by Abby Niles
“You think he was going to let you escape through the bathroom?” He gave a scathing laugh. “You really do underestimate Sentori.”
All right, so getting out of there wouldn’t be as easy as she thought. But if they were confident she couldn’t escape, then their defenses were down. Eventually, she’d be able to use the weakness against them. She just hoped that time came soon.
An hour later, Blake flipped to the sports channel. Dante popped onto the screen. He sat on the left side of a podium between two long tables. A black banner with the MMA logo decorated the backdrop, bringing focus to the seven other fighters at the table with him. Sentori sat on the right side of the podium, his championship belt in front of him.
She could only see Dante from the chest up, but he wore a pressed white buttondown shirt with a navy blazer that made his blue eyes pop, but their usual sparkle was missing. Deep lines bracketed his mouth.
Her heart tightened as she pressed her fist to her mouth, silencing a horrified cry.
What ugly thoughts were going through his head right now? How many unsavory names was he calling her? Was he regretting he ever met her? Wished he’d never come to Atlanta?
Sorrow sliced through her. It took everything in her not to weep about her part in his pain, but she refused to give the goons or Sentori the satisfaction of knowing they caused two people needless grief.
A man with graying hair crossed behind the fighters and came to stand behind the mike.
“It’s my pleasure to introduce the competitors of the most anticipated match in MMA history. Two undefeated fighters and one belt on the line. The man sitting to my left has an impressive record and one hell of a punch. Dante came into MMA six years ago and plowed his way through one fighter after another. His blinding hand speed and rock-solid chin has shocked some of the most seasoned professionals in the industry, leaving him with an astounding seventeen and zero record. He is the most respected, heavy-handed knockout artist in MMA today, please welcome Dante ‘Inferno’ Jones.”
Claps sounded as the camera panned to Dante, who approached the podium.
He cleared his throat before he bent forward. He didn’t glance up, seeming focused on the microphone. “Thank you for this opportunity. This is the biggest fight of my career. Tomorrow’s fight will be anything but easy. Richard Sentori is a dangerous fighter. But I’m ready. I’ve trained hard, studied my opponent’s movements. I go into the cage with every intention of victory.”
Dante lifted his head and he glared straight into the camera. Cait’s breath froze as she stared into the intense blue eyes filled with so much anger and hurt. Even with a television between them, she knew those emotions were directed at her.
“And for those of you who don’t know what outcome you want, your message has been clearly received.”
Murmured confusion rippled in the background. She couldn’t blame them. He’d said the words so intensely, with such fury, it was clear there was an intended recipient for the message.
Her.
Cait ground her teeth together to prevent the sob from exiting her mouth, her body quivering from the effort.
Your message has been clearly received.
Dante was telling her that he was done.
A thousand stabs with a knife would’ve been less painful. When she noticed Sentori’s men watching her closely, she stared straight at them and lifted her chin. “I hope you burn in hell.”
The three men exchanged glances, but she returned her attention to the TV, to Dante.
“Thank you,” he said then stepped back from the podium.
The speaker returned, his brows drawn together. “Er. Thank you, Inferno.” He flipped the top index card and stacked them. “Now to our champion. Richard Sentori has dominated the MMA world, defending his title successfully four times. Considered the best pound for pound fighter in MMA, Richard is lethal in his groundwork. Out of his twenty wins, fifteen were won by submission within the first round. Please welcome the undefeated and current welterweight champion, Richard Sentori.”
Sentori approached the podium exuding his usual cockiness. For Cait, rage swooped in and replaced the pain. She curled her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms.
“Thank you.” Annoyance swept Sentori’s face. “Everyone has been yammering about this fight for months. I’m here to set the record straight. Saturday’s fight will be no different than any of my previous bouts. This is just another fighter wanting to take a stab at fighting the best.”
Sentori turned his head to the left, and the camera zoomed out to include Dante, who stood to one side.
“I’ve already proven I can take you down, Inferno.” Sentori shifted so he was right in Dante’s face. “Tomorrow will be no different. So go ahead and face the facts. Only when Miss Piggy flies will you beat me.”
Dante’s nostrils flared. His lips fused together in a tight line. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He looked ready to snap. Then Sentori poked Dante, once, hard in the chest.
Cait could see Dante’s long fingers curl into tight fists.
The commentator stepped between them. “Fight’s not ’til tomorrow, guys.”
Dante rolled his shoulders, sneered one last time at Sentori, and sat down.
After everyone was reseated, the speaker returned to the podium and laughed. “Whoa, boy! Can you feel the tension? We won’t be disappointed with this event.”
The people in the background cheered, but Cait was anything but cheerful. Dante was clearly ready to explode. Anything that came out of Sentori’s mouth from this moment on only messed with him more. If he lost this fight tomorrow because she’d given Sentori the means to get further inside his head, she’d never forgive herself.
…
Dante paced behind the curtains waiting for his name to be called for the weigh-in. Hours had passed since the press conference and still he could barely contain the flood of pain that engulfed him every time he thought of how Caitlyn had upped and left him.
A day before his fight.
Who did such a thing?
A woman who was so wrapped up in herself she gave no thought to others. Man, he’d thought Amanda was bad. He’d stood by Caitlyn, practiced unwavering patience, kept telling himself she needed time and understanding. When he’d stepped on the plane headed for Vegas, holding her hand, he’d believed all his support had finally been rewarded.
How fucking wrong he’d been.
The message he’d delivered during the press conference hadn’t given him the peace he’d craved. He’d hoped by finally telling her he was done, that he would no longer wait for her to get her shit straight, his mind would clear.
It hadn’t. Saying good-bye to Caitlyn with those cryptic words had been agonizing, and he’d cursed the weakness.
And then Sentori had stepped up to the podium, referred to Caitlyn as Miss Piggy, and his vision went black. He wasn’t sure how he’d refrained from punching the fucker, but somehow he had.
“Next up in the welterweight division, Richard Sentori versus Dante ‘Inferno’ Jones.”
The crowd hollered. Dante stifled his thoughts as he climbed the stairs.
“First up on the scale and still undefeated, Dante Jones.”
He stepped onto the stage and grimaced at the bright lights. He hated this part. The spectacle. It’d only been recently that MMA had brought the weigh-in into the public eye for marketing and publicity purposes. Not a bad thing, but stripping down to his skivvies in front of a bunch of howling women was not his idea of a good time. But if Caitlyn was watching…
Letting her see one last time what she’d rejected appealed to him.
He stopped beside the huge scale in the center of the platform and glanced around. The cameraman stood about fifteen feet away. Dante motioned him closer. When the man took a few steps toward him, Dante held up his hand for him to stop. Not breaking eye contact with the lens, he peeled his T-shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
The girls in the front row screamed. Da
nte ignored them, concentrating solely on the one person he hoped was watching. Would she be able to look away? Was she full of regret?
He unbuttoned the snap to his jeans and lowered the zipper. He sent the camera a cocky grin and winked, then lowered his pants until he stood only in his boxer briefs.
“Miss this?” he said to the camera, a hard smile pulling at his lips. “Good.”
He spun and stepped up on the scale and the commentator marked his weight.
“One hundred and seventy pounds for the Inferno,” the commentator yelled into his microphone.
Dante flexed his arm in a muscle man pose. He stepped off the scale.
“And his opponent, the welterweight champion of the world, Richard Sentori.”
Sentori sauntered onto the stage and stripped down to his boxer shorts, his white skin almost blinding under the lights. Just seeing the man made Dante’s anger pulse to life, reminding him of Caitlyn’s hurt and humiliation when Amanda spewed her hatred.
Sentori stepped on the scale.
“One sixty-nine for the champion.”
His opponent flexed his arms, then stalked over to Dante. The media always wanted a picture after weigh-in of the fighters squaring off. They came nose to nose, staring into each other’s eyes. Neither moved. The crowd hushed as if sensing this was no ordinary photo op. The tension crept higher and higher.
Sentori smiled then whispered, “Oink.”
“Fuck you,” Dante whispered back.
Sentori shoved Dante. When Dante raised his arm to strike out, Mike Cannon jumped between them and dragged him off the stage, away from the cameras. Having had enough of Sentori’s shit, Dante flung off Mike’s grip and headed back to the stage. Mike grabbed his bicep and bent in close to Dante’s ear.
“Calm down,” Mike said. “He’s gotten into your head. You can’t react. It gives him the power.”
“He needs a face full of my fist.”
“Dante, you have to focus.”
“I am focused.”
“No, you’re not, and you haven’t been since Cait left. I’m worried about tomorrow. You’re going into this fight half-cocked. You’re going to make a mistake and you’re going to lose.”
Chapter Twenty
Oink.
The word had revolved around her head for the last twenty-four hours while she waited for the prime opportunity to escape. So far, the goons had made it impossible. They took shifts sleeping. At all times, two stood guard in the room. Time was running out. It was already a little after nine and the third fight was under way. Dante was the main event and wouldn’t go on before ten, and that was quickly approaching.
At some point Miss Piggy had to fly.
It hadn’t been until Sentori’s whispered oink, and the three gorillas had looked at her and snorted, that she’d put two and two together.
Humiliation at their taunts hadn’t been anywhere on the radar this time. Just rage.
She’d kept her calm, though. She’d smiled sweetly and then given them two middle-finger salutes. The shock on their faces had been satisfying but hadn’t stopped her racing mind.
She now understood what mind game Sentori had used to get to Dante.
Degrading cruel words about her weight. Probably tossed out during their entire relationship. Yet Dante had never wavered. He had stood solidly by her side.
And now she had to get to his side.
But first, she had to get away from these assholes.
She had to get alone.
But how?
And then it hit her. A plan so devious even Sentori would be proud. A slow smile came to her face. The one thing that made men squirm.
She pulled a throw pillow over her lap and made a surprised noise, covering her mouth with her hand, eyes wide. Blake glanced at her. “What?”
She averted her gaze. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Fine. Come on.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need to go to the bathroom.”
“Okay. Come on.”
She blew out a fake frustrated breath and glanced back at him, hoping her expression came off as mortified. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” She inhaled. “I-I just started my period.”
Blake jerked back. “H-how can you tell?”
“I gushed.” The bluntness had the intended effect. Blake recoiled. Now to really freak him out. She gestured to the pillow. “It’s all over me. I need a shower and a change of clothes, or I’m going to get blood all over the couch.”
Blake shivered. “Okay…okay. Just…you can use the bathroom down the hall.”
She stood, keeping the pillow in front of her. “I’ll need my purse. My tampons are in there.”
He made a gurgling noise and hurried across the room, grabbed her blue bag, then all but tossed it at her.
Men. So easily freaked out over a woman’s menstrual cycle.
After he escorted her to the bathroom, she bit her lip and looked helplessly up at him. “I’m going to need a change of clothes.”
“Yeah. I’m on it.” He hurried down the hall and back into the living room, she assumed, to retrieve an outfit out of her suitcase.
She waited for him to return. When he did, she took the jeans, noticing he’d skipped a clean pair of panties.
Wimp.
After she closeted herself inside the bathroom, she turned on the standalone ceramic tiled shower. Once the sound of running water filled the room, she climbed into the Jacuzzi tub and opened one of the windows. Within seconds, she was outside and sprinting for the neighbor’s backyard.
She didn’t stop running.
Her only goal: get to Dante.
…
Dante slouched in the leather chair while two teammates taped his hands. The fury that had fueled him yesterday still burned deep in his gut. He was ready to face Sentori. He had had weeks of bitch-talk and cruel comments about Caitlyn built up until it raged inside him. Now the inferno was ready to be unleashed.
But Sentori was where his rage ended.
The anger he’d had toward Caitlyn had faded, leaving him with a dull ache thumping in his chest. Sleeping in that bed without her had been torture. Multiple times he’d woken up, searching the empty spot beside him. Then he’d roll over onto his back and stare at the ceiling until he’d fall into a fitful sleep again.
Two months ago, he’d met a woman who had presented a challenge. He hadn’t been searching for love or even a relationship; he’d just wanted to have some fun with a girl who wasn’t impressed by his celebrity status. He had no idea that same girl would still his heart and then stomp all over it.
Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? Wondering if she got home safe?
A pathetic part of him had waited all day for the phone to ring. Waited to hear her voice. Wanted so badly to hear her apologize, tell him she’d made a mistake, that she loved him…and wish him good luck.
She never called.
Reggie ripped the tape and patted it down, then placed four-ounce gloves on Dante’s hands. He flexed his fingers, loosening the leather around the black padding.
The roar of the crowd grew louder, forcing him to focus on the here and now. Focus on his championship fight. The apprehension he felt before every fight clenched his gut. He inhaled, then released a controlled breath. In just a few short minutes, he’d be in the cage, ready to battle Sentori.
Mike entered the room and jerked a pair of focus pads onto Dante’s hands. “Time to warm up,” Mike said.
Dante slowly got to his feet. With soft punches to the pads, he warmed up his muscles, but kept the power out of his thrusts. He needed to conserve his energy for his opponent. Even with his anger as fuel, he wasn’t fool enough to believe this would be an easy fight, or that he’d come out unscathed.
Perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing Caitlyn had left. She’d made it clear she hated this sport. There was no telling what he’d look like at the end of the match. He didn’t know what would’ve been worse—her refusing to say
she loved him back, or her saying she loved him, then seeing revulsion in her eyes when he came out of the ring.
Didn’t matter now. What was done was done. She was gone.
Thinking that, he hit the pad with more force than necessary and knocked an unprepared Mike back a few steps.
“Whoa!” his coach said. “Take it down. We’re just warming up here.”
“Sorry.” Dante went back to soft taps.
The door to the waiting room opened and a young man with a headset on poked his head inside. “It’s time.”
Dante moved his head side to side to work out the tension in his neck, and let out an anxious breath.
Mike clapped him on the shoulder. “The championship is riding on this. The anger isn’t going to help you, Dante. Let it go before you step into that cage or you’re going to make a mistake. Okay?”
Mike was wrong. The anger helped, but Dante nodded anyway. His entourage ushered him out the door as he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. While they waited for their cue at the entrance to the arena, Mike popped in Dante’s mouth guard.
Darkness fell in the arena and the crowd fell silent. A loud roar blasted from the speakers and beams of red light ricocheted across the audience. A guitar solo ripped hard, hurtling the crowd into a screaming mob.
The untamed energy fueled Dante’s determination and he strode toward the cage, his body humming with adrenaline. His team shielded him from the grasping hands of the crowd as he bounced and hit the air with an onslaught of short punches. Ready to fight. Ready to win.
When he reached the cage, he kept his gaze away from the empty spot where Caitlyn would have sat. No negative thoughts. Not now.
He pulled his sweatshirt over his head. The official smeared Vaseline over his forehead, cheeks, and chin to keep the gloves’ leather from ripping his skin and then patted him down. Once prepared, Dante climbed the stairs and entered the cage, the canvas under his bare feet welcoming him. He ran a lap around the perimeter of the mat and jumped high into the air a couple of times to warm his muscles.
The arena went dark as his song faded, then colored lights zipped around the room again. The beat of drums and the squeal of an electric guitar sounded. Then a booming voice chanted, “Shout! Shout! Shout!”
