Cage (Montana Bounty Hunters: Dead Horse, MT Book 1)

by Delilah Devlin

  Chapter 7

  Shock and lack of air kept Elaine motionless for moment as her mind tried to catch up with what was happening to her body. She’d been here before, riding Cage’s hard shoulder, but back then, he’d only carried her a few steps before dumping her in the center of a soft mattress.

  Right now, he was running as though he thought someone was giving chase.

  Her mind snapped back to the present. Of course, they were being chased. Her crew didn’t know Cage, didn’t know their history together. That, for them, an abduction was only foreplay.

  Or at least, it would’ve been before he’d left her.

  What the hell was going on?

  Dragging in a deep breath, she smacked his lower back. “Put me down. Cage, I have to go back.”

  When he ignored her, she balled her fists and beat his sides, his ass, whatever she could reach while she scissored her legs, trying to clip him with the pointed toe of her boot. “I’m not kidding,” she said, hating that her voice was coming out breathless and broken. “I have to go back.”

  He continued to run, and she noted that he was moving parallel to the road leading out of the clearing and heading toward the gate. Shit! Mario was on the gate, and he was already pissed at Cage for his tantrum earlier—and he was armed.

  “Look, you have to put me down. Now! My people aren’t going to be happy.”

  A large hand swatted her ass. “Shut up, Lainey. We’re almost there.”

  “Dumb ass! We’re almost to the fucking gate. Think Mario’s just gonna open it and just let you leave?”

  “Mario doesn’t get a say, babe.”

  She didn’t like the fact he didn’t sound a bit breathless or that his tone hinted at a smirk. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Again, his hand swatted her ass, and blood filled her head. Maybe it was because she was upside down, but no, she was pretty sure it was the anger spiking through her. He’d ignored her existence for three years. Did he think that just because he was built like a god he could force his way back into her life? And why would he want to do that? He’d made his point when he’d left. She’d had to choose him or her way of life. And he’d known she couldn’t just walk away. Not on a whim. Not without a shit-ton of planning.

  The last thing she could have done was leave her operation in Brent’s hands to carry on.

  Brent! Her stomach cramped. “Let me down, Cage,” she said, fighting harder to free herself. “I have to go back. Let me down, now!”

  Where were her people? They were almost to the gate. Why did he think Mario wouldn’t stand in his way?

  She did the only thing she could think that would get his attention. She thrust her hand past his buttocks and curved it to grab his balls—then squeezed.

  Cage came to an abrupt halt. “Lainey…let go,” he said, his voice as rough as gravel.

  “I’ll let go when you go to your knees.”

  He thudded downward, bouncing her on his shoulder when his knees hit the rocky soil.

  “I’m going to move off your shoulder,” she said, still keeping a steely grip on his balls.

  He made a sound like a rumbling growl but drew away the arm that held her legs in place in front his body.

  Awkwardly, she slid off his shoulder, touching first one then the other boot to the ground. Which left her in a bit of a quandary. While she had hold of his precious jewels, the moment she let them go, he’d be on her again. “Look, maybe you could tell me what this is all about,” she said breathlessly, leaning beside him and using her free hand on his shoulder to steady herself.

  “Let go of my balls.”

  The sound of soft laughter came from around them. Both feminine and masculine chuckles. What the hell? She craned her neck upward to see who was there, but the starry night didn’t really fill in the shadows around them. “Who’s there?”

  Footsteps neared. Several sets. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just Cage being an ass. Not some sexy abduction as a part of her, some really deep-down sick part of her, had hoped.

  “I can see what you like about her,” came a woman’s voice.

  “Fig…” Cage growled.

  The slim woman he’d arrived with stepped close enough Elaine could make out her figure and slicked-back hair. She guessed she’d lost whatever advantage she’d had squeezing his balls, so she let them go.

  Cage shoved up from the ground at the same time she straightened. Then he turned her to face him. “What is it we say right about now?” he asked, then flicked a glance at a very large shadow to his right.

  “Fugitive Recovery Agents, Elaine Morgan. We’re bringing you in.”

  The words circled inside her mind, not making sense.

  “We’re bounty hunters,” the slim woman said, her teeth gleaming as she smiled.

  “Bounty hunters?” Elaine’s voice rose into something that sounded like a squeak, even to her own ears. “No. You can’t. I have to go back.”

  “Shouldn’t have missed your date with the judge,” the big shadow said in a deep, hard tone that told her he wasn’t going to budge an inch.

  She glanced up at Cage. “I have to go back. You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t care, Elaine,” he said.

  The words were hard, but his tone held a note of regret. She thought hard. How could she sway him? He alone held hers and Brent’s futures in his hands. “Cage, please. You have to hear me out. I didn’t skip court on a whim. I would’ve gone, but I needed this fight. I have to go back.”

  The big shadow came closer, and she glanced up to find a goliath of a man, every bit as intimidating as Cage in stature, and holding something that gleamed in the moonlight. Handcuffs.

  Rushing to get the words out, she said, “Look, there’s still time on my bounty. You can still collect. Just let me—”

  The big man gripped one wrist and turned her. He slipped the cuffs on one wrist then the other.

  She glanced sideways at Cage. “It’s life or death. Literally,” she whispered. “You have to let me go.”

  Cage sighed. “It’s too late, Lainey. Whatever game you’re playing…”

  “It’s not a game. Brent’s back there. He’s sitting between two men who will dice him into pieces the second the fights are over and they don’t have what they came for.”

  “Cage?” the big man said, his head turning to her ex.

  Cage cupped her face, turning it toward the meager light coming through the leaves overhead.

  She blinked, knowing he didn’t fully trust her, not when it came to Brent. But she hoped he remembered that she’d never lied to him.

  Cage dropped his hand and took a step back. “Tell us. Now.”

  “The two men with Brent are muscle hired by Barney Whitcomb. Do you remember him?”

  Cage gave a curt nod.

  To the others, she said, “Whitcomb is…organized crime, I guess you’d say. Affiliated with a couple far-right groups headquartered in Whitefish. He’s the one who handles—”

  Cage frowned. “His people harass and intimidate anyone the groups want out of their territory. They do it through social media by spreading lies about the people they don’t like, and if that doesn’t convince people to leave, they make them disappear. He’s also their collector.” Cage shook his head. “How the hell did you get into a position where you owe that bastard? You always ran a clean game; you’ve always stayed neutral.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Brent did this…?”

  She glanced at her feet, through with defending her brother. “Whatever doesn’t get paid out in purses to the fighters goes to Whitcomb tonight. And he placed bets on outcomes as well.”

  “That why you scratched me off the list? Lainey, are the fights rigged?”

  She nodded and kept her head down, because her mouth was going to tremble and she couldn’t let anyone see. Everything she’d built was over. Done.

  “Ah, fuck,” the big man behind her said. A second later, the heavy cuffs were gone. She rubbed her
wrists and glanced from Cage to the big man. “What happens now?”

  The big man looked to Cage. “You know her. Do you trust her?”

  Cage gripped her shoulders and bent toward her. His gaze studied her expression. “You do your thing tonight, but I stick to you like glue. Enough folks will know our history. The men with Brent will just think you’ve patched it up with your ex.”

  She glanced toward the light glowing in the distance. “I’ve been gone too long.”

  “You look a little mussed is all,” the slim woman said. “They’ll just think you two slipped into the wood to kiss and make up.”

  The big man grunted. “The guy on the gate and your two perimeter guards are tied up. Dagger’ll make sure they stay that way. We’ll be watching. You already met Fig,” he said, indicating the slim woman. “She’ll act pouty when she gets back, like her and Cage broke up, but she’ll be our eyes and ears. When it’s over, we’ll move in. Don’t think you can escape us, Elaine Morgan.”

  She drew a deep breath. “After tonight, I won’t have any reason to give you a hard time. I just really need to get back there.”

  The group began moving back the way they’d come, a little more slowly, even though Elaine tried to pick up the pace. “Don’t know how you can see where you’re walking,” she groused.

  Cage reached for her hand. “Want me to carry you?” he asked.

  The way he said it, with that little growling edge to his voice, made her shiver. Pride had her back stiffening. “Just lead the way.”

  Back inside the clearing, all of the group faded away, almost like magic. Behind the catering tent, Fig peeled away, likely to skulk in the shadows and spy on them. For now, she had Cage to herself. A heady thought. “So,” she said softly, “you’re a bounty hunter now?”

  “Looks like it,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer. I thought you were working your way up in the MMA. I half-expected to turn on the TV and see you fighting in Las Vegas or something.”

  “I’m thirty-six, babe. I’m reaching my expiration. I have to think about what’s next.”

  “I was thinking that way, too. Before…”

  “Before little brother got himself into another jam…?”

  “Yeah.” She drew a deep breath. “You can say it, you know.”

  “What? I told you so?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted a shoulder, wishing she’d listened to him years ago. She wouldn’t be in the predicament, nearly drained of funds. Her house was mortgaged to the hilt. She’d be lucky to have enough to pay the rental fees on the tents, the moving van, as well as payroll for the servers, security, and set up crew.

  “Told you back then you needed to let him fail. Let him pay his own debts. Your dad never expected you to keep raising a grown man.”

  “Well, I learned my lesson. And now, I think Brent has, too.”

  Cage snorted. “If you pay his way out of this one as well, he won’t have learned a damn thing.”

  “I won’t be able to support him. He’ll have to find his own way after this.”

  “You really giving this up?”

  “I’ve wanted to for years. I just wanted to do it on my own terms, not be forced out. My reputation will be in shreds after tonight, anyway. I’m done.”

  When they were near the ring, he grabbed her hand. “Have you thought about what happens next? Are you really going to take the rap for Brent? Do time for him?”

  She tried to tug her hand free, but Cage wouldn’t let her go. And the truth was, she liked the feel of his strong hand surrounding hers. For too long, she’d been alone, on her own, trying to keep things together. Keeping busy had been the only way she’d kept herself together after he’d left.

  What had started in that gym in Bozeman all those years ago had ignited a hunger for something more. More than just the sex, which had been exceptional. For a while, she’d felt…protected, cherished. A lifetime’s habit of acceptance that she had to work to provide for her brother had begun to fall away, leaving her thinking about a different future for herself. One that might include a family of her own, even if that family was just her and Cage.

  She’d taken too long shedding Brent’s self-made problems. For too long, she’d enabled him to remain weak and dependent upon her. Too late, she’d finally reached a moment of clarity that the only way he’d ever become who he was meant to be was if she set him free—whether he wanted to be free or not. At twenty-four, Brent was a grown man now. She wasn’t doing him any favors by letting him cling to her apron strings.

  As she made her way to her usual position beside the ring, Sammy, her assistant, tugged off the headset and handed it to her. “Damndest thing happened while you were gone. Simmons lost to Mooney—you might’ve seen that before you left. Then Brown took out Payne in the third round. Payne glanced at me for just a second, and Brown clocked him with a left-handed punch. You know his left is weak as shit, but Payne went down and stayed there. If that wasn’t bad enough, Ralph Clayton took out Jones with an undercut to the chin. I’ve seen him take harder punches, but Clayton must’ve been lucky. Jones went to his knees and couldn’t pull himself back up.”

  Her stomach dropped. Mooney, Payne, and Jones had been odds-on favorites. Whitcomb had gotten to them all. Likely, he’d threatened girlfriends or family to get them to throw their fights. She hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop him. And she hadn’t been able to warn Micky and a couple other bookies about what was going down. She hoped they hadn’t had side bets because they’d all lose big.

  As her moneyed clients would tonight. She’d fought hard to get them all here, working on scheduling that allowed them all the opportunity to attend.

  She’d tried to reason with Whitcomb that having an underdog win every bout would look dirty as fuck, but he’d been adamant. Likely he knew down to the penny how little she had left. He’d squeezed her for everything she had. She was completely tapped out.

  Her house was in foreclosure. Every other property she’d bought over the years was gone, including the gym in Bozeman. Tonight, the second Pete Sampson threw his fight, too, it would all be over.

  “Last fight,” Cage said close to her ear.

  She nodded.

  “Pete’s gonna throw it?”

  Again, she nodded, willing her eyes not to fill. She turned her gaze to the ring and watched as Pete and Billy Martin circled each other in the ring.

  Even before the first punches were thrown, she could tell Pete was fighting his instincts. His face was beet red, his jaw clamped tight, nostrils flared. The muscles of his chest and arms bulged. He was fighting himself. Pete was an older fighter, same age as Cage, with tons of experience. Enough he practiced restraint with his opponents, never going for overkill. He knew just how much pressure to bring to bear in order to win, but didn’t really like leaving an opponent wounded so badly he wouldn’t quickly recover.

  Tonight, Pete was letting Billy use him as punching bag, and Billy, likely elated with the unexpected ease of this fight, wasn’t returning the favors Pete had granted him a time or two when they’d met before. Billy was exacting more damage than he needed to.

  Around them, the crowd was beginning to realize that Pete wasn’t just letting Billy wear himself out. A low booing began, getting louder and louder. A bloody cut above his eye was blinding the fighter. He couldn’t see to land even the lightest of punches. Elaine wanted to look away, but she couldn’t be cowardly. She’d see this to the end, and then make sure Pete had the care he needed, if not the protection he’d deserved from her and Brent.

  They’d been the ones who’d let Whitcomb get his foot into the door. Brent had lost in backroom card games, one too many times, and had raided their account before she’d realized what he’d done. By then, it had been too late.

  Pete swayed on his feet, and Billy moved in, his expression triumphant. Just as he drew back his arm to give Pete a final blow that would send him tumbling to the mat, Pete swung blindly, his bare fists connecting to the side of
Billy’s jaw.

  The crack of bone was audible. Billy fell backward, out before he hit the mat.

  For his part, Pete knew what he’d done the instant he heard the crowd’s roar. He went to his knees, his head bowed, breathing so deeply and raggedly that his entire body shook.

  Elaine stood in shock. Pete wasn’t supposed to win. The final bout had the biggest payout if Billy won. Fear clawed at her belly, and she reached for Cage’s arm because her knees began to buckle.

  With darkness crowding in from all sides, she swung her head to look at Brent.

  Brent’s eyes were wide, his face ashen. The two men beside him pulled him to his feet and pushed their way down the bleachers, keeping hold of his upper arms.

  Cage’s arm came around her back, supporting her. He raised a hand to signal to the woman, Fig.

  Fig nodded, her lips moving. She must have had a radio or a Bluetooth device. She was talking to the rest of Cage’s team.

  With Cage anchoring her against his side, he drew her away from the crowd, behind the caterer’s tent where bets would be settled. Only she didn’t have to oversee that. Couldn’t have if she’d wanted to, her mind was going in circles. Pete had won. Whitcomb would be furious, and per Brent, he’d promised the direst consequences.

  Where were they taking her brother? She couldn’t leave with Cage as she’d promised. Not without knowing what was happening to Brent.

  She pushed away from Cage, swaying for a moment before she forced herself to draw deep breaths until her vision cleared. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, stalling while she tried to wrangle her scattered thoughts.

  Fig approached them, her eyes wary. “I take it something happened…?”

  “Tell me someone’s following her brother, Brent,” Cage said, his hands fisted at his sides while his gaze remained on Elaine.

  “I asked your wife’s assistant which guy in the stand was her brother, so I’d know. When shit went down, Dagger figured he didn’t have to keep the guards covered anymore. Dagger and Lacey are both tailing the goons with the brother. When they get to the road, Felicity and Brian will take over.” Fig cupped a hand over her ear and tilted her head. “Brian’s asking for Brent’s cellphone number.”