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.