Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(21)

I practically jumped out of the vehicle when he pulled up in front of my apartment building.

“Sofie,” he called after me, as I briskly walked toward the main door. My keys dropped as my hands shook. Balancing on the precipice of trapped sobs, I teetered with the weight of choking back tears. I ignored his calling.

“Sofie,” he said softly behind my back, as I stood and tried to work the keys in the lock. I couldn’t respond to him. The pain slowly clawed through my chest. The demon would only rest once it constricted over my heart, until the pressure was so great I’d collapse. That’s all I wanted at the moment: to fall on my bed and cry.

“Sofie, wait,” he pleaded when I forced the door open hastily, the key now stuck in the latch and I struggled to remove it. My patience was shot. The first tear fell.

“Sofie, why are you running?” I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t explain. I straightened, took a deep breath, and turned to face him. You know what, I decided, let him see my pain. The devil feeds off it. There would be no sting from my sorrow. He’d only take my sadness to pump the venom in his veins.

“Goodbye, Cobra,” I said, having never used his fighter name before. Then I turned on my heels and closed the door behind me. The first sob escaped before I hit the emergency stairwell leading up out of hell.





There was one thing I hadn’t expected of Sofie, and that was tears. I’d never seen her cry before. She didn’t cry that first morning when she realized I was a snake. She didn’t cry the second morning when she realized I was an ass. She stood stoic and proud, then removed herself from my presence on both occasions. It would have been dangerous to pursue her immediately after I left her behind at The Vineyard Inn. My father was on fire for my vengeance from an unjust system and my clearance from an uncertain crime. He would not have been one bit sympathetic to a sudden wife. In fact, he wouldn’t have been sympathetic to a wife a year later.

My mother had been instantly in love with Atom Callahan, the scrappy fighter from Ireland. His accent, his muscles, and his prowess were the attraction that caused her to fall and fall hard. Kursch told me, my mother felt she was a part of my father, convinced that they were one. My father didn’t always see it that way. He focused more on his career, and building up himself, rather than nurturing his marriage. My mother was dragged to the fighting pits, while my father tried to make his way upward. It was there that she met someone with a dark side. Introduced to drugs, once bitten, she was hooked. The attention from another man spiraled her into sin, and my father, who gave no sense of loving her unconditionally, banished her. She was kicked out of the house without addressing her children, or so, Atom had thought. She simply disappeared from our lives, and we eventually assumed she was dead. Our father wished for her death. He blamed her for having children, and having the nerve to need something more. He wanted her presence in his bed, but he didn’t want her to have an opinion. When she gave into temptation, he couldn’t see that it had been his fault for not allowing her to be free.

I didn’t want to be like my father, but I was glaringly similar. I was driven in my career as a fighter. My body was my temple; championships were my heavenly reward. I worshipped at the table of numerous women. I intended to be on top, no matter what the cost, until the price was the life of someone. The awareness of my strength and the power to take a life, both thrilled me and shamed me. I had to get away after it happened, and that’s when I met Sofie.

Silent and strong, there was something that drew me to her. Maybe it was that damn smile, which lit like a flame and burned slowly across her face. Maybe it was her incredibly sexy body, that wasn’t as recognizable under her flowing skirts and fitted t-shirts, but under that clothing the devil danced with delight at a body that was ripe for sin. We fit unexpectedly snug, and my dick had never felt anything like it. I used her like I expected on a wedding night. She broke me like I never imagined possible. She would be my salvation, and yet I’d tossed her out of the confessional again.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I loved a woman, and I wanted another taste of her.

I couldn’t have that prayer answered, though. I had a fight to contend and returned to Vegas. My father had already questioned why I wasn’t there two nights before the event. This was my return to glory, he swore. My fight with Abel was child’s play. A farce of a fight, he accused, as I let Abel win. I was currently up against other players in the field, bigger names that drew larger crowds. However, the media circus around the fight with Abel was nothing like I’d experienced before. It was in the ring I intended to redeem myself, not in Sofie’s arms.

I had to stop thinking of her and my training worked. My muscles ached as I concentrated on each motion. Each sit-up. Each jump of the rope. Each stride in a run. Every movement took my focus. It had to, or my heart would feel the familiar pinch of losing something I didn’t really own.

I skipped out on Malinda. The pent up sexual frustration was to be my penance. It would also feed the snake within me. Poison slithered through my veins as I prepared for another battle. The fight with Abel had been like a living room tussle, but to my brother’s credit, he was strong and worthy. He didn’t have the meanness in him. The devil burned inside me. My energy came from repressed aggression toward the one man I refused to fight – my father.

My opponent was none other than Rustin Dweller, a prizefighter in his own right, and this was a rematch of the fight before Joey Montana. I’d been belted as world champion during that fight. Montana’s match-up was merely roughhousing on the playground in comparison. Rustin was commendable. He held his own as we battled. Left hook to the ribs. Axe kick to the chest. Powerhouse slam. I took my beating, but gave as good as I got. I needed this fight. My mind was seared by the image of Sofie’s tears. I hated that she cried. I hated more so that I didn’t know the reason why. My anger vibrated for the release a fight would bring.