Chapter Nineteen
Cait aimlessly walked around the busy Vegas Strip. A little over an hour and a half ago, Dante had stormed from their room. She’d been left with deafening silence and the horror of what she’d done—what she’d said.
How had it gone so wrong?
She’d enjoyed every minute of this trip with him. Every. Single. Minute.
Over the last few days, she’d started to wonder what a future with Dante would be like. The whole package. Love. Marriage. Kids. But a future with Dante wouldn’t just those three things. The MMA came with him.
The people who surrounded him no longer mattered. She’d put that fear to rest days ago. Yeah, there were some bad apples like Amanda and Sentori, but for the most part everyone she’d met had been warm and welcoming.
The problem was he willingly entered a cage and put himself in harm’s way. And the brutality hung over her head like a dark ominous cloud, terrifying her that come Saturday, no matter what she felt for him, watching him take a beating, possibly hearing a bone snap, would be too much for her to handle.
She’d wanted to embrace everything about Dante, give herself over to him completely, with no hesitation or distaste over what he did for living. She’d wanted to accept all of him.
Dante deserved a woman who loved every aspect of him, especially his sport. A woman who would stand in his corner and be the image of love and support when the cameras panned to her. Not a woman cringing in horror. If she couldn’t give him that, she didn’t deserve him, and she’d been willing to walk away if she couldn’t make it through his match.
But Dante had changed everything with three beautiful words.
Words she hadn’t found beautiful at that time but had induced a panic so overwhelming she’d reacted without thought. She hugged herself tight as she remembered those expressive blue eyes of his shattering in pain. Pain, because all he’d wanted from her was her love.
She wished she could rewind time to when she and Dante had been wrapped in an embrace, enjoying the aftermath of their lovemaking. When he’d said those three precious words. Unfortunately, hindsight wouldn’t transport her back to fix her stupid response.
But she wasn’t stupid any longer. She loved Dante.
As much as she fought to deny it or convince herself that she had to be perfect for him, it hadn’t stopped her heart from loving him. It’d taken the slamming of the door for her mind to accept what her heart had known. His leaving had brought forth a fiercer panic that terrified her more than his fighting ever had.
He was gone.
Amy’s warning, about not realizing what she could live with until she lost the one thing she couldn’t live without, finally made sense. Cait could live with the fighting. She couldn’t live without Dante Jones.
Her realization might have come too late. She might have lost him, but she’d learned one thing from Dante since he’d come into her life: never go down without a fight.
She’d give him time to cool down, let him blow off his anger and hurt on a bag.
The MGM Grand towered in the distance, and she inhaled a calming breath as she squared her shoulders.
She was going to win her man back.
Cait quickened her pace. She was no more than a half a block down when she noticed a man striding toward her. Beefy. Tall. Determined. She tensed, but then he smiled and said, “You’re Dante’s girlfriend, right?”
She relaxed. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I’m Blake Prowler. I’ve seen you two around the last few days but haven’t had a chance to introduce myself.” He offered his hand.
Blake Prowler. She’d never heard Dante mention him. She took his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Blake.”
A black car pulled up beside them. The back door opened and before she could say a word, Blake had latched onto her upper arm and shoved her into the car beside another burly guy.
“What the hell?” She immediately tried to climb out, but the other guy grabbed her around the waist and yanked her back as Blake slipped in beside her and closed the door. The car sped off.
“Let me out!”
Blake shot her an annoyed look, replacing the charming man he’d been seconds before. “Chill. You’re safe. We’re just going on a little trip.”
Caitlyn sat rigidly on the couch, arms crossed tight over her chest, foot shaking with building fury as she glared at the three goons who were watching a movie on a large, flat-screen television hung over a marble fireplace.
Since Blake had told her they were going on a little trip, which had been a fifteen-minute drive to a wealthy gated community, they hadn’t spoken one word to her, other than to laugh at her feeble attempts at escape. The big bullies. Anytime she’d tried to run, a massive, muscular arm would wrap around her waist then chuck her back on the couch. After the fifth time her tush had bounced on the expensive leather cushions, she’d taken to glowering at the thugs. Like they even noticed.
“This is kidnapping, you know.”
“Technically it’s an intervention,” a deep voice came from her left.
Sentori stood in the doorway between the living room and gourmet kitchen, with a smirk on his face and newly dyed purple hair.
“You!” She launched herself across the room. Not five feet later, a beefy appendage scooped her up again and dropped her back on the couch. Furious, she blew her hair off her face. “Screw you, asshole.”
Blake had the audacity to chuckle as he went to sit down.
“Welcome to my humble abode, Caitlyn. Isn’t it gorgeous? I bought it just a few months ago. I love Vegas and I’m thinking of relocating permanently. Atlanta has become such a drag.”
“I should’ve known that this pretentious monstrosity of a house was yours.”
Sentori laughed. “I really do bring out the worst in you, don’t I?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “What’s the point of taking me hostage?”
“To fuck with Dante, of course.” He sat on the arm of the couch, leaning his elbows on one knee. “You see, I heard some disturbing gossip about Dante’s training. Everyone believes he’s going to beat me. I can’t let that happen, can I?”
“So you’re going to make him worried sick about where I am?”
“Oh, no. I don’t want the cops involved. I’d been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I could do to really fuck him up. Ya’ll have been so cozy and cute this week, I’d all but given up hope in using you.” He grinned. “But then there you were, storming through the lobby, crying. And Dante was nowhere to be found. I caught up with your man at the gym. The way he was hitting the bag was all the confirmation I needed that you two were fighting, and my plan was a go. I could never let a moment like this pass without really getting into his head.”
“W-what did you do?”
“Let’s just say Dante now knows who dominates this fight. But I have to keep the momentum going. A make-up session between you two wouldn’t help my cause. So I have to keep you two apart until after the match.”
“How is this not going to involve the cops? When I don’t return or answer my phone since your goons took my purse, he’s going to worry.”
His smile was cold and calculated. “Blake, go to my car. I have a gift in the passenger seat for Caitlyn.”
Blake went outside and returned a few moments later with a piece of luggage in his hand.
A roaring filled her ears.
Her luggage.
“H-how?”
“You underestimate my charm and conniving, Caitlyn. You should be impressed. Dante won’t be looking for you, because he’s going to believe you left him.”
Dante thought she’d left. That he’d told her he loved her and she’d fled.
“I hate you,” she whispered, nausea churning her stomach.
He shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve heard that and it sure as hell won’t be the last.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to get back to the hotel. The press conference is in an hour. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were getting settled in.”
Yeah, she was sure that was exactly why he’d stopped by. He’d wanted to mess with her just as much as he wanted to mess with Dante. “Go to hell.”
He tsked. “Such hostility and Dante kisses that filthy mouth.” He stood. “Blake, make sure she watches the conference and weigh-in. I don’t want her to miss a thing.”
“Yes, boss.”
She glared at Blake’s back.
“You’re not even fighting tomorrow night, are you?”
He looked over his shoulder. “Nope.”
Assholes. The whole lot of them.
The door closed behind Sentori, and she was left with the significance of Sentori’s plan and all the weeks she’d pushed Dante away. When he returned to the room to find her clothes gone, he wouldn’t even be surprised. He’d assume she’d run from him again.
Except this time she hadn’t. She’d gone for a walk to clear her thoughts. To prepare to fight for the man she loved.
And he would believe she’d abandoned him—right before his fight.
There was no way in hell that was happening. She would find a way back to Dante.
“I need to go the bathroom.” Maybe there was a window she could crawl through.
Blake stood, took her arm, and led her down a hallway. He opened a door to a half-bath the size of a closet. A toilet and sink but no windows. She sighed.
“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. Dante 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.”