Caged

  off the bookcase so you could revamp it?”

  “Omigod. We are so breaking up over this.”

  He laughed. “Come here.”

  Molly crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  “Fine.” He moved to stand in front of her. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You get a kick outta doin’ this stuff? Then I’ll stand by and watch you be happy about it.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Can’t promise I’ll ever understand it. Knox even warned me about this when I helped him put up shelves in the baby’s room.” He smirked. “It was a design idea Shiori saw on one of the home-improvement shows. Knox threatened to put a block on those channels. But for all his bitching, he still did it. He calls them ‘honey-do-me’ projects; if he gets them done, he gets to do his wife.”

  “Cynical.”

  “But true.” He touched her nose with his. “And I’ll bet you look really fucking cute covered in paint.” His eyes lit up. “Please tell me you wear them cutoff overalls and no shirt when you’re painting.”

  “No, pervert.”

  “Probably a good thing. If I see you dressed like that? I’d drag you off to bed for hours.”

  “Make yourself useful and flip these bookcases over so I can paint the backs.”

  “They’re already painted. And no offense, babe, but I noticed you missed a few spots.”

  Molly beat her head into his chest with mock frustration. “I sanded that paint off on purpose. So how about you are the muscle in this project, while I handle the artistic side.”

  • • •

  THE next morning Deacon left for the dojo early—after offhandedly mentioning they were having a “couples” dinner thing or “some such shit” with Knox and Shiori this week.

  She headed into the extra bedroom and checked out the fruits of her labor. For the bookcase base color, she’d chosen a soft sage green. She’d painted over that with a coat of white stain, wiping most of that off, so the green was visible beneath. Then she’d sanded random spots. Last night she’d added the final coat, an opaque gray varnish that dulled the paint into an antique patina. The gray tone settled into the dents and pits, creating tiny dark spots so the piece really looked old. It’d turned out awesome.

  She wandered toward the kitchen to refill her coffee and stopped in the living room. Deacon might not appreciate the country-cottage look of her living space, but she loved it. After growing up with bare walls and just the basics, she never took for granted that she could express her personality through the home she’d made for herself.

  She’d placed two mismatched oversized chairs, one covered in rose chintz and the other in sage-green velvet, opposite the tufted sofa, done in a floral pattern composed of shades of pink and green. Between the couch and chairs she’d positioned a pine coffee table she’d refinished with a reverse-crackle glaze—her first DIY project. Directly behind the chairs was the space for the large bookshelf. She’d culled a few things from her grandmother’s house over the years, an antique birdcage, some funky botany prints she’d found in the closet, and a wooden vase her grandfather had carved—all items she proudly displayed.

  So she liked her private space frilly and girly. Mr. Big Bad MMA didn’t look as out of place in her space as she’d imagined.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  AFTER a grueling week of training, work, and hours of makeup sex, Deacon and Molly showed up late to Diesel on Saturday night.

  Their friends gave them a rash of shit about that. Maddox had even gone as far as checking Deacon for hickeys. Good thing they couldn’t see Molly’s tits, because she had three or four red marks on each breast.

  All the chairs around the table were full. Maddox, Beck, Ivan, Sergei, Fisher, and Blaze were all there, plus Blue and Gil. Even Riggins had put in an appearance. Katie, Fee, Presley, and Jaz sat at the other end of the table.

  When Molly tugged her hand from his to join the ladies, Deacon hauled her back. He whispered, “Ten minutes with them and then I want you with me.”

  She stepped in front of him and rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you just get a leash?”

  Deacon placed his mouth on the pulse point in her throat. “Because I haven’t found a collar yet that won’t mark up this pretty skin.”

  Her breath caught. Then she slapped her hand on his chest and tried to push him back. “Not happening. Ever.”

  “Then you’d better have this luscious ass parked on my lap in ten minutes, hadn’t you?”

  Deacon snagged a chair from the table behind them, spun it around, and straddled it. “What’s up?” he said to no one in particular.

  “Maddox has chick problems,” Ivan offered.

  “Then why aren’t you sitting there”—Deacon pointed to the women’s end of the table—“whining to them for advice?”

  “Fuck off, D.” Then Maddox tipped his beer bottle to Ivan. “You too, Ruskie.”

  Beck stretched his arm across the back of the booth. “I’d take your problem any day, Mad.”

  “Me too,” Blue added.

  “It’s not that kind of chick problem, you dipfucks,” Maddox said with a scowl.

  The waitress showed up. Deacon ordered water for himself after he saw Katie had poured Molly a margarita from the pitcher on the table so he knew his woman was taken care of. “So what else did I miss? Spare me the chick-problem drama.”

  “Says the guy getting laid regularly,” Beck complained.

  Deacon shot Molly a quick glance and allowed a smug smile.

  “There’s an exhibition next weekend in Los Angeles put on by International Mixed Martial Arts magazine. The PR person has asked if we’d supply a fighter.”

  “That’s unusual, isn’t it? And late notice.”

  Maddox shrugged. “It’s a calculated move, a callout by TGL, my former employers. I’ve been with Black Arts for a year. Guess we’ve been a little too low-key for their comfort.”

  “Does Ronin know about this?” Deacon asked.

  “Yeah. He sees it for what it is.” Maddox looked at Deacon. “It’d be a bad move to put you or Ivan or Sergei in the ring at the expo. You all have big fights coming up in two weeks. Which TGL knows. This is a test to see if we’ve been keeping other fighters on our roster out of the spotlight.”

  “Think we’ve got a ringer or two, do they?”

  Maddox nodded.

  Deacon glanced at Blaze. No doubt he was a ringer. The guy had huge amounts of talent, but skill didn’t matter when he burned himself out midway through the second round. So he’d undergone different conditioning exercises to increase his aerobic threshold, and he’d been learning how to keep energy in reserve. But he was a good six months out from testing that in the ring against a real opponent.

  “What’s your gut instinct?” Gil asked Maddox.

  Several long moments passed before Maddox spoke. “Go one better than just supplying a fighter. Have Black Arts MMA and Black and Blue Promotions create a big splash. Put Katie in charge of a PR blitz, with Hardwick’s help. Host a party, displaying all of our fighters and all the jujitsu instructors from Black Arts and ABC. It’d be a perfect opportunity for Sensei Black to talk about his recent association with the House of Kenji and remind everyone how Black Arts MMA was born out of a respected dojo, steered by a highly respected master with an eighth-degree black belt.”

  Dead silence stretched across the table. Even the ladies had stopped gabbing.

  Finally Blue grinned. “That’s a fantastic idea. Who else have you told this to?”

  “Ronin and Amery.”

  “They’re on board?” Deacon asked skeptically.

  Maddox looked at him. “One hundred percent. Shocked the shit out of me too. In fact, it was Ronin’s idea we meet here tonight. He wants our input. We’ll have a formal meeting with everyone tomorrow.”

  “You want both Katie and me taking notes tonight?” Molly asked.

  “Yes. That way we’ll have all the bases covered when we pitch the final proposal to Maste
r Black.”

  Concern pinched Molly’s brow before she said, “Shouldn’t Amery take the lead on this project?”

  “She told me that as Ronin’s wife she’d be in a different role at the event. This will be Katie’s deal—and yours—to create a workable plan on short notice. The fight expo is one week from tonight.”

  Then everyone started talking at once. Between the noise level in the bar and the increasingly loud discussion at the table, Deacon couldn’t decipher anything. He put his fingers in his mouth and released a shrill whistle.

  All eyes zoomed to him.

  “Before y’all get into the gritty details of the dog and pony show, I wanna know if we’re bringing a fighter. And who that’s gonna be.”

  Maddox glanced across the table. “Fee will be representing Black Arts. TGL won’t be expecting that, and they’ll have to scramble to find a female fighter.”

  Gil gaped at Fee. Then he let loose in Portuguese. One didn’t need to understand the language to know that Gil was chewing Fee’s ass.

  When Fee stood, yelling back at him, holding her drink aloft as if to toss it in Gil’s face, Blue intervened—physically and verbally.

  They both shut up.

  Then Blue looked at Maddox. “Sorry for the interruption. ABC is honored you’ve chosen Sophia to represent the Black Arts MMA program.”

  Deacon needed a shot of Jäger. No one noticed when he headed to the bar. He’d been in Diesel enough times that Shoshanna, the weekend bartender, had the shot poured and in front of him before he ordered.

  “Thanks.”

  This great plan of Maddox’s had taken Deacon by surprise. While having Fee fight would be a novelty, it wasn’t the least bit representative of Maddox’s new fighters.

  What got his back up was the suspicion that Maddox wasn’t confident enough in any of his fighters to showcase them. Ivan had finally won enough matches to reach professional status. So out of the five fighters on Black Arts MMA roster, only Deacon and Ivan had the fight records that’d interest one of the major MMA fight organizations in signing them.

  In the year since Maddox had been hired to revamp the Black Arts MMA program, it didn’t seem he’d done as much as he should have. Deacon knew that Ronin had re-upped Maddox’s contract for another year. What had Maddox done to earn it?

  Normally he didn’t think about this crap. It wasn’t his job to critique Maddox’s job performance. As long as Maddox worked with him and Deacon kept winning, the rest shouldn’t matter.

  “Whatcha thinking about so hard?”

  Deacon jumped. Christ. He hadn’t even heard Beck approach him.

  “You look guilty. Ah. You’re just away from Maddox’s scrutiny so you can indulge in a shot.”

  “Yep.” He pointed to his shot glass. “Want one? I’m buying.”

  “Jäger? Sure.”

  Deacon caught Shoshanna’s eye and signaled for another. He figured Beck had followed him for a reason besides monitoring his alcohol intake. “I wouldn’t think as Shihan that you could skip helping plan this blowout.”

  Beck snorted. “Maddox will do what he wants. Ronin has the final word. My input is just noise—unless Maddox does something that conflicts with Black Arts martial arts philosophy.”

  Shoshanna set the shot in front of Beck with a smile. Usually she scurried off. But tonight she leaned over the bar, gifting Beck with an eyeful of cleavage. “You spoken for, too, sugar?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “You flexible?”

  “If you mean whether I’d be interested in waiting around for you until after closing time, the answer is yes. If you’re asking if my body is flexible?” He took a slow sip of his shot. “For that one, sugar, you’ll need a hands-on demonstration.”

  She smiled. “I’m off at eleven.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Beck’s eyes were glued to her ass as she sashayed to the other end of the bar.

  “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got chick problems, Shihan.”

  “That was for your benefit.” Beck smirked. “Shoshanna has had firsthand demonstration of my flexibility several times in the past few months.”

  “You dog.”

  “A hot chick offers me a bone, I’m gonna take it.”

  Deacon held his glass up to toast Beck’s words of wisdom. “So what else is going on?”

  “Between us?” Beck glanced over his shoulder. “As dojo GM, it’s my job to check the security logs. In the past three months, Maddox has logged in at various times on Sundays—never at the same time. The camera feed is off on that day, so I can’t see what he’s been doing.”

  “Maybe it’s personal time for cardio and weight training?” Deacon offered, remembering the times he’d run into Maddox on Sundays.

  Beck shook his head. “I monitor the machines. No activity those days.”

  “Have you asked Maddox about it?”

  “Not yet. I only received the quarterly security logs last week, which is what tipped me off.”

  Deacon studied him. “What’s your gut feeling?”

  “Maddox is training someone privately. Maybe a couple of someones. So he’s not hiding it, but he hasn’t mentioned it to me or Ronin.”

  “You sure Ronin doesn’t know? Because the man is as closemouthed as they come.”

  “Not more closemouthed than you, Yondan—that’s for damn sure,” Beck said dryly. “Anyway, if Ronin knew, he’d tell me, even if Maddox asked him to keep it to himself.”

  “True.” He paused. “Who do you think is getting free training? Courey?”

  “Maddox never was sold on bringing him on board. He used him to taunt you. Then you beat the fuck outta him and Courey lost his usefulness.”

  Deacon hated the stupid games Maddox played in the name of kicking performance up a notch. “Then who is he training?”

  “Fee.”

  “Fee? Seriously? But why hide it?”

  “Because Ronin doesn’t want to invest Maddox’s time starting a women’s MMA division. But Maddox has been scouting female fighters for years—before it became the cool thing to do. He can’t ignore that Fee has all the right components to make a big splash in women’s MMA.”

  “Did you know about this exhibition before Maddox sprang it on us?”

  Beck shook his head. “Maddox and I are respective of each other’s roles at Black Arts. We’re two division heads answering to the CEO. So after his announcement just now? I looked up the event on my phone. Guess who else is slated to attend the event besides his former employer?” He paused. “The scout for the UFC’s women’s division.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. So there’s some kind of weird politicking at play with Maddox and TGL. I don’t like it. Especially if Ronin doesn’t know about it. The last fucking thing Sensei needs is to look like an idiot who doesn’t keep tabs on his trainer.”

  “No kidding.” Deacon realized Beck had the same intuitive nature as Knox, and that was exactly what Ronin needed. Sensei wasn’t an easy man to work for—and he was glad Beck had Ronin’s back. “Think Blue knows?”

  “It pains me to say this, because I don’t wanna come across as a goddamn busybody, but it is my job to know everything that goes on in the building. Fee moved in with Katie so Blue couldn’t keep tabs on her outside of the dojo.”

  “Then Blue wouldn’t know she’d been spending her Sundays training.” Deacon groaned. “Jesus. As the Dojo Fucking Turns, eh?”

  “Apparently. As long as I’m on a gossip-girl roll, what if