Her brows pulled down in confusion as her eyes bounced between Diego and the cops. She didn’t say anything to him. She could be wrong, and a strange, protective instinct was curling up inside her. What could she do to protect a man with a body like a warrior? But apparently some part of her thought she could.
Their coffees were called under her name, so she grabbed them both and headed towards the door. Diego followed close behind, his face casually turned away from the cops.
They were halfway back to her apartment before she turned to him. “What was that back there?” She handed him the coffee, a slight peace offering in return for a question he probably wouldn’t answer.
“What?” he asked, then sipped the coffee. But his eyes watched her over the rim, and it was clear he knew exactly what she was talking about.
“What was with you when those cops came in?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like cops.”
“Why not?” she asked.
He raised his brows incredulously. “I earn my money by fighting in an illegal fight ring, in case you’ve forgotten.”
She frowned. “Is it just that? I mean, they would have no reason to know you did that—no reason for you to hide your face.”
His jaw clenched, and for a minute she thought he’d be too stubborn to answer. They reached her apartment building, but she stopped outside, suddenly unwilling to let him in until he answered her. She hadn’t thought he was dangerous, not really. But she didn’t even know him.
And Doc had said all the fighters were running from something. Was Diego running from the cops? Did he commit some crime and they were looking for him?
Her lungs tightened as all the possibilities crowded her mind. What had she been thinking?
“They aren’t actively looking for me,” Diego said eventually. “Not that I know of, anyway. But it’s complicated. If they recognised me…well, it could fuck a lot of stuff up, everything I’ve worked for. So it’s better to stay away.”
“Did you hurt someone?” she whispered, as a couple past behind him. She leaned back against the wall, awaiting his answer. A warm breeze blew past them, stirring her hair.
His nostrils flared. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I’ve hurt people before. Like I tried to tell you, I’m not a good guy. But I’m trying to escape that, trying to move on and become better. And if the cops found out I’m here—alive—then all that will be shot to hell and I’ll be dragged back to the life I escaped.”
Rosalyn’s heart clenched at the pain in his eyes. She knew what that was like. To spend so long in a bad situation you couldn’t find a way out. And even if you did, the heavy undertow of your past kept trying to drag you back.
“Were they bad people?” she asked. “The ones you hurt?”
Pain flared in his eyes. “Some of them. But some didn’t deserve it.”
She swallowed. “So why did you do it?”
He hesitated, twisting his coffee cup in his hands. “I had my reasons. Not good ones, maybe, but still reasons. Sometimes when you’re neck deep in a world, you have to do what you need to so you can survive.” He stared at the sidewalk, not meeting her eyes. Her heart cracked at the pain she saw there. She knew that feeling, and instant comradery with this man snapped to life within her, a connection based on shared pain. On survival.
“You won’t hurt me, though, right?” she asked him straight out. Her instincts told her he wouldn’t, and those same instincts had been honed through the experiences of her teen years. Through misery and depravation and horrors she wouldn’t wish on anyone. Those instincts had kept her alive, and she wouldn’t turn her back on them now.
Shock flared in his eyes at her question, followed closely by horror. “I would never,” he growled. “I mean, not physically. But…” his jaw clenched. “I’m bad news, Red. You deserve better than me in your life.”
That last line sealed it for her. She didn’t think a man who hurt women would say something like that. From her experience, far more than any woman should have to bear, that kind of man didn’t think he did anything wrong, and blamed anyone other than himself. A man who could see his own flaws and weaknesses? That was a man who would be more willing to protect and defend.
“I’ll decide that for myself,” she said. The logical part of her mind screamed that she was being impulsive by trusting him so quickly. It was a bad habit of hers, that impulsivity. But so far her instincts had mostly kept her out of trouble.
She turned and opened the front door to the building with a swipe of her key. Halfway up the entrance steps, she turned. “You coming?”
Diego hesitated for a long moment, as if debating with himself. Rosalyn’s chest was suspiciously tight as she waited for his answer.
He exhaled heavily and headed after her.
Chapter 8
What the fuck was he doing? He shouldn’t be following Rosalyn back into her apartment. Not after his confession. But she was a lure he couldn’t resist. He would destroy her, all that brightness. Taint it with his dark past and dark future. And then he’d leave her behind, because he couldn’t stay. Not here, in this city, not even in the US. Soon he’d be off to South America to live a new life below the radar, on a beach where he could be free.
But he still couldn’t stop himself from following her up those stairs.
“Why are you doing this, Red?” he asked as she shut the door and moved into the kitchen. He watched her graceful hands as she extracted their bear claws from the bag.
“Doing what?” she asked, glancing at him with innocent eyes.
“Keeping me in your life when you know I’m—”
“You’re what?” she demanded.
He didn’t know how to answer. He’d told her time and again, and she was simply refusing to listen. What was it about her?
“I’ll stain your perfect little life with my past.”
Rosalyn rolled her eyes, her jaw set firm. “I don’t know what or who you think I am, but I’m not some delicate, naïve flower. I’m not as pristine, as closed off from the darkness of this world as you seem to think.”
He scoffed. “I’m sure.”
She took a deep breath and levelled him with a challenging stare. “When I was thirteen, my parents and I were in a car accident. I was trapped in the backseat and they were unconscious in the front. It took hours before we were found. I had to watch them die, slowly, and bit by bit—watch their blood drain away.”
Shock sliced through him like ice, but she wasn’t done.
“I went into foster care after that. There were no other family members to take me in. And I’m sure you know kids that age never get adopted. I was in there for five years. And every horror story about the system you might have heard? The reality is a thousand times worse. It’s hell in its purest form.”
He stared at her, read the truth in her eyes. He’d misjudged her. Misjudged her strength.
“I didn’t know.”
“No, you didn’t. Because you just assumed. I managed to claw my way out of there. At eighteen I applied for every scholarship on the planet and managed to get through college. I made something of myself, and never looked back. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about that time in my life every day. That it doesn’t still effect everything I do.”
She stepped forward, holding his gaze. “You can’t taint me, Diego. I’ve seen the worst this world has to offer—and it’s not you.”
All the breath left him in a rush. The words settled into his soul, cleansing the edges of the black stain that corrupted everything he did. She didn’t—couldn’t—know the truth, but the lonely part of himself clung to her words. The part that had been trying so hard to move on, to be better, be different.
But still, that nagging voice told him that he’d drag her back to the hell she’d fought so hard to leave. That was what he did. He made things worse.
“Bear claw?” she asked as she offered him the plate. He took it, still in a daze, his head thinking through all she’d achieved, all her tri
umphs. She hadn’t let her past destroy her.
Unlike him.
They settled on the bed, the only place to sit, and ate in silence, sipping the last of their quickly cooling coffee.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he said eventually.
Rosalyn shrugged and gave him a sad smile. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. And it made me who I am.”
He nodded at that. She was fearless and smart and empathetic. He wouldn’t change that about her, even if he wished she’d lived an easier life. He wanted to ask about foster care, but even as she’d talked about it a sheen of tears had sprang up into her eyes and he knew it wasn’t the right time. Whatever had happened to her was something he hadn’t earned the privilege to know.
He surprised himself by wanting to, though. He’d purposefully kept to himself for the last year, not making any friends or getting close to anyone. What was it about this woman that made him break all his rules?
“So this trouble with the law you mentioned…” she began. Diego tensed, waiting for the question. “Is that why you fight in this underground ring thing?”
He let out a breath in relief that she didn’t ask what he’d done. He wasn’t sure he could face telling her, face the censure in her eyes once she knew. He wasn’t a hero, he knew that. But some part of him enjoyed playing one for her. “Yeah. I’m trying to avoid some bad people from my past—people that might be looking for me. And the cops…well, they might be looking for me, too. I don’t know. There are only a few opportunities open to a guy like me, and none of them are good. This was the only one that didn’t put me right back where I’d come from. Same shit, different city.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes a little distant, and he had the odd feeling she was making mental notes to help her remember later.
“And the other guys? Are they all in a similar situation to you?”
He shrugged. “I guess. I never asked. We kind of operate under our own ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy for our criminal pasts.” He gave her a sly smile at the joke and she grinned quickly in response.
“So how does it work? You show up and get told who you’ll fight?” She chewed on her bear claw, eyes watching him.
“Yup. It changes every time. They don’t want you to fight the same person too close together. The crowd gets bored of that.”
She frowned. “I was reading up about MMA when I was awake last night and it seem very different to what I saw at the warehouse. They have weight classes that you fight within, and rounds, and referees. Why is this so different?”
He scoffed. “It’s an illegal fight. The only thing they care about is keeping the crowd happy, nothing else.”
“But there are unsanctioned MMA matches, right? But they’re not illegal. How is this different?”
He considered her question. “Well, first of all, the betting on our fights is unregulated. So people can bet what they want and win without having to pay taxes on it. But there’s also the danger of it. Anyone could die in that ring. People have. And Spider—you met him—along with his buddy Weston, deal with the bodies.”
She gasped, eyes wide with shock. “Seriously? They dump the bodies? But what about the men’s family and friends? Surely people miss them?”
He laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. “The men who fight in those cages are at the end of their rope. They have nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, nothing left to lose. No one will notice if they’re gone. No one will care.” He tore off a piece of his pastry, jaw clenching at how much he’d revealed about his own pathetic excuse for a life. Not for long. Soon, he’d be free.
She swallowed as sadness welled in her eyes. “That’s so sad. And brutal. Even if you think of it like a business, you still wouldn’t think the man who runs the fights would want his fighters killed, right? I mean, they’re what’s making him the money.”
Diego shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. There are always more fighters. Trained, and untrained. But McCready wants the crowd to bet big. That’s how he makes his money. And they can bet on who they think will die, if anyone. Bets are always huge after someone dies in the ring. They love the unpredictability of it. It’s a bloodsport, primarily.”
“Have you…” she hesitated, swallowed, and tried again. “Have you ever killed someone?” Her voice was soft and anxious, as if she didn’t really want to know the answer.
“I’ve never killed anyone in the ring,” he told her. Despite the technical truth behind the words he still felt like he was lying.
A lie by omission was still a lie.
“What’s with all the questions?” he asked suddenly, his heart beating harder at the thought that she might discover the truth—discover his secret shame.
She sat back, blinking. “I’m curious, is all. It’s a fascinating and unfamiliar world to me.”
He studied her face, some instinct telling him that wasn’t the whole truth. But he couldn’t imagine what she might be hiding. The light slanted in through the window at exactly the right angle, illuminating her hair in a halo of fire, distracting him from his thoughts.
She looked so beautiful, sitting there like that. Relaxed, comfortable by his side. It was intoxicating.
“It’s like the gladiators in ancient Rome,” she said eventually, leaning back against the pillows.
He frowned. “How so?”
“Well, gladiators fought in the ring, sometimes to the death, for people’s entertainment. Sometimes senators fought, for glory and fame. But mostly it was slaves, fighting for their freedom.”
Her eyes were fixed on him, penetrating into his soul. She could see him, see that hidden part of him that yearned for freedom, for a fresh start.
She continued softly, “Most gladiators didn’t live past thirty.”
Diego’s heart squeezed. He feared dying in the ring before he had a chance to make his escape.
“Well, I have a year to go, then,” he told her with a half-smile.
She tried to return it, but her jaw cracked open and she yawned. Guilt hammered into him.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I fell asleep in fits and starts, but kept jolting awake to check you were still breathing. It wasn’t very restful.”
He scowled. “You should get some sleep now.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t trust that you won’t stop breathing. Not until the forty-eight hours is up.”
He studied her, noting again the dark smudges under her eyes, the paleness of her face.
“Come here,” he said.
Her brows tugged down in confusion. “What?”
“Trust me.”
He held his breath as she shifted towards him unquestioningly.
“Lie down,” he told her. She did, stretching herself on her back next to him. Her side pressed into his.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Put your head on my chest,” he told her, his voice getting low and rough as she got closer. His skin heated where she touched, but he ignored it. She needed sleep more than she needed his lust.
She moved onto her side and carefully place her head on his chest. Her hand fluttered briefly, then it, too, settled against the fabric of his t-shirt. He was thankful his broken ribs were on the other side, so he could simply enjoy her presence.
He took a deep breath, and her head rose and fell with the expansion of his chest. He felt her lips curve into a smile.
“There, now. You’ll know if I stop breathing, right? So sleep.”
“You’re a clever man, Diego.” His name trailed off in a yawn. The tension drained from her muscles as she got closer to sleep. He shifted his arm around her to cradle her shoulder, drifting his fingers along her bare arm. She snuggled further into his chest, already near sleep.
Yeah, he was clever. He’d arranged it so he could touch her, have her close against him. He spent long minutes enjoying the sensation of her in his arms before he, too, drifted into sleep.
; And dreamed of her.
Chapter 9
The chirp of her phone woke her from deep slumber. She snuggled deeper into her hard pillow, ignoring the sound. But the chirp sounded again and again until she was fully awake.
Rosalyn sat up and looked around for her phone, finally locating it on the nightstand on Diego’s side of the bed, the glowing screen lighting up the darkened room. When had the sun gone down? How long had she been asleep?
She blinked and set the questions aside as she reached across Diego to grab her phone. He was still breathing at a comforting pace, but he grumbled softly as she pressed into him to reach the nightstand. His arm drifted up a little, and his hand lazily squeezed her butt cheek.
A bolt of heat shot through her at his unconscious move, immediately priming her. What was it about this man? She rarely got so worked up about anyone, and yet one little move from him was ready to send her into overdrive.
She shook her head in annoyance at herself and snatched up her phone. She saw the time, first. She’d slept through lunch and dinner—a rarity for her. Then, she saw the missed call was from Anthony.
It was unusual for him to call on a Sunday. Had she missed an article deadline? She didn’t think so, since she was generally pretty punctual.
Curious, she got off the bed and locked herself in the bathroom so she wouldn’t wake Diego. She hit redial and waited until Anthony picked up.
“What’s up?” she whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” he asked at normal volume.
“Because someone is asleep in my apartment and I don’t want to wake them?” Not that it was any of his business.
He grunted at that, a sound which could mean anything from ‘I didn’t need to know that’ all the way through to ‘how dare you have a sleepover?’. She ignored it.
Caged Warrior: Underground Fighters #1 Page 6
