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  “No wait! I need to get this out before I lose my nerve. I’m attracted to you. I think I’ve always been, actually. I mean, how can I not be? You’re really hot, Cain.” She shook her head. “Ugh! Why can’t I stop babbling? Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m attracted to you. Life is too short to play games—I think I learned that with Jeremy. So, I know this may be weird or whatever, but I just wanted you to know that. I feel things when I’m with you that I’ve never…my body gets…well, anyway, you get the point.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Anyway, I hope that even if you don’t feel the same way about me, you still want to help me with the whole awkwardness thing with the dating.”

  Her eyes were downcast, as if she was expecting a harsh rejection. But he couldn’t resist her. And he couldn’t leave her unsure.

  He opened her door, tugged her out, and cupped her face with his hands. “I know I shouldn’t do this. I know this is wrong. But, fuck, sunshine…” He released a low, guttural sound as he searched her eyes for permission. “I need you to know how much I fucking want you.” And he crashed his lips onto hers.

  If this was the only kiss he would ever have with her again, he was going to make it count. It would be a kiss they’d remember for years to come. It would be the kind of kiss that both of them would measure future kisses against. He devoured her. She didn’t hesitate to give his tongue access, opening her mouth to him almost instantly. His tongue speared her mouth with reckless abandon. This was not the kiss of twelve years ago. This kiss was wet, messy, and wanton, fueled by years of pent up desire.

  As she sucked his bottom lip, her hands tightened around his wrists. He pushed his body closer to her and she whimpered with need. He wanted to be inside her.

  “Oh, God, Cain,” she whispered into his mouth. She couldn’t get close enough, it seemed. Her hips undulated against him, and she clawed his neck as he continued his assault. He released her face, then gripped her hip and roughly pulled her closer. Her hands went to his hair. Clawing, kneading, and pulling. He couldn’t get enough, and he feared they were ten seconds away from stripping and fucking outside by her car.

  “Violet,” he breathed. She didn’t stop kissing him, her nails digging into his scalp. “Violet, baby. Stop,” he said, pushing back slightly. “Sunshine…,” he said once they weren’t attached any longer. “We have to stop.”

  Her hands went to her lips. They were both breathless.

  “Why?” She tried to reach for him.

  “We…I…” He closed his eyes. They couldn’t do this. They crossed that line. It was his fault, but it couldn’t happen again. She was Jeremy’s fiancée. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” He kissed her cheek and then opened her car door. Her eyes were wide, and she looked as if she was about to cry. Without a word she got in the car, looked at him one last time in disbelief, and left.

  —

  It was dark out and Cain was tense when he walked into the gym of the elementary school. The school was under construction and unused. He needed to blow off steam in a big way, and when Yuri had called about a big fight, he hadn’t hesitated to take it. The kiss five days ago had left him frustrated, not just with desire, but with insurmountable amounts of guilt. She hadn’t called him once, and truthfully, he would understand if she never spoke to him again. He was throwing out all sorts of mixed signals; he hated himself for it. She seemed to want some sort of physical relationship he wasn’t able to give her.

  Thoughts of Violet played in his mind. He was tormented. The rational part of his brain understood that it wasn’t his fault that Jeremy had died. It wasn’t his fault that they’d been blindsided halfway through the mission. It wasn’t his fault that Jeremy had decided to reenlist. Cain, though, would never have left a woman like Violet alone for a second tour. The Rangers were his family and he loved them like brothers, but he’d kill to have a woman at home waiting for him with open arms. Not just any woman, but a woman like Violet. But Jeremy was career military through and through. Leaving the army, changing careers—that would have made him miserable. But Violet never would’ve insisted he leave the military. She’d accepted his proposal knowing he’d be gone for God only knew how long. Every goodbye could be the final goodbye.

  Cain could’ve gone to college after high school, he could’ve gotten a job, but Jeremy had convinced him to enlist with him. He spoke of honor, of duty, of pride for one’s country. Jeremy was a fucking commercial for the armed forces, and since it wasn’t as if Cain had any other goals, he went with Jeremy and they enlisted together. Once he got through boot camp and was eventually picked for the Rangers, he was grateful for Jeremy and maybe even his father, because the army had taught him a lot and made him the man he was today. Loyal through and through. Which was why he couldn’t be with Violet.

  And lastly, Cain understood that it wasn’t his fault that he and Jeremy had had a huge fight the day Jeremy died. But the irrational part of his brain couldn’t understand that. The irony was that the two men, who rarely argued, had fought over Violet. And just a few hours later his best friend was dead. The guilt Cain felt over that sometimes made it impossible to breathe.

  Inside the unfinished school building, the crowd was just as thick as last time. With a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, Alexei, the same man he’d fought a few days before, frisked Cain. “No guns,” the man said.

  Cain looked at Alexei’s SIG hanging from his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Me, gun. You, no.” He handed Cain’s weapon to another man behind him and said, “After fight we return weapon.”

  Cain grunted.

  “Boss wait for you.” He pointed to Yuri.

  “Cain Sorenson. You return. You hungry for pain?” The man shook his head. “You are up next. Extra thousand dollar if you last five minutes.” The Russian laughed.

  A Hispanic man who looked like he’d just gone three rounds and lost limped into the circle. The black letters tattooed in Old English font that went across his chest spelled out the name Raymundo. He wore bloodstained white track pants with black stripes down the sides. A bandage over his ribs oozed blood, and he had two black eyes. Cain looked at the man, surprised. Was this mess his opponent?

  Cain felt sorry for Raymundo for a moment, but then the man started talking smack in Spanish. Cain recognized some of the words from his time training Tony. Upon further inspection, Cain saw that the guy’s eyes lacked focus. He was clearly on drugs of some sort. Before the ref could say anything, Raymundo charged at Cain. Cain ducked and grabbed the man’s midsection and tried to lift him up, but the man kneed him in the eye. Cain grunted. It felt as if his eye was pulsating out of the socket. Blood trickled down his face; he wiped it with his forearm and put his guard back up. When the man charged him again, this time Cain sidestepped him and threw a kick that connected hard with Raymundo’s torso. The man fell over and grumbled incoherently, then stood up, angrier than before.

  What the fuck?

  It already felt as if they had been fighting for an hour, but Cain knew enough about being tired and in pain to know that they had just begun fighting. Raymundo once again charged at Cain, and Cain began to understand the man’s technique.

  Charge.

  That was it. Nothing complicated. Nothing technical. He was just an angry ape of a man who charged head-on. Cain needed to get through about two more minutes without actually getting killed. He wanted that extra thousand dollars. He didn’t need the money, but he wanted to prove he could do it. And also, every minute he was fighting not to die was a minute he wasn’t thinking about Violet. So this time when the man charged, Cain simply moved and the man fell right into the crowd of people holding money up in the air.

  The crowd cursed, pushed, and fought Raymundo off them and back into the circle. From the corner of his uninjured eye, Cain saw that Yuri was pleased. Cain wiped the blood from his face again, and this time when Raymundo charged, Cain punched him square in the face, and his nose began to bleed. Raymundo gru
nted, lost his footing, and fell back against the crowd of spectators again. But this time, the bandage on his midsection ripped open, and blood trickled from his wound. The crowd moved away, cursing Raymundo. Cain hoped his opponent was planning to stay down.

  The crowd chanted, and when the man didn’t make much of an effort to move, another man wearing vinyl gloves ran over and flashed a light in Raymundo’s eyes and checked his pulse. He said something in Russian to Yuri that Cain recognized from his time in Ukraine as “alive.” Yuri yelled something back. There was some commotion as his opponent was lifted onto a gurney-like contraption and taken away, and then the ref proclaimed Cain the winner with a lift of an arm.

  The crowd yelled and roared. Yuri handed Cain thirty-five hundred dollars, patted him on the back and said, “Well done. See you soon, son.” Son? Cain didn’t like the sound of that. He took off his shirt and pressed it against his eye to stop the bleeding as he walked out.

  As soon as the warm night air touched his skin he flinched. This was the first time he regretted having a motorcycle instead of a car. He carefully mounted it and blotted his eye with his shirt as much as possible before taking off. He’d never driven slower in his life.

  Once he got inside his apartment, he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a few ibuprofens, and downed them with a cold beer. Then, he went to his bathroom to assess the damage. First he washed his face with warm water, wincing when the water touched the gash under his eye. He didn’t think he’d need stiches, so he took a quick shower, threw away the bloodied shirt, and placed a bag of ice on his face before he fell asleep on the couch, his mind void of anything except the pounding headache and his aching ribs.

  Chapter 8

  “What the hell happened to your face?” Slade asked Cain the next morning as soon as he walked into WtF Academy.

  Cain’s stony face revealed nothing.

  “What’s going on with you, man?” Slade asked as Tony walked over.

  “Coño!” Tony exclaimed in Spanish when he saw Cain’s face. “You lose a fight I didn’t know about?” When Cain didn’t answer, Tony continued. “Listen, man. You need to tell us what the hell’s going on with you.”

  “I fought at a vale tudo fight last night. I won.”

  Tony flinched. “You did what? You don’t look like you won!”

  “Are you outta of your fucking mind?” Slade asked.

  “I said I won. It’s cool.”

  “So you went to an underground fight and won? Why?” Tony asked, his accent becoming thick, something that happened when Tony became upset or flustered.

  “ ’Cause I’m fucking good.”

  “No, asshole. Not why did you win. Why did you fight?”

  “I wanted to.”

  “You have a fucking death wish, man? I don’t know what’s up with you lately, but I gotta say, I’m not cool with you fighting in a match I’m sponsoring while your head’s somewhere the fuck else,” Slade said.

  “Kettle fucking black,” Cain hissed.

  “Man, you don’t think I know that!” Slade ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “I am the last person who should be lecturing someone on underground fights after I’m all fucked up from them. But that’s why I’m telling you. I know. I can’t fight anymore because of that shit. I’m one concussion away from being a vegetable. And vale tudo is worse. It’s real nasty underground shit, Cain. I’ve heard there’s Mafia involvement. Why the fuck would you do that?”

  Cain snorted. “I didn’t realize I had a bunch of babysitters.”

  “We’re just looking out for you, man.”

  “I don’t need looking out for. I’ve been to war. More than once. I’ve seen shit you guys could never imagine. Don’t worry about me—I told you, I’m fine,” he said as he shoved his bag over his shoulder.

  “Is that what this is about? A buddy of mine sees a therapist for PTSD, and I can—” Tony began.

  They weren’t going to let it go.

  “No, we’re not going to let it go,” Slade said.

  Fuck. Did I say that out loud?

  “We’re your friends,” Slade went on. “You might as well tell us or we’re going to keep asking.”

  Cain exhaled loudly. “It’s nothing like that. It’s not PTSD. I just…I need to be busy, okay? I need something to do. I need my mind occupied. Fighting feels good.”

  “How can fucking your face up feel good? Since when have you been an adrenaline junkie?” Tony asked.

  Cain shrugged.

  Slade took a step forward. “I don’t understand what that means. What’s bothering you so much that you prefer being knocked the fuck out so you don’t have to think? What thoughts are you having?”

  “It’s not the kind of thoughts you’re thinking, Slade. I don’t have PTSD.” He let out another breath. “I have guilt. Lots of it. A fuckload of it. When I stop and think, it eats me up.”

  “Guilt about what?” Tony asked.

  “I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But it isn’t any of your business. Let it go.”

  Slade sighed. “I don’t want you fighting anymore in that shit. I’m serious, man. Let us help. Why don’t you talk to someone about it?”

  “Just did,” Cain said. “I’m telling you now, don’t keep bringing this shit up. I said I’m fine, so drop it.”

  “No,” Tony said, his arms crossed over his chest. “A few months ago, you ripped me a new asshole when I treated Francesca like shit. Now I’m here to return the favor. You are being a fucking idiot. This has to do with Violet. Only a woman can make a man lose control like this.”

  “Mind your own business, Tony,” Cain roared.

  Tony didn’t back down. “What I don’t understand is why you’re walking around being an asshole to everyone, being a self-destructive prick, when all you have to do is smile at that girl and she’s yours. It’s obvious, man. We all see it. She’s the sweetest woman I’ve ever met and she’s dumb enough to like you. Do not fuck it up.”

  Cain’s hands fisted at his sides. They wanted to help, but they didn’t understand he was helpless. “You want to kick my ass? Well, I’m right here, man. Have at it,” Cain snarled.

  “What are you so afraid of, Cain?” Slade asked.

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Yes you are. It doesn’t make you less of a man. I’m scared to death that I won’t be happy if I never fight again,” Slade shared.

  “I’m scared that one day Francesca will wake up and realize she’s too good for me,” Tony added.

  Cain looked from one to the other. “What the hell? Is this a fucking intervention?”

  “No, man.” Tony placed his hands on Cain’s shoulders. “You’re my brother, and you’re hurting. We just want you to know that you have people you can talk to. You’ve got friends.”

  Cain’s eyes stung. The only true friend he’d ever had was gone. Dead. And it was his fault. He didn’t want or need any more friends. Emotions he’d held back for so many years were rearing their ugly head.

  Just then he heard the front door open. Quickly Cain ran his hand down his face and cleared his throat.

  “What did I miss?” Enzo asked as he came up to them.

  “Nothing much,” Slade said.

  “Hey, Cain, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you in Texas with Violet?”

  “Why would I go to Texas with Violet?”

  Enzo looked at Cain, then at Tony, confused.

  “Before you say a single fucking word, tell me why you aren’t in Texas with JL,” Cain shot back.

  Enzo snorted. “Why would I be? There’s nothing going on between us except harmless flirting.”

  “Same shit with me and Violet.” Cain turned and extended his hand to Slade. “Thanks, man.”

  Slade shook his head and pulled Cain close for a one-armed man-hug.

  Tony followed suit but said low, so that only Cain could hear, “You’re going to push her away until one day she’s really gone and you’ll have no one to blame but yours
elf. I’ll leave you with one thought. She’s going to go to that reunion all pretty and dressed up. Some guy’s going to hit on her. That guy could be the guy that causes you to lose her forever.”

  Cain grunted. “Fuck you all very much.”

  Tony chuckled. “Anytime, brother.”

  —

  It felt just like every cheesy eighties movie Violet had ever seen. The cool girls from high school were still just as cool, as beautiful, and as mean. They all wore a different version of the same outfit: tight dresses, big hair, and high heels. They giggled and spoke to everyone as if ten years hadn’t passed. Everyone flaunted their profession, their social life, and their success. Their husbands or dates were just as gorgeous as the guys they’d dated in high school. And just like back in high school, Violet was ignored. Well, at least they weren’t making mooing noises at her, Violet thought.

  The elegant gold and black décor looked beautiful against the red rose centerpieces. JL and Violet twiddled with their napkins and wineglasses at a table in the far back of the big ballroom. Travis, in his tailored black suit and cowboy hat, had no problem flirting with the same women he’d flirted with in high school. And, just like back then, they were smitten. “Look at Travis,” Violet said, pointing. “He’s a real good dancer.”

  “Yeah, but is it his charm or his dancing that’s really impressing the ladies?”

  The women watched Travis twirl one woman and then grab a second with his free hand. Both women threw their heads back and laughed as he began to twirl them both at the same time.

  “He was always popular,” Violet said.

  “Yeah, until they saw where we lived. No one stuck around.”

  “Kids are cruel,” Violet said sympathetically, remembering the small trailer JL and Travis lived in. Travis had had it somewhat easier than JL because he was a guy. Cain and Jeremy had already left when the twins transferred to Violet’s school for junior year, and Violet and JL had hit it off right away. The same girls who taunted Violet called JL trailer trash. Common ground had a way of making people very close very fast.