Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (22 page)

“What is going on with you?” he demanded, exasperated as he stared at me. I was zoning out, thinking of Sofie. I needed to keep my focus on my father or he’d investigate her. My suspicions of his hand in the break-in of Sofie’s apartment were confirmed. My intention was to keep him on the steady trail of denial, so he wouldn’t question me. I continued to keep her a secret for her protection. He’d come after her to get to me, if he thought she was the reason for my change in attitude about the fight.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” I was about to say I forgot, but that would have never been a good enough excuse. Abel used that excuse as a child. Absentminded, he had too much in his head to keep it all straight. Unfortunately, beating Abel wasn’t going to make him remember, and my father couldn’t see that. It was at those moments I had to step in.

“I forgot, Daddy. It won’t happen again. I’ll try harder,” Abel had whined.

It grated on my nerves. Father didn’t like whining and it made Abel sound weak. My father preyed on the meek, and it only fueled his wrath toward Abel.

“It was my fault, Dad. Abel asked me to do it for him, and I forgot.”

“Stop taking care of your brother,” he responded with a slap across my face. “That’s for forgetting. Don’t let it happen again.”

I stood before the very desk where that conversation occurred. There were so many discussions in front of this desk. It stood like a monstrosity before me, mocking me. A powerful piece of furniture that was as threatening as my father with its dark wood and wide berth.

“Cain,” my father threatened. “This can’t happen again. Whoever the pussy is, dump the skank.”

My fists clenched and I had to remind myself to remain calm. That
skank
he referred to was my wife, but I wasn’t ready to share that fact with him. Trying to woo back my wife had cost me that fight, but fighting for Sofie was a better battle than the cage. I was growing tired of the cage, anyway. It was time to let others have their glory. Abel was one such character. My gym project would be the other.

On many occasions, I wanted to share my plans with my father. On a sickening level, I wanted him to be proud of my goals and the accomplishment to make life better for others. I didn’t tell him, though, because fear of his disapproval overweighed my enthusiasm. I despised being afraid. It made me feel weak, but when it came to my father, I was. He could bring me down with a glance. His words destroyed Abel. His rejection haunted Evie. His fist reminded me, I was less than him. It wasn’t a competition to be better than him. I just had plans that differed from his.

“You have a fight in two weeks, then a major one in Seattle at the end of this month. So help me God, you better be there. You better be prepared. This is important.” They were all important to my father. Every fight was a statement, but for what, I no longer knew.

Cain dreaded the fateful trip to see his father in Vegas and returned to me with eager interest in taking my body wherever and whenever he pleased. I wasn’t complaining and I couldn’t deny him. The things he did to me, the way he made me feel. His mouth tasted me like I was the sweetest fruit. His eyes devoured me like he wanted to draw me into him. His touch covered me in worship and wonder. He wasn’t rough, but sweetly hungry to discover me, what I liked, what he could do to please me. Intense was a good word for him, and he apologized, if he thought it was too much. I assured him, it wasn’t. In the shower, against a wall, over the counter, the floor of the hall, he was becoming my drug, and I couldn’t get him deep enough inside me. My heart was full, too, but I worried at times I was confusing lust for love.

Two weeks after our return from the vineyard, he partook in a fight. I couldn’t attend as I had finals for the summer session, plus I wanted to give Cain time with his father. The full extent of damage Atom Callahan had done to his first son was unknown to me, but I knew enough to realize that Cain having a wife wasn’t going to be met happily. While Cain was definitely more visible around campus, and even met me out one night with the girls, he avoided any conversations about making our relationship public, especially with his father. He kept telling me he had to wait.

When Cain went to Vegas, I was worried. I didn’t like the thought of him possibly returning to Malinda. As active lovers, I hoped I kept him more than satisfied. I was reassured when he stole into our bedroom late Saturday evening, or more likely early Sunday morning, having caught the first flight out of Vegas. His eager attention to my body let me know that he’d missed me and waited to return to me. His body was a temple, and I prayed to the god within him in response to the way he worshipped me.

A small debate for us was the ring he’d given me. I hadn’t officially worn it. I wore it home that first morning, but by evening Cain questioned where it was.

“Don’t you think we should wait? Let people see us together before we announce we are already married?” I was also holding out for Cain telling his father. “Besides, you haven’t told your father, and you don’t wear a ring either,” I reminded him. For some reason this upset Cain. He didn’t agree this was the same thing.

“I want people to know now,” he stated, sounding petulant as I undressed for bed that first night. He watched me with those hypnotic eyes, while I disrobed, as we argued.

“You aren’t playing fair,” he hissed low to me, his eyes opening wide as my shirt hit the floor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I admitted, as I wasn’t done with our discussion. I wanted to reassure him that I wasn’t saying yes and then bailing on him. He seemed to need that security.

“I’ll get a chain and wear the ring around my neck. It will be close to my heart as we let everyone get familiar with our relationship first, including your father,” I tried to soothe. “You could do the same with a ring of your own,” I suggested, stepping toward him, but he retreated from me. He walked around me in our room to open the top drawer of his dresser. Removing a long chain, he returned to face me, and held out a silver loop with a heavy cross at the end of it.

“This was my mother’s,” he said, grabbing my hand and opening my palm. He dangled the chain into my hand then retrieved the diamond off the nightstand.

“She gave that to me, to protect me, the night she left. I wore it as a child, until my father discovered I had it. He demanded I remove it before he choked me with it one night.”

My breath hitched at his words.

“I’ve kept it safe, and now I’m giving it to you to hold this ring.” He picked up the chain and opened the clasp, then slipped the heavy diamond down the length to meet the cross. He slipped the new arrangement over my head then spoke.

“Now finish undressing, minus that chain so I can bury myself inside you, while you wear only it.”

He did more than make love to me. He’d dangled that chain over sensitive skin and drew sketches with the thickness of the diamond. He’d written words on my skin with the edge of the cross. While I couldn’t interpret them all, I decided he was scribing his love over me, because love is what I felt from him, and love is what I felt
for
him.

At the end of that first month came another fight in Seattle. This was big for Cain, he told me. It would place him in the rounds for the national championship. He needed to return to that circuit, he informed me, although he didn’t sound convincing, but rather like he was trying to convince himself. I promised to attend, and I planned to wear the ring to show him that I was ready to announce to the world that I was his. My ulterior motive was to announce it to his father by flashing that ring everywhere. I was tired of hiding. I packed the lacey red nightie he hadn’t seen me wear yet and minimal other essentials for the brief trip to Seattle.

I found my seat next to Abel, who had his own fight in this tournament earlier in the day. Abel might have fought and won against his brother, but he was still proving himself in his own rings. He kissed my cheek when he saw me, then turned his attention to the cage where his brother seemed out of sorts. I noticed him searching the crowd and I found their father seated on his perch behind his eldest son. His face was edged and aged, as his eyes followed every hit and his mouth spewed insults at his son, the ref, and the opponent. It was hard to watch the blows to Cain’s face, the ripple of punches to his abs, or the twist of a kick. At one break, he sat, shaking his head and the doctor-to-be in me worried that he was suffering from a concussion. My heart skipped a beat at the potential, and I remembered the saga of Montana, Elma’s brother who died at Cain’s hands from an unhealed concussion. I didn’t like to see Cain hurt. I thought of all the pain he’d suffered as a child. But the crowd’s cheer and jeer with each jab, each upper cut, and each roundhouse kick was infectious

I gripped Abel’s arm, as I glared across the cage, until Cain caught my eye. I waved slowly, feeling weak and silly for such an adolescent gesture. His eyes narrowed, and for some reason, I released my hold on Abel. Cain didn’t acknowledge me. I decided he hadn’t seen me. Renewed energy overcame my fighter, and in the next round, he took out his opponent. Arms raised in victory, Cain was pranced around the cage. Abel wanted to escort me to the center, but I refused. I’d meet Cain in his room as planned, once he dealt with the paparazzi and the necessities of being a prizefighter.

He’d noticed the rock on my finger and smiled deeply, congratulating me.

“He’s so proud of you being his wife,” Abel reassured me, as he convinced me I should claim my winner in his locker room. With Abel as my guide, I received a press pass and walked past security. He led me through the thick curtain of people who anxiously awaited a moment with the Cobra. Pictures. Congratulations. Autographs.

That’s when I saw more than I needed to see. Dripping in sweat, dressed still in his boxing shorts, two bikini-clad women draped over each of his shoulders, smiling and posing for pictures. His face was elated, his smile bright; his eyes fierce orbs of black that enjoyed the limelight. The fans were mesmerized by him as was I, until she appeared: a woman dressed in a black skirt so short the press of her ass showed when she slithered up to Cain. A snake tattoo curled down the length of her leg, from thick thigh to elegant ankle. Its ugly head reared at me just under her bottom cheek. Bright red cobra eyes mocked me on her skin. The crowd of women drawing near to him parted. This woman, with dark raven hair, slunk in between Cain and one of the scantily clad models beside him.

In an instant, I knew who she was: Malinda.

My heart dropped to my stomach as I watched the woman whisper something in his ear, then he spoke back to her. He drew close to her, letting his mouth brush her neck before he whispered something again. Her sinful mouth curled up in bright red lipstick that I imagined had memorized the taste of the devil. His arm firmly wrapped around her, a hand rested on her hip. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard for cameras to capture for eternity. In that moment, I realized I’d danced with the devil, but he did more than step on my toes. My lower abdomen clenched so hard I gripped it to ease the pain. I was going to be sick.

“Sofie,” Abel said loudly over the wild din of the gathered crowd. His voice sounded garbled, like it was underwater, and the other voices of the room melted away. My eyes were still trained on the snake before me. Rather the pair of them, entwined with one another, and I was trapped only briefly by the gleam of one set of dark eyes before I found the strength to look away. I was pushing through the sea of people, a salmon swimming upstream in desperation. I clutched the cross, cold under my shirt, as I forced my way through people until I bumped into a large mass of muscle. Looking upward at the man in my space, I came face to face with an older version of Cain. Atom Callahan was peering down at me, and another form of evil smiled.

I vaguely heard my name called, but I couldn’t discern if it was Abel. It certainly wasn’t Cain. It didn’t matter. I had to get out of there.

“Who do we have here?” The sinister voice of an Irish accent stopped me in my tracks. “And what is this?”

I hadn’t realized I released the chain from within my blouse and clutched the cross between my sweaty fingers. It was my left hand and it exposed the diamond, front and center, to the narrowed glare of Mr. Callahan.