“Yeah. I get that.” His voice is low, almost a monotone, like he doesn’t care one way or another. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?”
“Marry me.”
His eyes narrow. I know he’s already told me pretty much what he thinks of this plan, but things are worse now. Pop knows Cain and I are sleeping together, and he’s laid down the law. “No,” Cain says. “It’s a stupid idea.”
I lever myself up over him, one hand in the middle of his chest, looking him right in the face, willing him to understand. “It’s not stupid. He won’t kill you if you’re married to me. If we make it legal, there’ll be nothing he can do. He can’t force me to marry Carmine then, and if you’re my husband… Well, it’ll give you some protection.”
It’s his turn to lever himself up, pushing to a half-sitting position, looking at me like I’ve completely lost my mind.
“Jess, it’s nuts. And I’m not going to do it.”
“Why is it nuts? I marry you, I get out from under Pop’s thumb. I don’t have to worry about Carmine anymore. You marry me, and you’re his son-in-law. You’re family. You get that? Family.”
“Honest to God, Jess, it doesn’t seem to me like your dad treats his family much better than he treats anybody else.”
He has a point, but I shake my head. “No. You’re a man. It’s different. And he’s old-school Catholic. Once we’re married, that’s it. No divorce. No nothing.”
“Annulment?”
“Yeah, but then he’d have to prove we never consummated the marriage, and good luck with that.”
“He could force you to do it. Force you to lie.”
I don’t want to hear any of these objections. They all make sense, but so does my plan. I know once I’ve got another man who’s “responsible” for me, Pop will loosen the reins, hand them over to Cain. I won’t be under his control anymore, and Cain will be in a completely different relationship with the Spada family in general. I can tell, though, that I’m not getting through to Cain.
“He won’t. You have to trust me on this, Cain.”
He shakes his head again, sharper this time, and sits all the way up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “No. I’m not going to tie myself down just to get out of this mess with your dad.”
“He’s going to kill you.”
“Yeah, let him try. I’m not going to marry some hot piece of ass because I’m scared of him.”
I swallow, my heart sinking. “I thought I was more than that to you.”
He gives me another look, this one evaluating. “Jess. This was never anything but a fling. Your way to throw a big, fat middle finger at your father. Don’t try to tell me it was ever anything else.”
The sad part is, he’s right. That’s exactly how I saw it at the beginning. But I’m not quite seeing it the same way now. Something about Cain has crawled under my skin, and I don’t want to let him go.
“It’s the best way out.” I can’t put as much force into my voice anymore, knowing he’s not taking me seriously. “For both of us.”
“It’s no way out.” His eyes smolder as he gets up and heads back toward the bathroom as if I don’t even exist.
“Fine, then!” I throw the words after him as hard and sharp as I can. “You’re just going to take it? You’re just going to roll over and be his little lapdog until he decides to kick you to death? Is that what you want? God, Cain. I thought you were better than that. I thought you were more of a man than that.”
He looks at me, and his eyes are distant. Cold.
“I think you ought to go home.”
Well. That’s it, then. At least now I know what he thinks of me.
With as much dignity as I can muster, I gather my clothes and head for home.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cain
I watch Jess do her walk of shame, and there’s a twinge of guilt as I do it. Maybe I shouldn’t have come down on her quite so hard. But she’s been making me think, and I’m not sure I like the way I’m thinking. What if marrying her is the best way out of this mess? For both of us?
Finally I do what I always do when I can’t figure out what the fuck to do about something. I head for the gym.
My usual trainer’s there—Paul, who’s a good guy even though he’s mixed up in the mob. But if anybody knows how easy it is to get mixed up in the mob, it’s me. In fact, I’m usually surprised when I meet somebody in the LA MMA circuit who isn’t mixed up in the mob somehow. Perspective, I guess.
“You look rough,” Paul says. I figure I do, what with the ass kicking I took yesterday. Spada’s goons fucked me up worse than I let on, but I didn’t want Jess to know that. Though sex has healing properties, I’ve found. Especially sex with Jess.
I give Paul a grin that’s probably more teeth than anything else. “Yeah, you could say that.”
He frowns. “That’s not all from the fight.”
“Don’t go there,” I say quietly, and he drops it. I can tell from the quick flash in his eyes that he gets it. Knows exactly where those bruises came from.
“So why are you here this early?”
“Need to train, what else?” I put a good amount of “duh” in my tone. “Looks like I’ve got a fight in a few weeks.” I haven’t gotten the final schedule from Spada yet, but I know he has it in the works. What he doesn’t know is that it’s going to be my last fight for him. As soon as I know when it’s going to be, I can start making my final plans.
“Right. You do, don’t you?” For a second he acts like he’s going to ask me something else, but whatever it is, he lets it go. “Let’s get you warmed up, then.”
As usual, hitting the big bag then moving into the ring for some sparring with Paul starts to work out the kinks in both my muscles and my mind. Paul starts talking about footwork, and my body moves automatically to do what he says even though I’m not consciously registering his words. I’m in the zone, big time.
Punch, punch, kick. Grab Paul, drag him to the mat. Jiujitsu moves—hold him down. Pin him. Wait until he taps out. Start over again. Next time he gets me pinned. I’m totally in my body, not even thinking as I test his strength, finally pulling loose enough to punch him in the face a couple times. He grins at me then pins me again. Guy’s good. Eventually I give up and tap out, and we start over once again after a quick lecture on my lack of focus on my center of gravity and how I need to pay more attention to where my feet are.
It’s the kind of work that requires every ounce of my concentration, and yet somehow lets my mind wander while I’m doing it. I start thinking about Jess. Because of course I do.
What if she’s right? It’s not something I want to consider, but let’s face it—at this point I’m living on borrowed time. Spada knows I’m fucking his daughter, and he’s not happy about it. Carmine Romano, destined to be Spada’s right-hand man, knows I’m fucking the woman meant to be his fiancée, and he’s not happy about it either. And I’m a ticking time bomb, because this next fight, I’m taking them all down and they can just fucking deal with it.
But when I do it, when I go behind Spada’s back and walk away with that prize money, nice and warm in my own pocket, there’s a better than even chance I’ll never fight again. Hell, there’s a better than even chance I’ll never breathe again.
That’s not going to stop me though. It’s time I took control of my own life, even if that means ending up dead.
But with Jess on my arm, with my ring on her finger…
Would it really make a difference? Would Spada really see me as family just because I’ve got my name on a marriage certificate next to his daughter’s? Or will that just give him another reason to kill me?
Paul makes a feint I don’t expect, and I have to focus again before he manages to flip me onto my back on the mat. He’s hard on me, which is good. Nobody’s going to pull punches in the cage, and Paul doesn’t pull punches here in the practice ring either. It’s largely because of him that I’ve made it as far as I have.
We get sorted back out, punching at each other again, and after a second Paul lifts his hands and steps back. “Time for a break,” he announces. “Go get some water.”
I nod. I could keep going, but when Paul tells me to stop, I do. Always. I head for the corner and my towel and water bottle.
Wiping the sweat off me reminds me of last night, of the sweat sliding between me and Jess. She’s a hot little minx and arguably the best fuck I’ve ever had. Way more enthusiastic than I ever imagined, and whether that’s because she likes what I do to her or because she’s turned-on by fucking over her father, I don’t care. All I care about is the way she wiggles under me, the way her nails dig into my back. The way she squeezes that tight little cunt on my dick. God, it’s crazy good.
It’s not sweet sex with her, that’s for damn sure. I wonder what Spada would think if he knew what I was really doing with his daughter. That I fucked her damn near unconscious, and she screamed and liked it. It’d probably give him a coronary if he knew the kind of down-and-dirty, filthy, nasty sex I’m getting up to with his daughter.