CHAPTER 15
(KAGE)
Santori knocked on my door just after four in the afternoon, ostensibly to wish me luck.
“It’s nice having the fight in Vegas, isn’t it?” he asked, strolling past me, silently inspecting my apartment. “Being able to fight in your own backyard has got to be an advantage.”
“I guess.” I ran a hand over my head and padded barefoot to the living area, wearing nothing but a pair of worn sweatpants. “Would you like to sit down?”
I prayed he didn’t take me up on my offer.
“I suppose.” He lowered himself into the leather chair facing my sectional. No one ever chose that seat but him. “Are you ready for the fight?”
“Of course. I’m fighting Welterweight this time, where I’m supposed to be. The weight cut was a walk in the park, and now I’m all fluffed back up.”
“You still look like a crackhead to me, but what do I know? That’s Marco’s area of expertise.”
“Actually, Jamie did some research after the last cut. He found this technique that recommends soaking in a hot tub instead of sweating in a sauna. We made some modifications to my diet leading up to the cut, so I was able to drink more water and eat more food. I’ll tell you, I wish I’d known before I nearly killed myself last time. I feel so much better.”
“We’re still talking about that intern? I thought we were done with him.” Santori sat forward on the chair, rested his elbows on his knees. Then he looked down at his steepled hands and frowned. “Where are your manners, Michael? I’ve been in your apartment for several minutes. Why do I not have a drink in my hand?”
I had just settled into the sectional across from him, but I pushed immediately back up and went to the refrigerator. When I returned with a bottle of water, his lip curled in disgust.
“Sorry,” I lied. “I don’t keep alcohol in my apartment. You’ll have to go visit someone else if you want to get drunk.”
“Sanctimonious much?” Santori took the water and set it down on the coffee table without opening it. “I’d think with as many drugs as you’ve pumped into your system—”
“And how many I’ve had pumped into me by your doctors?”
“Semantics.” He waved a hand in the air. “But back to the unfirable intern. I thought you and I had an understanding where he was concerned. After you returned from New York, we agreed that you would start seeing Vanessa Hale. Then when the time came for him to go back to school, you would cut all ties.”
“Why are you so concerned about him right now? I was just telling you how he helped with the weight cutting, that’s all. He was still here when he did that.”
“You’ve been talking to him again, that’s why.”
I swallowed hard. “What makes you think that?”
“Don’t try to play me,” he said. “Are you actually going to tell me that you haven’t spoken to him?”
“Okay, I’ve spoken to him. So what? Have you been monitoring my calls?”
Santori gritted his teeth, causing the muscle in his jaw to jump. “We had an understanding.”
“He hasn’t been answering my texts and calls. Have you done something?” Realization was dawning. Had Jamie also been trying to contact me? I’d assumed he’d just been upset, and that he’d probably gotten wind of the double life I’d been leading for the media. But I’d asked him to trust me, and he’d said he would. I’d been planning on flying down after the fight and smoothing everything over with him, laying it all on the line once and for all. Everything had hinged on keeping my uncle placated long enough to work out my own plan and execute it. Now it appeared he was one step ahead of me as always.
“No, you had an understanding,” I told him carefully. “You just dictated what you wanted to happen, and I didn’t say anything. I did the public dates like you wanted, I led the media to believe that Vanessa and I were seeing each other, I threw up a smokescreen to hide who I really am, since who I am is so detestable. But I never agreed to stop seeing Jamie. I would never do that.”
“We have to make sacrifices in pursuing our goals, Michael. Or are you not still committed to the goal we’ve had since you were a little boy? It looks to me like you’re right on the verge of achieving it, yet doing your best to piss it all away.”
“Why? Because I finally care about someone? Is that not allowed in the Peter Santori master plan?”
He smacked his lips and sprawled out in the chair like a bored teenager, a posture so unlike him it gave me pause. When I realized he was mirroring me, I sank even further down into the seat cushion to see if he would follow. He didn’t take the bait.
“Michael, let’s back up a bit and look at this thing with a logical eye. You must realize the intern isn’t friend material. Not for a Santori.”
“I’m not a Santori.”
“He’s not worthy of you. I don’t understand what you could possibly find interesting about him. Unless, of course, the only draw is that he gets under my skin.”
“This isn’t about you. I couldn’t care less what you think of him.”
Santori sniffed. “He’s common. If you were going to risk everything we’ve worked for, couldn’t you at least have done it over someone who’s worthy of your affection?”
I avoided looking at him and instead scrolled through my phone, just because I knew he hated it. He considered it a personal affront when anyone fiddled with a cell phone in his presence, which is why I made a point to do it regularly.
“There’s an innocence about him,” I said finally, wondering why I was being truthful. “That’s one of the things I like. He’s a good person.”
He chuckled. “You’re mistaking immaturity for innocence. They are not the same thing.”
“He’s authentic, which is more than I can say for most people around here.”
“He’s rude.”
“Not rude. Ballsy.”
“He’s disloyal,” he said, over-enunciating the words for emphasis.
I looked up from my phone and deliberately met his eyes. “He’s a good fuck.”
Santori’s slow blink was the only sign that I’d struck a nerve. “What about Vanessa? Is she a good fuck?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He shook his head, a lifetime of disgust for me coming through that one simple gesture. “Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to date her publicly, anyway. If she can’t make a man of you, at least she can help make you a star. The two of you are already on your way to becoming media darlings, now that you finally have a publicist who knows what he’s doing.”
I fidgeted, worried that what I was about to say would make things worse. But really, it couldn’t get much worse, or so I thought.
“I want to call off this bullshit with Vanessa. I never should have gone along with any part of it. It’s dishonest. Jamie and I can be media darlings together. Times are changing. After the initial shock, I think people would be fine with it.”
“The change is superficial. People are still not ready to accept gay male athletes. Did you see what happened to that football player who came out recently? Everyone nodded and patted him on the back, and then he was quietly excluded from the sport. The same would happen to you, Michael. You’d be a joke. Is that what you want? No one would ever take you seriously again.”
“I don’t care. I want him.” My heart rate was ramping up. Things were getting too real, and I was saying shit I shouldn’t have been saying to my uncle. I knew better than to be honest with him— that he’d always find a way to use it against me— and yet I was powerless against my own impulses.
“I want you to marry Vanessa,” he said. “Not just play nice for the cameras. You’ll have a nice long engagement, lots of photo ops, and an island wedding with a guest list that would make the President jealous. It won’t be so bad. Of course you won’t be able to continue with those risky motel visits you think no one knows about. But for a price, we can make sure your baser needs are met. Powerful men don’t have to play by the rules, Michael. They just have to learn creative ways to get away with murder.” He smiled. “So to speak.”
“Don’t fuck with me!” I flew up off the sofa, my body vibrating from the inside out. If hatred could kill, then at least one us of would have been dead on the spot, because I was absolutely eaten up with it. Peter Santori was the closest thing to pure evil I’d ever known, with his intoxicating voice, and the way he told you exactly what to do and expected you to do it. He was a snake charmer, and he’d made me into a snake.
And he’d meant something by that last remark. Something ugly that I wasn’t quite ready to face yet. But part of me knew it. Part of me knew exactly what he’d meant, and that sleeping part of me wanted to kill him for saying it.
I leaned over him, white-knuckling the arms of his chair, itching to rip his goddamn tongue out of his mouth. If I’d had any balls, I’d have punched through his chest with my bare fist and squeezed his heart until the black blood poured through my fingers. Watching the life drain from that bastard’s eyes would be the sweetest relief imaginable, but I couldn’t touch him. He knew it, and I knew it, so I did the same thing he’d just done to me. I threatened him with innuendo that meant just as much as what he’d said to me. “I’m not a little boy, anymore, Mister Santori. Haven’t you noticed? I’m a trained killer. Thank you for that, by the way.”
“You’re threatening me,” he said, confirming that we were on the same page. That I was right about the ugly things that only recently had started to seep back into my consciousness.
“I only threaten in self-defense. You remember that. I fight for you, and I’ve always done what you wanted, but you can’t tell me who to love. You can’t take that away from me, too.”
Santori’s lips curled up at the edges just enough to suggest a smile, and his eyes got all hooded and lazy, like he’d just shot heroin. “He’s fucking someone else.”
And there it was. The takedown.
I let go of his chair arms like I’d been burned by them, spinning away to hide my reaction. Too late. Dammit, I couldn’t let the bastard see me break. It’s what he got off on.
Now I saw it clearly, the reason for his visit, the progression of the conversation. Ever since he’d walked through my door he’d been edging himself, doling out the discomfort in stages, just waiting for the right moment to throw the knockout punch. And it was a hell of a punch, aimed to take away the one thing I had that Santori hadn’t given me.
I paced to the window and stared out over the strobing lights, the flowing lava stream of cars. Vegas had never looked so bleak.
“Don’t you want to know who it is?” he asked calmly, as if we were discussing the weather.
“No. You’re probably just lying, anyway. You always lie.”
“I have pictures.”
For as long as I could remember, I’d been conditioning myself to absorb pain. Yet those three innocuous-sounding words had me on the verge of throwing up.
I had one thing. One fucking thing that was my own, and he was about to take it from me.
Santori reached into his pocket, pulled out his own cell phone, and swiped his thumb across the screen. I didn’t want to look. The thought of seeing Jamie making love to someone else filled me with dread so profound, I was already having the telltale palpitations of an anxiety attack. Over and over, my heart seemed to freefall from my chest— the same sensation of jumping a hill in your car, only followed by a tickle that rides up your esophagus and forces out a little cough.
But there was still a chance it wasn’t true. Santori couldn’t be trusted. He would lie and he would bluff, both without remorse, and unfortunately he had no reliable tells. Even with my knack for reading physical cues, I’d never been able to read him with any consistency. I’d seen him tell the truth with his eyes averted, and I’d seen him lie with a fucking halo over his head. I searched his face anyway, and hated that he saw me searching. He could read me just as well.
He knew I’d have to ask to see the pictures, because I had to know for sure he wasn’t bluffing. I silently cursed the little cough that gave away my anxiety as I reached out for his phone. “Show me.”
He hesitated, shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly as he glanced from the phone to my face a couple of times.
My heart soared. I had him. I’d called his bluff.
“You don’t have any pictures, because he hasn’t cheated,” I said, relief flooding my system. For the first time since Santori had entered my apartment, I felt myself relaxing.
He licked his lips, met my eyes, then flipped his phone around for me to see. On the screen was undeniable proof. It was a photo of Jamie kissing another guy up against a black Porsche. The guy was young, blond and hot, and he had his arms draped possessively over Jamie’s shoulders. Goddammit, the fucker was claiming my boyfriend right out from under me. Rage took the place of nausea as I stared at that picture, memorizing the guy’s features— and his tag number.
Was this the guy who had called me on the phone? If so, Jamie had lied when he’d said nothing had happened and that they were just friends.
“It’s just a kiss,” I managed to say, trying to save face in front of Santori, hoping that was all the evidence he had.
In answer, he swiped the screen again. The photo was replaced by one taken from outside the window of a bedroom. Jamie was sitting on a bed, and the blond guy was pulling Jamie’s shirt off. It was one of the shirts I’d bought him. The blue one. My favorite.
My vision blurred, and after a moment I was no longer seeing the image on the screen. I had revenge fantasies playing out in high definition behind my eyes.
My busted ego wanted nothing more than to fly down to Georgia and take care of business, but I had to fight in less than twenty-four hours. Why did Santori have to pull this shit tonight of all nights? Couldn’t he have waited until after the fight so I didn’t have to go into the octagon all worked up? But I already knew the answer to that question. It was strategic. He’d done it on purpose, because he knew exactly how to manipulate me to get what he wanted. In this case, his desire was twofold. He wanted a UFC win, and he wanted Jamie out of the picture for good.
And he may have succeeded at both.
“Jamie did well for himself, don’t you think?” he said. “The new boyfriend is rich and good-looking. But you shouldn’t feel too bad. You must have spoiled the little gold digger, because according to Aldo, he’s got quite an appetite for the rough stuff.”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” I plowed into Santori with my full weight, running him backward until his back slammed hard against the wall. I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed, thrilling at the fragility of his trachea as it bowed within my grasp. “You think you can just reach in and finger fuck my soul anytime you feel like it? I should put you out of your misery right now, you sadistic prick.”
“Takes one to know one,” he rasped. And I heard the click and felt the bite of cold metal as he pressed the muzzle of a gun hard into my belly.