“Vi, I am so sorry,” Cain said in a voice thick with grief and tears. He cupped the back of her head, stroked her hair, and held her tight.
“How did it happen?” she sobbed into his neck.
“We relied on flawed intel and were ambushed. I was too far away to do anything to help. I didn’t even know he’d been shot until the recon copter flew in and I saw him being lifted. I’m so sorry, Vi. I wish I would’ve been closer…I wish could’ve called you myself. I wish…”
She stepped away, took his face in her hands, and looked into his eyes. “Don’t be sorry, Cain. You lost your best friend. We’re both mourning.” She wiped a tear from his eye. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”
He shook his head, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. “No. I wasn’t hurt,” he finally croaked. Violet led them to an empty corner of the airport where they sat for an hour, Cain holding her as she cried. He told her how much Jeremy had loved her and how he’d spoken about her all the time. Over and over he told her how sorry he was, almost as if he was apologizing to her. That was the thing with war—some people came back and some didn’t. It was the risk you took when you fell in love with a Ranger. She would be lying if she’d said she’d been prepared for his death. No one could prepare for something like that. But a complete surprise? No, it was certainly not a surprise.
At last, when she was able to compose herself, together they went to the funeral.
After that, he returned to town five more times during his remaining two years of active service. They’d go horseback riding, or to the movies, or have dinner with his parents. On one occasion, they’d even gone roller-skating. But every time she brought up Jeremy he’d change the subject. She understood how much losing his best friend must have hurt him, so eventually she stopped bringing it up.
After his second tour was over he didn’t reenlist; instead, he disappeared. He sent her emails at least once a month, usually just to check in and see how she was doing. She knew he had moved to Florida, had taken up MMA, and was now working with IMC, but she didn’t know much else. Once or twice she saw him on television fighting on the undercard for a major bout. When his parents died in a car accident, she went to the small funeral and held his hand. He didn’t shed a single tear, and as soon as the caskets were in the dirt, he flew back to Tarpon Springs and she went back to nursing school in Amarillo. And that’s how their relationship had been since Jeremy’s death six years ago. There was love, there was friendship, but there was also distance and a wall around Cain she couldn’t seem to penetrate.
Cain must’ve been as lost in his thoughts as she was. Finally, though, he spoke, startling her. “I have to go.”
“Um…yeah. Okay.”
He stood up and pointed to her outfit. “I like that. Wear that.” Then he gave her a kiss on the cheek and left.
His abrupt mood swings and quick exits were making her head spin. She picked up the photo and looked at it before setting it back down and grabbing a handful of clothes to begin the job of tidying her room.
—
Sweat trickled down Cain’s temples. He’d taken off his shirt long ago. His body ached from pounding his fists against the punching bag. He’d been at it for the last two hours. He felt eyes on him, but he didn’t care. Violet was on her way to a date. He was happy for her. She needed to go out and meet people. He, on the other hand, needed to make sure he adequately trained for the upcoming fight.
“Yo, I think it’s dead,” Tony teased. “You’ve been training for hours. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Tony patted Cain’s shoulder before walking away.
Cain glanced at the time. Earlier he’d received another text from Iggy about going with him to watch the underground fight. This time, said it was a “sure thing.” Cain knew those unsanctioned fights were dangerous, and he’d had no intention of going, but now…now he was full of energy and something else. Anger? Guilt? Regret?
Maybe he’d go and watch just to have something to do that didn’t involve thinking about Violet on a date. And Violet’s ass in those leggings. And Violet’s tits in that off-the-shoulder shirt she’d modeled for him. And Violet’s pale skin reddening as she waited for him to look her over and give his verdict on the outfit.
That picture had brought back so many memories. He couldn’t stop thinking of the day Jeremy had told him he was going to propose to Violet. Cain had gone with him to pick out the ring. He’d told Jeremy the ring was too flashy for Violet, but Jeremy said he wanted to give her the “best.” It was gaudy and ostentatious and nothing like Violet, but Violet seemed to love it. Then, knowing how much Violet liked photos, Jeremy had asked him to go with them to dinner and take photos of the occasion. Cain had told Jeremy that it was probably best to propose in private. But Jeremy said he wanted to yell it to the world and it was an occasion to be shared. That too seemed to please Violet, since she cried and sobbed a yes when Jeremy got down on one knee and proposed. It just went to show, Cain thought, that he didn’t really know Violet as well as he thought he did.
Seeing the photo of Jeremy and Violet had reminded him why he needed to stay away from Violet. Maybe helping her date was a bad idea.
Quickly he sent a text to Iggy to let him know he’d be going to the fight after all.
Chapter 7
Cain hesitated only a second before crawling through the broken window of the abandoned meat-packing plant in a seedy part of town. It wasn’t that he was physically scared—he’d gone to war, for Christ’s sake. He hesitated only because he didn’t want to get arrested and this was the kind of event where people ended up behind bars.
He went inside anyway.
The putrid smell of sweaty men crowded into a small space that hadn’t been aired out in years was sickening. The fight had already begun, and Cain immediately saw two overweight men throwing sloppy punches. Because it was a bare-knuckle fight, there was blood everywhere. There was no ring or cage, only the crowd of men holding money out, creating a circle for the fight.
Cain immediately realized two things. First, these men were completely inexperienced fighters¸ and he hoped that the fight ended before one of them wound up dead from a stupid move. And second, when the man with the least amount of blood and broken bones won the match, he’d get a shit-ton of money from the amateur fight.
“Cain, my man!” Iggy slapped the back of Cain’s shoulder. “Easy money, baby!” Iggy held up a wad of cash.
“Yeah, I noticed.” Cain looked at the battered fighters still hanging around the center. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and saw Violet had sent him a text.
Thanks for the help today. You’re a good friend, Cain ;)
Was she on the date right now? Was her date looking at the outfit Cain had helped her choose? And that winking face, shit, what the fuck was that supposed to mean? Cain’s mind raced. Was she going to sleep with the doctor? That had not been part of the plan! He hated the word friend. But he needed to remember it—they were friends. Nothing more.
Cain read the message five times; his hand almost crushed the phone before he slid it back into the pockets of his cargo pants and hollered to Iggy, “I want in.”
Iggy handed him a sheet of paper with scribbled notes about the next fighter’s stats. “How much you throwing down? Hurry, ’cause once the fighters come out, they won’t take any more bets.”
“I want in,” Cain said again, but this time with a growl.
Iggy pointed to the paper. “I know. Look this over quickly and give me—Oh! You mean, you want in, as in you want to fight? Not just place a bet?”
Cain was already making his way toward a heavyset man with a goatee who sat on an aluminum chair surrounded by a small entourage of tough-looking men counting money.
Iggy put a hand on Cain’s shoulder. “Man, this isn’t the kind of shit you’re used to. You could get hurt. You have a career with IMC, and Jesus, yo
u’re a professional fighter. You can’t fight in this shit. These Russians don’t mess around, Cain.”
Cain’s eyes narrowed, and Iggy let go of his shoulder and put his hands up in surrender.
The tallest Russian of the group noticed Cain first. He lifted a chin in question.
“Who do I have to talk to if I want to fight?” Cain asked. The man looked at him curiously and without looking away said something in Russian to the man who stood beside him. The second guy turned and mumbled something to the heavyset man, who was clearly in charge.
“Come. Sit.” The heavyset Russian motioned to Cain, who walked the three steps forward and sat as instructed.
“Name?”
“No name,” Cain said.
The man sat back, crossed his arms, and eyed Cain for a few moments.
“You come to my house and disrespect me? You want to fight and you no give me name?” His Russian accent was heavy and it was difficult to understand, but Cain got the gist of it and nodded. “You know who I am?”
Cain wasn’t sure, but he figured the guy belonged to the Russian mob. Likely not too far up in the ranks, since he was hustling money in an abandoned warehouse, but still, it was the Russian mob, and Cain hadn’t come here to make trouble. So Cain nodded.
“You have big American balls, boy!” The man howled a belly laugh. “You understand vale tudo?”
“I do.”
“You want to fight, you must fight tonight,” the Russian said.
“Fine.” Cain stood, accepting the challenge.
“Alexei, you.” The Russian pointed to one of the tough-looking men.
Cain walked off to wait his turn.
“You’re fucking insane!” Iggy hollered over the noise. “Man, if you’re that hard up for cash, I can spot you some—”
“I don’t want your money, Ig,” Cain yelled back as he took off his shirt and shoved it into Iggy’s hand. “Hold this.” Then he took out his keys, wallet, and phone. “This too.”
“Fuck man. You’re crazy.” Iggy rubbed the back of his neck. “And what the hell was that shit he asked you. Vale whatever-the-fuck?”
“Vale tudo. It’s an everything-goes Brazilian fighting style. They love that shit in Russia. Can’t bite, grab balls, fish hook, shit like that, but basically anything else goes. Bare knuckles. I already knew that when I saw the first fight,” Cain said matter-of-factly as he jumped up and down, warming up while he waited for the current fight to finish. “Russians prey on these small towns where there’s not much action.” He stretched his neck side to side and then his arms. The floor was bloodied and probably slippery. He’d noticed that between rounds two young kids mopped up the center. It wasn’t perfect, but at least it kept the fighters from slipping as soon as the match began.
“If you get yourself killed, the bosses from IMC are going to be royally pissed.”
Cain stopped jumping and put a hand on Iggy’s shoulder. “Relax.”
Cain was tall, the tallest fighter at Worth the Fight Academy, but Alexei was taller—much taller. The Russian likely outweighed Cain by at least fifty pounds, but in these underground bare-knuckle fights, there weren’t weight divisions or skill differentials. You fought whichever opponent was available. Alexei, the man standing in front of Cain, could’ve been a professional kickboxer or a complete novice, for all Cain knew. What was obvious were the tattoos on Alexei’s chest, neck, arms, and knuckles. They told a story of prison time and mob life.
The ref yelled something in Russian and then in broken English; the lack of rules drove home the point that there really weren’t any rules. A surge of adrenaline kicked in. All Cain could think about was survival. His heart beat faster, his mind emptied, and his muscles remembered the techniques he’d mastered years ago. The energy pumping through his veins was exactly what he needed. Why he fought.
As soon as Alexei threw the first punch, not two seconds after the bell rang, Cain knew he had the fight won. Cain sidestepped Alexei and let the man throw a round of punches and kicks in order to tire him out. Within two minutes, Alexei was breathing shallowly and had yet to land a punch. Normally, Cain’s strength was on the ground. He was a master at Brazilian jiu jitsu, but the blood-covered floor was not something he wanted to come in contact with. Noticing how tired Alexei had become, after the Russian took a final attempt at a jab Cain flung a right hook straight to the man’s temple, followed by a kick to the face. Blood streamed immediately out of his nose, and Alexei went down.
The crowd roared. Even though it felt euphoric to win, it would have been a hell of a lot better had his opponent known how to fight. The use of his skill was part of the sport’s draw for him, and with Alexei he’d needed nothing but good timing and a hard hit.
The heavy-set Russian stood and slowly walked to Cain. The crowd quieted down as the man counted a stack of money and handed it to Cain.
“Next time, you fight longer. Crowd like action.”
Next time? It felt good, the adrenaline still pumped through his veins, all his energy focused solely on staying alive. Yes, there would be a next time.
“Cain Sorenson, it is pleasure to meet you. I call personally for next fight. We make lot of money together.”
“You know my name?”
“I am Yuri Kovalenko. I know everything, boy.”
In five minutes Cain had made five thousand dollars and he’d barely broken a sweat. He didn’t like that the Russian mob was involved, but he liked the feel of winning. Of fighting. And the best part was that he hadn’t thought of Violet for the last five minutes. He felt invincible. Yes, he would definitely fight here again.
—
The next day he received a text from Violet about going to dinner. He sent a quick text back to let her know he was busy training. That was how it went for the next two days. She called and he quickly cut the conversation short with an excuse. By the third day, every muscle in his body ached. He was finishing his workout when he saw Violet walk into the Academy. She wore loose navy sweatpants, a tight-fitting ribbed tank top, and a huge scowl.
Fuck.
She walked straight to him, eyes narrowed. She was so damn cute even when she was trying to be intimidating. Her five-foot-nothing stature did nothing to make her seem any more menacing. “Are you avoiding me?” She shoved her finger in his chest.
He wiped his face with a towel, trying to stifle a grin. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he lied.
Her posture changed. “Sorry for that accusation. I just thought that…well, anyway, never mind.” She let her gym bag drop to the floor. “You’re working too hard, then. You want to grab dinner tonight?”
“Can’t,” he answered.
Hurt flashed briefly across her face.
“I’ll walk you out, though,” he said as he grabbed his gym bag.
“Huh? I just got here.” She started to walk toward the elliptical machine, and he followed.
“What’re you doing?”
She stepped on the machine and began touching the screen. “Working out. Obviously.”
He looked around. The Academy wasn’t too full, but there were a few young guys whose attention was no longer on the bags they were supposed to be pounding; instead their eyes had drifted to Violet’s plump ass. “You can’t work out here, Vi.”
She began to move on the machine, her tits bouncing with each and every step she took. “Yes I can. Francesca told me I could and Slade okayed it.”
Tony walked by at that precise moment with one of the new fighters in tow. “Tony, is it okay if I work out here today?” she said with a big smile as she moved up and down on the machine.
Who the fuck would deny her anything with that smile?
“Yes, of course, muñeca.” He walked on, but the fighter he was with swiveled his head to look at Violet. Tony chuckled and slapped the fighter on the back of the head, then grinned at Cain.
Cain closed his eyes and took a deep breath trying to control his anger. He had bee
n ready to call it a day when Violet arrived, but he couldn’t very well leave her in a gym full of men. Okay, maybe not full of men, but one man looking at her like that was one too many. These testosterone-fueled guys had only one thing on their sick, perverted minds: Violet’s ass. Well, more than one thing: her tits too. He knew this for a fact because he was thinking the same damn thing. He dropped his bag and climbed on the treadmill next to the elliptical machine.
“I thought you were leaving?”
“No,” he said as he set the treadmill to the highest possible speed and began a mind-numbing run. Violet shrugged, slipped her ear buds on and tuned him out.
An hour later, Cain was using the speed bag and Violet was on a weight machine when Travis and Enzo showed up. They’d been there when Cain arrived earlier in the day, had left for a few hours, and were now back for a second round of training.
Cain grunted.
“You’re working out here now, Violet?” Enzo asked.
“I’m testing it out. Not sure yet.”
Enzo winked at her before he walked away.
Cain wanted to rip the man’s eye out. He knew he was being absolutely ridiculous, but he didn’t want anyone ogling Violet.
“Hey, sugar, how’re you doin’?” Travis said to Violet. “Nice to have your pretty little face in here. Tired of seeing all these guys’ ugly mugs every day.”
And why is Travis always so fucking talkative?
Out of the corner of her eye Violet saw Cain come over to where she was straddling one of the weight benches. “You’re doing it wrong,” he said gruffly, and, not bothering to ask, he took the pin out of the seat to readjust it, catapulting her forward.
“Hey!” Violet yelped. “I almost fell.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
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