Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise #2)(49)
“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.