavage while she smiled for the camera, all he could think about was Clover waiting for him back at her house. It was making him edgy as shit. Tommy wore an amused smirk the whole time. Yeah, his ass was officially getting kicked tomorrow. At least Easton had the decency to look contrite about the whole thing. He knew the score—how hard it was to be in a relationship with someone when you were in this profession, expected to live up to some preconceived image. Would he have run interference with Dean had he known Nikko was seeing someone? Possibly . . .

For all the shit he gave Nikko, the guy absolutely adored his girl—worshiped the ground she walked on—and he doubted Easton would be complicit in jacking up someone else’s relationship.

“Are you worried about the upcoming fight with Viper?” the paparazzo asked after shooting a few candid pics of him and Meghan.

“Do I look worried?” He was annoyed as hell, is what he was. He just wanted to get the fuck out of there.

“Kennedy claims you disqualified yourself from the fight last month because you were afraid to face him in the cage. Do you have any response to his allegations?”

Like a lit match put to a fuse, Nikko’s temper flared—the short wick sizzling and sparking, burning toward the dynamite inside him just waiting to go off. His vision sharpened, and his muscles tensed. The woman beside him must have felt it, because her grip on his arm grew tenuously tight as she cast Cole and Tommy an anxious glance.

Cole shot from his seat before Nikko could lunge for the photographer. Tommy was on his heels. They intercepted the paparazzo, putting themselves between Nikko and the guy who was about to eat his camera.

“Interviews aren’t part of the deal, Walters, you know that,” Easton growled. “You have your shots. Any questions you want answered are going to have to wait for the press conference tomorrow.” He and Tommy escorted the camera-toting douche out of the club.

Before he could pry himself free of the clinger attached to his arm, a woman stumbled out of the crowd on the dance floor and came to an abrupt halt when her eyes locked on him. It took about two seconds for that bright, friendly smile to transform into a murderous glower.

Oh, fuck me
. . .

Violet couldn’t seem to crawl out from under the blanket of melancholy weighing her down. She hated keeping secrets from Nikko. There were already enough between them as it was. And what kind of a hypocrite did that make her, expecting Nikko to lay his bare when she kept hers tightly guarded? But nothing good could come from him knowing she’d called Barry today. And if he knew
why
she’d done it, he would be positively livid.

He knew about Barry, that he was a cheating, no-good bastard, but Nikko didn’t know everything—the lies, the betrayal, the humiliation . . . He didn’t know she still struggled with mistrust and insecurity. She’d learned to hide it well. It was her job to uncover the masks people wore, so of course she would know how to wear hers the best. But Nikko seemed content to let Vi hide behind hers. Perhaps because of his own, he didn’t feel like he had the right to pry, for fear of quid pro quo.

She never used to be so untrusting, or insecure, but public humiliation and having your foundation ripped out from under you can do that to a person. Talking to Barry today had opened a lot of old wounds she’d thought had healed—guess she was just as capable of denial as the best of them. Of course, he’d agreed to help her—without hesitation. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, his chance to open those doors of communication again. It frustrated her that she’d been reduced to no other option. All it would take was one call to his connection at the Pentagon and Barry would have at his fingertips the secrets she’d been struggling for a month to get.

Where was Nikko? She glanced at the clock, feeling restless and edgy. It was getting late. The gym had closed two hours ago. Supper was in the oven, which had long ago gotten cold. She’d be lying if she said it didn’t scare her how quickly she’d come to need him.

She craved the strength and security of his arms. She loved the way he looked into her eyes when he was making love to her—like no one else in the world existed. His eyes said things to her his mouth never would—told her secrets she would never hear confessed from his lips. It was Nikko’s intensity, his rawness, that she had fallen hopelessly in love with. The bedroom had become the place where he came to her free of inhibitions, where he would share himself with her, and she was beginning to crave it like the most addictive drug. Nikko Del Toro was quickly becoming her dangerous obsession, and she needed her fix.

Nikko was torn between the desire to see Clover and the guilt shredding him from the inside out. He was losing control. Exhaustion rode him hard, loosening the grip on his tightly leashed demons. If he didn’t get out of here now, he was going to make the shit that went down last month look like child’s play. How long could he keep telling himself he was good when tonight just proved it was all a goddamn lie? All it took was one missed night with Violet and his demons were storming the gates of his mind. Looking back, he wondered how he’d managed this long without her. Then again, when he really thought about it, he realized he hadn’t—even then, he was retreating to his memory of her to preserve his sanity.