Fight For Her (MMA Fighter Romance Book 1)

by Vanessa Vale

  “Good. Please ask your father if he would like to join you.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I had no interest, ever, in eating dinner with my dad, but Casale had a reason for it. “Angelo Casale wants to know if you want to join me for dinner tonight at his restaurant.”

  Dad turned to look up at me and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. This was the first time—ever—I had seen him weak and vulnerable. He cleared his throat. “Please offer him my thanks, but I will be staying in Atlantic City through the weekend.”

  “He offers his regrets,” I told Casale.

  “Hmm, yes, I figured as much. I assume your meeting is over, so you should easily be back in time to get your girl. I’ll see you at seven.”

  I put the phone away and put my hands on my hips, waiting to see if my dad was going to say anything else. I saw him sitting there—shoulders slumped, skin orange and pale all at the same time—for what he really was. An old, pathetic man. He hadn't sent a man after Emory. It wasn't his deal. All he did was taunt, to fuck with you. He didn't have the balls to do more than that. He might be a powerful businessman, but he had nothing on me. Nothing. I could deal with whatever shit he tossed my way, but it seemed I had an ally with Angelo Casale. I had no idea what he had on my dad, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about my dad at all.

  “We’re done here,” I said, my voice hard. “We’re done, period. Leave me the fuck alone and you stay away from Emory. You forget she even exists. I’d be happy to beat the shit out of you and I’m sure Casale would be more than happy to hide your body.” I leaned forward so he could hear me clearly over the din of the casino. “You think I care what you do? I don’t think about you at all.”

  I shook my head and looked at my dad one last time. I wasn’t trying to remember, I was trying to forget.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GRAY

  I got caught in traffic on the Delaware Memorial Bridge, some semi jackknifed and brought the highway to a standstill, so I had to meet Emory, Christy and Paul at the restaurant. I’d spent the extra two hours in the car thinking about Casale’s hold on my dad and the reason for the dinner.

  Mr. Casale himself met me by the hostess stand. I shook his hand and he clapped me on the shoulder. “I trust you had a good visit with your father?”

  “I didn’t realize you two were friends,” I countered. I was eager to get to Emory so it was difficult to chat it up. But, he was concerned for her and so I owed him respect.

  He offered a small shrug. Very Italian. “Friends? Absolutely not. We have…an understanding. While he will still be your father, I am sure he will not offer you too much additional trouble.”

  I narrowed my eyes and felt threatened. A guy like Casale didn’t do something like this without wanting something in return. “What do you want, Mr. Casale? I have no intention of having my fighter blow the fight, or a fight three years down the road when it suits your needs. I don’t need a partner in my business.” I tried to keep my voice even. My father was an enemy I understood. Mr. Casale was in a completely different league.

  He shook his head, kept his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve misunderstood. Emory is in love with you, therefore I just reminded your father of a few things. If Emory’s happy, I’m happy.”

  While I was curious about Mr. Casale’s connection with my dad, it was probably best if I didn't ask too many questions.

  “She’s…she’s not in love with me.” I could hear the surprise, the uncertainty in my voice. “We met last week.” While I said the words, I knew them to be empty. Time didn’t seem to make a difference when it came to me and Emory. It was as if I’d known her forever, yet everything was brand new.

  The older man actually tsked me, led me around the corner so I could see Emory sitting at the table chatting with Christy and Paul. She hadn’t seen me yet. “You’ll keep her happy?” he asked, as we both watched her.

  I nodded. It’s all I could do because the sight of her was like the worst sucker punch I’d ever taken. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything but wonder why she was the least bit interested in me. When she glanced up and saw me, she tilted her head and gave me the most perfect smile. Her eyes brightened with what I hoped was pleasure and excitement and it was all for me.

  I was thankful for the small nudge the older man gave to my shoulder, prodding me to move toward the table. She stood and met me halfway, taking my hand as she leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Hi,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

  Those words, God, they were the best thing I’d ever heard. This woman had missed me. I wanted to think it was love that made her eyes bright, made her smile so broad. I couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across my face, but I had to put my hands on her shoulders and get a look at her. She wore a sundress, a bright blue that was soft and flowing and hit just above the knee. On her feet were a pair of sexy high heels and she wore makeup. Gone was the girl next door I woke up to and in her place was, shit, a siren. She'd pulled me in all right and I never wanted to leave. I closed my mouth and tried not to look like I was drooling.

  “You look…incredible,” I whispered when I kissed her forehead.

  She grinned at me, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Sit. Mr. Casale’s brought us wine.”

  I held out Emory’s chair for her, then shook Paul’s hand, said hello to Christy. “I see you took care of my girl.” Glancing at Emory, I saw her blush. I loved that I could do that to her.

  “If that means being dragged to the mall for dress shopping, then yes, I took care of your girl,” Paul replied.

  “Are you okay with wine or do you want water?” She remembered I’d said I didn’t drink anymore.

  “Water.”

  She put the bottle down, then pushed her water glass toward me. “I only had the clothes I put in my bag last night. I couldn’t go to the hottest restaurant in town wearing shorts and a T-shirt.”

  She could’ve and I wouldn’t have minded. While she looked stunning, I liked her best when she was naked. I knew enough about women to know now was not the time to tell her that. I would later, when she was naked.

  “I’m a lawyer. I know I have a painful, boring job, but I’d rather go through a two-day deposition than to go through that experience again. Have you ever been in the lingerie department before?”

  I didn’t know if I should commiserate with Paul over that scary task or get turned on by the idea of Emory picking out something super sexy. I turned and eyed her, wishing I had x-ray vision and could see what she had on beneath the dress, but she smiled sweetly at me, giving nothing away.

  I reached for my water and took a big gulp. As Christy and Paul were commenting about something on the menu, Emory leaned in and said, her voice low enough so only I could hear, “It’s pink.”

  I turned my head so our mouths were inches apart. “Pink?”

  “And lacy.”

  My mouth fell open when I realized what she was talking about. She grinned wickedly and picked up her own menu. Turnabout was fair play, so I put my hands in my lap, then moved my right so it rested on her thigh, my thumb slowly inching the hem of her dress upward.

  Emory stiffened, but didn’t stop me. Well, she stopped me with her hand firmly on top of mine when I was getting close to feeling whether her panties were lacy or not. I never really intended to do anything in the middle of Casale’s restaurant, but I wanted to see how far she’d let me. And hell, now that my fingers were caressing the tender skin of her inner thigh, I wasn’t planning on moving it. I would eat left handed. I just had to pick something from the menu that didn’t involve using a knife.

  EMORY

  Mr. Casale, instead of the waiter, came to the table. “It would be my pleasure to select your meal for you.” I was thrilled with this because I couldn’t concentrate with Gray’s hand on my thigh. It settled just shy of my panties, his thumb moving slowly back and forth, as if telling me he wasn’t going any farther and that he liked that spot just fine.r />
  I liked the spot just fine too, but it had gotten awfully hot in the restaurant and my new pink panties were noticeably wetter than when I first arrived. Gray did nothing untoward or inappropriate the entire meal, but I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t move his hand. In fact, he ate left handed. The idea that he didn’t want to let go of my leg had me feeling…giddy. It was a real first date—a restaurant, a dress—although we did have chaperones. If they knew about the inappropriate hand placement under the table, they didn’t let on.

  It was only when, after our plates were cleared and Mr. Casale pulled up a chair and sat down at the end of the table, did Gray move his hand. It seemed neither of us wanted the distraction for whatever the man had to say.

  “I have heard on the street that someone is mad at you for not giving him drugs.”

  Mr. Casale was looking at me and didn’t waste time by mincing words. Everyone else glanced at me as well. Drugs? Me? “What are you talking about?”

  “You work at the free clinic?”

  “On Saturday mornings, yes.”

  “You can prescribe pain killers?”

  “Yes.”

  Gray took my hand in his, gave it a squeeze.

  “You’ve cut off someone’s supply and they aren’t happy.”

  My mouth fell open as I processed his words. “God, at first I thought you were accusing me of being a drug dealer, peddling meth on the street corner to little kids.” I sighed. “I write prescriptions for pain pills all the time. It could be any number of people.”

  Mr. Casale tapped his chin thoughtfully. “This person, I have learned, harms women so they are seen at the clinic and receives the pain medication. Then keeps it for himself.”

  “What does this have to do with Emory?” Gray asked.

  “Rumor is they want her keys to get into the free clinic to get more.”

  I glanced at Paul and Christy, who were listening carefully, confusion and surprise on their faces.

  “I can’t just get into the medication. The clinic has one of those big machines that requires a password. It’s a big pill vault and has a computer connected to it. There’s no key.”

  “There’s one in each department at the hospital as well. It’s strictly monitored and doesn't have all medications,” Christy added.

  I nodded at Christy's words. “It keeps nurses and doctors from stealing and keeps records of what goes in and out. Harder stuff is delivered from the hospital pharmacy. At the clinic, there are no serious meds because we'd transfer them to the ER if it were needed.”

  “Then he just wants the prescriptions, most likely the women get them filled and he takes the meds from them. Either way, you’ve cut off his supply, or one of them. Did you deny drugs to anyone recently?” he asked.

  I thought back over the past month or so at the clinic, then remembered the woman from last weekend. Broken rib. I’d given her a script for pain pills twice before, but that was more than enough for her recuperation time. Had this man broken her rib just so he could get the pain meds for himself? What was her name? Alice something.

  “There was a woman last weekend. Broken rib and wanted more pain meds, but I didn't give her a refill. I can’t tell you her name. Confidentiality laws.”

  Mr. Casale held up his hands. “I do not need the name, just the confirmation that this is probable, and I will not bore you with the details about how I will resolve this.”

  It could involve breaking laws and a bullet to the back of a head, therefore I really didn’t want to know.

  “We only have a small amount of medicine at the clinic. We give out paper scripts, or send them by computer directly to the pharmacy. Either way, why break into my house? I have nothing for him there.”

  Mr. Casale shrugged. “I didn’t say this person was smart, just mad.”

  “Have you told this to the police?” Paul asked.

  “Some dumb guy hooked on pain meds broke into my house and wanted to hurt me!” I kept my voice down, but couldn’t keep the anger from it. It was my turn to grip Gray's hand. “I climbed down a Boy Scout ladder in my pajamas all because of pain med prescriptions?”

  “I know we have just met so you probably do not know the extent of my involvement in the community,” Mr. Casale continued.

  “You founded the clinic where Emory volunteers,” Christy said. All eyes turned to her in surprise. I didn’t know that little gem of information and I worked at the place. “I’m Director of Community Relations at the hospital. I know all about this stuff.”

  I used to work in administration, but on a nursing level, not the same pay scale as Christy. It was news to me.

  “This is not your problem. It is mine,” Mr. Casale said.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Gray began, but Mr. Casale held up his hand to stop him.

  “Your problem is keeping Emory happy. This,” he waved his hand, “this man, he messed with my clinic and he has messed with a volunteer there. She is also my friend and under my protection. He is my problem.”

  Paul had said Mr. Casale was a connected man. By the look on his face now, the tone of his voice, I believed him. He might have been older, he might have a grandson, but he was not someone I wanted to mess with.

  “What do I do now?” I asked.

  “This…problem will be resolved tonight.” His words were sharp and edgy. Lethal. “Stay with your man.” Mr. Casale indicated Gray with the tilt of his chin and I flushed. “Have him take you to your rowing group in the morning, then spend the day together. Forget about this. I will call you when it is over.”

  Mr. Casale was earnest in his words, where, if spoken by anyone else I would have laughed. Gray lived in a darker world than me, knew how to fight, knew men who liked to fight. He wasn’t laughing either, but instead leaned forward, forearms resting on the table and narrowed his eyes.

  “No way. I’m going with you.” When Mr. Casale was about to speak, Gray pushed on. “Sir, you didn’t see the flimsy ladder she tossed out her window to escape. You didn’t hear her on the phone when she was hiding from the guy. You didn’t have to drive across town to get to her. I’d never felt more helpless in my life knowing someone was after her and I couldn't protect her.” With every word his jaw clenched tight, his body tensed, his voice turned dark.

  I melted a little inside at the thought of what Gray had gone through when I’d called him. I couldn’t imagine a similar phone call and not want to seek retribution.

  “I want to know this man’s off the streets.” Gray sat back, put his arm around the back of my chair and I felt his thumb stroke over my back. Even with all his obvious hostility, the touch was gentle.

  I turned in my chair to face him. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  He swiveled his head toward me. “I’m not the one who’s going to get hurt.”

  A frisson of fear shot through me. This was the fighter part of Gray I hadn’t seen before. “Then I’m going with you.”

  Both men chimed in at once. Even Paul shook his head.

  “Absolutely not—” Mr. Casale began, but Gray cut him off as he kept his eyes focused on me.

  “I can’t do this and worry about you.” Those dark, dark eyes bored into me. The intensity there was for seeing justice done, for protecting what belonged to him. I belonged to him. “Go with Paul and Christy. They’ll take you to my apartment and you can wait for me there.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but his words made sense. If I went with them to God knows where, most likely the darkest and most dangerous corners of the city, Gray could get hurt if I distracted him.

  I took a breath, knowing he wasn’t going to change his mind. “You…you promise you’ll come back to me?” I knew the worry came through in my voice. I’d just found Gray and didn’t need him hurt, or worse.

  He cupped my cheek, leaned in and kissed my forehead. “Promise.”

  Mr. Casale stood, and after Gray held my gaze for another moment, stood as well. Taking his wallet from his back pocket, he pulled out a white k
ey pass. “This works on the outer door of my building and on the elevator to get up to my apartment.” I took it from him, our fingers brushing.

  “Everything will be fine by morning, but I will continue to watch over you since Marco is in love with you.” Mr. Casale looked to Gray, who nodded, and they left. I felt my heart going with them. I ached to get up and follow, to grab Gray’s hand and hold him back, to tell him not to go off with some connected man hell bent on vigilante justice. In this case, Gray was of the same mind and if he was the man I…I loved, then I had to let him go.

  Christy and Paul were watching me and I felt a flush creep up into my cheeks. I took a sip of my wine as Christy leaned in and asked, “Who’s Marco? You have two guys in love with you? Should he be worried Gray will beat him up?”

  GRAY

  It was after one when Frank dropped me off at the restaurant to get my car, then drove home. I glanced up at the windows to my apartment, but all was dark. Surely Emory was asleep. I envisioned her in my bed, her dark hair fanned out across my pillow, ensuring the coconut scent lingered long after she awoke. I realized after sharing the bed with her for only one night I didn’t know how she slept. Was she a stomach sleeper? Side? She’d been curled up against me all night, but that wasn’t the norm, for she hadn’t been with a man since her ex. It was this lack of knowledge that had me climbing from the car and clicking the lock button. I was eager to get upstairs and find out. It made my night’s activities worth it. I curled my fingers into fists at the thought, swiping my key fob across the access panel in a tight grip.

  Casale’d had information about the man who was using women to get his drugs through the clinic—and other clinics around town—but the little fucker wasn’t at the place we’d gone. It had been a rundown row house on the other side of town, an area I’d never been and well away from Casale’s turf.

  I spent fifteen minutes in the back of Casale’s SUV as he talked on his cell, working his connections, whoever they were, to find the guy. He’d brought Frank and a couple other men were in a second car following us. Casale had only offered first names as way of introduction. They all knew who I was and shook my hand with a certain level of what seemed to be respect. Obviously, they knew I could hold my own in a fight, but I was content letting them keep the guns. My gun shooting days from the army were over.