The Cocky Cage Fighter Six Book Box Set Page 7

  I remain standing at the table absolutely dumbfounded. I've never heard anyone talk to my father that way. I've also never actually had someone defend me before, either. And in that moment I'm completely helpless when a little tiny sliver of my heart becomes his.

  Chapter Six

  Jax

  That motherfucking son of a bitch! It takes all my willpower not to pulverize her phone to prevent her from having to put up with his shit again. Instead, I sit it gently back down on the edge of the dining table.

  When I look over at Page her wide eyes are on mine. I wait for her to bitch at me about how she can take up for herself. Of course I know that, but for some reason when I saw the tears welling in her eyes, and sadness replace her usual stubborn strength and confidence I just snapped. She's been working her ass off to defend me, even though she thinks I'm guilty, so standing up to her father's completely wrong accusations and totally out of line criticisms were the least I could do.

  "So what's for dessert?" Page asks in an exhale, ending the silence, and sitting back down all prim and proper and shit at the table.

  "Dessert?" I repeat, amazed when she doesn't bitch at me.

  "Yeah, you know like ice cream or chocolate. Maybe cookies? Dessert is the best part of every meal."

  "Fighters don't get to have unhealthy shit like dessert," I reply at the same time Jude says, "We've got some Oreos."

  My dad gets up and leaves the table, giving me a disappointed look when he passes. He probably thinks I was out of line with Page's dad. Screw that.

  "Oh yeah!" Page replies excitedly. "Oreos would be awesome. If it's not too much trouble, could I also have like a small glass of milk, too? Or do fighters not drink milk, either?" she asks with a smirk in my direction.

  "Yes, we have milk, and for you, sweetheart, I'd bring the whole fucking cow," Jude responds, making Page laugh and me groan before he's up and ducking into the kitchen.

  Before I can sit back down her goddamn phone starts ringing again and vibrating on the dinner table. Only instead of her dad, this time it says, "Elliot" on the screen. Awesome. I'm raring to go 2-0 tonight with another telephone showdown. Since I'm closer I grab it before she can.

  "Page's phone," I answer.

  "What the…who is this?" the angry man asks. "Where's Page?"

  "I'm sorry, but since Page and her fine ass are unavailable tonight, it looks like you'll just have to spank yourself."

  "Jackson!" Page hisses, lurching across the table but still unable to reach me. "Give me the phone!"

  "Who the hell is this?" the asshole asks. "Do you have any idea who the fuck you're talking to?"

  "Let me tell you who you're talking to. You're talking to a crazy motherfucker who will beat the shit out of you if you lay another finger on her ass without her express written permission to do so. And I don't give a fuck what soft, pussy job or title you have, buddy. You could use a big healthy dose of watch your goddamn mouth when you talk to her before I knock a few teeth out of it." I end the call, chest still heaving with adrenaline. Fucking bastard. I finally hand over the phone to Page's outstretched hand, knowing she's going to bitch me out for sure this time.

  "That…was the funniest shi...znit I've ever heard," Page says, looking up at me with a smile.

  "Shiznit?" I ask with my own grin, breathing deep to calm myself down. "What are you, ten?"

  "Excuse me if every other word out of my mouth is not filth like yours."

  And it is a damn fine mouth, I can't help but notice. Plump pink bottom lip, fuller than the top which forms a perfect fucking bow. I'd love to force those lips apart with a gasp of pleasure. Or watch them part even wider when they wrap around my hard cock. The cock currently pressing against the fly of my jeans so hard it'll likely have a permanent zipper imprint down it.

  Jude returns with the pack of cookies and a glass of milk, giving Page a low bow when he says, "Here you go, m'lady."

  "Thanks, Jude. You are definitely the more pleasant brother," she says when she accepts the offering and returns to her seat.

  "Yeah, Jax is a dick, but don't take it personally. He's like that to everyone because he thinks he's a badass."

  "I am a badass," I growl. Jude sits down beside her again and they both pretend to ignore me.

  "So how do you like to do yours?" Jude asks, grabbing a cookie and twisting it open. "I like to lick all of the cream off with my tongue before I shove the cookie in my mouth," he tells her, heavy on the innuendo.

  "I dip the whole cookie in the milk until it's soft and mushy," she tells him, grabbing a cookie and doing just that. "Then I like to chug the murky milk after I eat all my cookies."

  Seeing her like this is…strange after dealing with the uptight, stuck-up Page. I sit down at the table to watch more of this easygoing side of her.

  "Double stuffed are the best," she tells my brother. He quickly agrees.

  "Jude's gonna have to do double cardio tomorrow to work off this shit," I mutter, not letting myself give in to the delicious temptation, even though I have no idea how long it'll be before I can fight again.

  "Why you always pissing all over my parade, Jax?" Jude grumbles. "You're such a Debbie Downer."

  "He always such an angry pessimist?" Page asks Jude.

  "Oh yeah. And he gets worse every year."

  "Why do you think that is?" she inquires, while they both pretend like I'm not in the fucking room.

  "I don't know. Probably because he's sad knowing he can never be as awesome as me."

  "You think you're so fucking funny, don't you?" I ask, reaching to grab one of the fucking Oreos from the pack.

  Cracking it open, I notice Page's gaze on me. I hold her eyes as I slowly run my tongue over one of the white cream sides. Those perfect lips of hers part as she focuses on my mouth like I intended, just to fuck with her. Trying to get a rise out of her is more fun than anything I've done in a long time.

  "Let me know whenever you're ready to go home, Page," I tell her, making her blink and break the spell.

  "Ah. Can't we keep her? Pretty please, Jax? I've always wanted my very own gorgeous, yellow-haired attorney," Jude begs, turning to me with clasped hands and big pleading eyes, making Page laugh. I don't like that he's the one eliciting such a sweet sound from her. "I promise I'll feed her and take care of her all by myself."

  "Nice, I'm sure Page loves being referred to as a stray dog."

  "Relax, Jax. I can take a joke," she replies with a snort, making my brother laugh. Hearing her use my nickname so familiarly causes that battering ram feeling against my chest that I try again to ignore.

  "Relax? The woman who told me I could end up serving a twenty-seven year prison sentence is telling me to fucking relax?"

  "Holy shit! Are you serious?" Jude asks, his teasing and cookie in his hand forgotten.

  "With our progress today, I'm feeling a little more confident about your chances," Page responds with a smile. "I bet you won't get more than thirteen years."

  "That's not funny," I mutter.

  "Thirteen motherfucking years!?!" Jude exclaims.

  "That's the minimum I'll serve if I'm convicted on both charges, right Page?"

  "Minimum, as in the least?" my brother asks. "Jesus, Jax. Why didn’t you say anything?” He turns to Page. “What are the odds of him not getting convicted?"

  "I'd say fifty-fifty at this point. That's why I informed Jax that if he’s offered a plea to a lesser charge of just three or four years, he should consider it."

  "Jax, you'd be crazy not to take that shit!"

  "That's what I told him," Page responds to Jude, causing me to snap.

  "Fuck you both! I'm not pleading guilty. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" I jump to my feet and yell at them. "It's because you still think I did that shit, right? Screw it. Jude can give you a ride home because I've had enough of you for one fucking day."

  I slam the front door when I storm out of the house, and as soon as my car cranks, I throw it in reverse, peeling out
of the driveway and heading for the gym. I need to burn off some serious stress and frustration. And yeah, maybe a part of me is disappointed that during the biggest fight of my life I don’t have a single person in my corner.

  …

  Page

  I yawn once again as I stare at my computer screen, working on direct and possible cross-examination questions for Jax. When my dad comes into my office I swear I must have nodded off and am dreaming.

  "Page," my father's voice booms.

  "Yes?" I ask, trying not to show the hurt on my face from his words the night before.

  "I owe you an apology. I'm sorry I assumed the worst. I didn't know you'd made so much progress on Malone's case so soon."

  I almost swallow my tongue. My father, Miles Davenport, was apologizing to me? Jax really had scared the sushi out of him.

  "Thanks."

  "Keep up the good work," he says, before leaving as quickly as he came. A compliment and an apology in one conversation? It was turning out to be a red letter day for the history books. But even that thought didn’t lift my spirits for long.

  I hadn't slept much last night after Jude gave me a ride home. I felt guilty about what had happened with Jax. I wanted to believe him, I really did. But a part of me...I just couldn't shake my first impression.

  That reminds me.

  I search through our firm's contact database, then as soon as I find the one I'm looking for I pick up the office phone and dial the number.

  "Hi, Mr. Rhodes. This is Page Davenport, a lawyer in Silver Spring. I have a criminal client who'd like you to give him a polygraph."

  "Oh, sure. How soon do you need it?" he asks.

  "First available spot you have."

  "I just had a cancelation, so how about this afternoon at four?"

  "I'll have to confirm with my client, but that should work. Do I need to be there?"

  "No, just him. But it'd be great if you could talk to him to formulate three or four questions and then email them to me, along with his charge sheets before the appointment."

  "Sure. I've already got your email address, so I'll get that to you, along with the confirmation that he'll be there at four today after I talk to him. I'll have him bring you a check drawn on our firm's account to protect the report under attorney-client work product. Do you still charge a thousand?"

  "Yes, and that sounds great. Thanks, Ms. Davenport."

  I hang up, but then hesitate before calling Jax. I need to give him as much notice as possible for the polygraph appointment, but what if he's still pissed? He might not even answer. That'd be good, and then I can just leave him a message. I take a deep breath and dial his number.

  "Hello?"

  Sheesh, he answered right away.

  "Oh, um, hey, Jax. So I've got you a polygraph scheduled for today at four, if that works?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, so I need to draft up the questions. Which ones are you confident you can pass?"

  "Any of them. All of them. Whatever the fuck you want to ask." So he still sounds a little pissed.

  "How about, 'Have you ever forcefully engaged in sexual intercourse with Christina Loftis without her consent?'"

  "Fine."

  "And, then after that, 'Did you strangle Christina Loftis?'"

  "Uh-huh."

  "And then the last one, 'Have you ever forced Christina Loftis to perform oral sex on you?'"

  Jax barks out a laugh on that last one. "Force someone to perform oral sex…what idiot bought into that bullshit?" he mutters softly, mostly to himself.

  "All right, I'll send these on over to Mr. Rhodes and email you his address. You'll need to come by here beforehand and get a check to pay his fee. That way he's working for the firm and not you, assuring the results are protected in case you don't pass."

  "Right," he grunts before hanging up on me.

  After putting in the urgent check request with our bookkeeper, the rest of the morning I busy myself with formulating questions for other witnesses. After lunch I get a surprise about as shocking as my father apologizing. Elliott apologizing. Of course he doesn't say the actual words, but instead sends a humongous vase of flowers with a note that says simply, "Hope to see you soon, so we can move past this misunderstanding." That was as close as I'll ever get to an apology from the stubborn man.

  A giggle slips past my lips remembering everything Jax said to him on the phone. I would've paid good money just to see Elliott's reaction in person. Jackson has a way with words, and a way of getting everyone's attention right away. The fact that my father and Elliott, two of the most bullheaded, untouchable men I know, fear Jackson Malone is gratifying to say the least.

  Even after receiving the peace offering, I don't call Elliott. I'm starting to look at my life a little differently, and that means his place in it, too. Was I really willing to spend the remainder of my days on this Earth tied to that arrogant, self-important man?

  For so long I've been told it's what I needed to do. Should do. That it's a great opportunity, and one day I might be the freaking First Lady. But what about what I want for myself? I don't yet know what that is, but I'm starting to think that whatever it turns out to be, it won't be a loveless marriage like the one my parents endure.

  It's easy to pinpoint the cause of my sudden contemplation. I'm developing a horrible, probably incurable, case of hero worship for the one man I never imagined would come to my rescue, and who also happens to be the one man I absolutely can't have.

  …

  I've chewed off every single one of my perfectly shaped, manicured fingernails by closing time Thursday. No call from Jax yet, but I don't know how long those tests take. It's been an hour and a half, so I figured he'd be done by now. He didn't even stop in to say hello when he picked up the check before his appointment.

  Ready to call the work day good, I turn off my computer and grab my phone and purse. Then it hits me. Jax doesn't have my cell phone number. Son of a...beach. Saving his number in my phone, I decide to send him a text, just a quick note to call me either way. Busy typing on my phone I step off the elevator and out the front door heading toward my car.

  "Page."

  "Sheesh! You scared the heebie-jeebies out of me!" I exclaim to Elliot, clutching the phone to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out onto the sidewalk.

  "Get a grip, Page. And when the hell are you going to stop using toddler phrases and speak like an adult?" he asks.

  It still amazes me that God would go to such trouble creating an exterior masterpiece, and then hand the man's soul over to the devil. Or maybe he traded his soul for all his millions.

  Elliot's gray designer suit fits his impressive frame perfectly, and his ridiculous four hundred dollar politician haircut has his thick brown hair sweeping to the right in the exact formation of his many right-wing supporters, my dad making the top of the list.

  "Oh, crap. I must have missed that adult speaking course in college. What was it, Proper Procedures in Profanity 101? Maybe there's a Potty Mouth for Dummies I can order from Amazon to catch up."

  "What the fuck is the attitude about?" he asks, rocking back on his expensive heels with his hands casually in his pockets.

  "Hold on, let me take notes," I say, pretending to type on my phone. "What the...was that f-u-c-k? I want to make sure I get this right. Here, let me practice using it in a sentence. What the fuck do you want?"

  Elliot scoffs indignantly. "You're not going to thank me for the flowers?"

  "Sure I will, as soon as you actually apologize. Go ahead, let's hear yours first."

  "Jackson Malone is a bad influence on you."

  A bark of laughter escapes before I can even try and hold it back. "And exactly how well do you know Jackson Malone?" I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest. His quick judgment pisses me off, even if I had done the exact same thing.

  "I know he's an out of control meathead, and he's going to get what he deserves."

  "You don't know anything about him! You're just jealous b
ecause he's the epitome of virile, and pissed that he was able to cut you, Mr. High and Mighty, down in a few sentences," I counter, walking past him.

  "Where are you going? I came to take you to dinner."

  "I'm not hungry," I mutter over my shoulder.

  "Well, I am," he says, grabbing my arm to stop me. "Come on, Page. I've missed you. Let me take care of you tonight."

  Oh crap. He's looking at me with those sad, denim blue, puppy dog eyes. The look he pulls out right before he gets all charming and I can't help but give in every single freaking time. He's a good looking bastard and he knows it.

  What was the old saying? If you can't screw the man you want, screw the one you're with? Tonight I need the reminder that my thoughts about Jackson Malone are stupid and pointless, because he's definitely off limits. Maybe Elliot can help me accomplish that.

  Chapter Seven

  Jax

  I watch Page hesitate on the sidewalk, but I already know the asshole isn't going to take no for an answer. I had overhead their entire conversation from the shadows of the parking garage, and barely held back my laugh at Page's cattiness. I had no idea the woman had it in her, so maybe it was my bad influence.

  I'd been here for ten minutes before she walked out, debating whether or not to go inside. I had the polygraph report in my pocket, but for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to show it to her. I wanted her to believe me without a fucking piece of paper to back it up.

  "Fine, but just dinner," Page finally responds to the jerk. I admit that I'm shocked when she actually caves after how shitty he treated her yesterday. Why does she put up with this hateful fucker?

  "You say that now," the asshole says, taking a step closer to her and reaching for her jaw. "But you know after a few glasses of wine you'll change your mind and want…dessert."