Pushing the Limits (14 page)

His shoulders fell and he stared at the ground. “The fighting world is not for the weak of heart. I think you need to either
grow a tougher skin or find a new career.”

“Joe . . .”

“'Bye, Colby,” he said, walking away.

She sighed as she watched him struggle to climb into his truck with his injured leg and then drive off.

Damn. These guys were so desperate to fight, to make a living, they weren't willing to do what was right. She understood their hesitancy, but they had to see how dangerous this could be.

But if they didn't care, why the hell was she putting so much on the line?

* * *

“You're up,” Ella said next to her, breaking Colby out of her troubled thoughts an hour later.

Grabbing her round number two card, she tossed the silk blanket aside and climbed the stairs to the cage. Raising the number, she tried—as always—to look above the heads in the crowd and count to ten silently as she made her way around, but a “Colby, is that you?” from a seat too close to the cage made her break her rule and glance down.

Her fake smile slipped as she saw her brother Doug sitting with a group of his friends in the second row. His expression was a confused battle between shock and embarrassment as his buddies grinned and made snide remarks.

Oh, shit.

She pasted the smile back in place, and shot him a we-will-talk-later-tell-anyone-and-I'll-murder-you look as she picked up her pace around the octagon, then climbed down.

She felt his gaze burning a hole into the back of her head the rest of the fight as she tried to come up with an excuse to give him.

She had nothing.

He was waiting for her at the back of the event center as soon as the fight ended. He didn't look at her as he removed his hoodie and handed it to her. “Please put this on. I've already seen too much of my big sister. And so has everyone else,” he mumbled.

She grabbed it and pulled it down over her head. “Doug, it's not what it looks like.”

“It looks like you're parading yourself around up there.”

Okay, so maybe it was what it looked like, but he didn't get it. And how was she supposed to tell him? She pulled him aside, away from the rush of the crowd leaving the event center. “Look, I'm on a story,” she whispered.

“About what? The degradation of women?”

“Hey! You were about to ogle me like everyone else until you realized I was your sister.”

He looked ill. “I threw up a little in my mouth,” he admitted.

“Look, I'm undercover to find out what happens behind the scenes in these organizations, but you have to keep your mouth shut. You cannot tell anyone I'm doing this. Especially not Mom and Dad . . . or Dane.”

His eyes narrowed. “Okay, I get Mom and Dad, but Dane already knows or
thinks
you are a ring girl, remember? We all thought he was fucking with us that night at dinner. Turns out you've been living a double life.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're being dramatic. Reporters do this all the time.” She bit her lip. “And you can't tell Dane, because . . .”

He folded his arms across his MFL “Tapout or Break” T-shirt. “He's part of your story?”

“Sort of . . . Look, I'm onto something big, and I need you to keep quiet for a few more weeks. Please,” she begged, hating that she was giving her brother the upper hand on anything. He would hold this over her head forever. “Please, Doug.”

He sighed. “I like Dane. He's a good guy.”

She sighed. She knew Dane was a good guy. The best guy, even. But this story was important. Even more so than she'd realized at first. “I know, but this is important.” Important enough to lose the only man she loved?

He nodded. “Fine. I won't say anything. But you need to be honest with him. He deserves to know he's been played.”

“That's not . . .” She started to argue, then stopped. At first she had been using him. But it wasn't like that now, was it? “I will. Soon, I promise.”

Doug shook his head. “It's too bad. I hope he'll still want to hang out with us.”

Her heart sank. “You mean when he dumps me?”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

* * *

“Hey, everything okay?” Dane asked, sliding his arms around Colby's waist as she stood on his balcony the next evening.

Covering his hands with hers, she leaned her head back against his chest, loving the feeling of being in his arms. Too much. So much that it was going to hurt like hell when she told him the truth and he let her go. “Yeah, everything's fine,” she lied, hoping she was at least convincing him. The night before, after her conversation with Joe Sapiro, she'd wanted to climb into her car and drive away, never giving Xtreme Fight or Cameron Bennett another thought. But she'd been working her butt off for years for an opportunity to tell an important story like this—one that could help people, possibly even save a life. She couldn't quit now.

He brushed her hair off of one shoulder and kissed her warm skin. His lips felt cool and soft, but the effect caused heat to rush through her. “Are you sure?” he whispered against her neck at the base of her ear.

She sighed, not wanting to talk, but knowing she wouldn't be able to enjoy their time together if she didn't tell him what was on her mind. Or part of it, anyway. Turning, she wrapped her arms around his waist, letting her hands slide beneath his T-shirt. “It's just last night . . . at the fights . . .”

She felt his body stiffen at the mention of her job, of the Xtreme Fight League, but she continued. “I overheard one of the fighters—Joe Sapiro—talking to Cameron Bennett. More like a yelling match, actually. Bennett's making him fight next week even though he's injured. Without medical clearance. Bennett says if Joe doesn't fight, he's canceling his contract,” she said.

Dane's expression clouded and his jaw visibly clenched. Even his hold on her tightened.

She cleared her throat. “I talked to Joe and he said it happens all the time. He's going through with the fight.”

Dane nodded as though he expected as much. Stepping back, he sat in the chair, and taking her hand, he pulled her onto his lap. “Joe's right. It does happen all the time,” he said slowly.

She waited for him to continue, taking his hand in hers.

“The truth is, Marco Consuelos was fighting injured that night,” he said quietly, his gaze on their intertwined fingers.

Her heart raced. Here was the information she'd been waiting for. “What was wrong with him?”

“He'd just been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Cancer.”

Oh, no. She squeezed his hand.

“And everyone at Xtreme Fight knew it,” he continued. He gently traced the veins on her hand with his other forefinger. “He told them and he begged for a few months away from his contract, but . . .”

“They made him fight anyway?” A torn ligament was one thing. Still awful, but not deadly. This was going too far. Her desire to shut the organization down increased with each new confirmation of her initial suspicions.

Dane shook his head. “No. Bennett told him he was done permanently. But he begged them to let him fight as planned, knowing it could be his last opportunity. His son needed heart surgery and they needed the payout from a fight.”

Her heart ached for the Consuelos family. The man had fought to help his son and had died in the process. No sacrifice was too great for the sake of one's children, she thought sadly.

“The thing is, I knew too,” he said, his voice sounding faraway, distant, pained.

Her stomach churned but she squeezed his hand.

“We had a plan. I needed the money. He needed the money. But we only needed to make it past the first round for a full payout. Ten grand for the winner. Four for the loser.”

She nodded as she waited for him to continue, afraid to speak, afraid he'd stop talking.

“He was supposed to win that fight.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “We set the whole thing up. We danced around each other for three minutes . . . the crowd started to boo, the ref told us to pick up the pace, so we threw a few jabs, barely making the fight look legit, and I never landed a shot to his head. Then at the beginning of the second round, I was to deliver an attempt at a head-kick, which he was going to counter with a takedown, and then win the fight on the mat with a submission.”

“What went wrong?” she whispered.

His gaze was locked on hers as he shrugged. “I don't know. I threw the right kick slowly, he knew it was coming . . . I mean, his eyes were on me and he nodded . . . he was ready . . . then nothing. No takedown attempt. The kick connected, and even though it wasn't at one hundred percent, he went down . . . and didn't come back up,” he said, his voice breaking.

She closed her eyes as she gathered his head into her chest. His shoulders heaved and a sob escaped him.

Tears brimmed in her own eyes and her heart ached for him, ached for Marco and his family, and all the other fighters who found themselves in this situation—forced to risk their health for needed money.

They sat in silence for a long time, holding each other, until finally she shifted on the seat, straddling him as she took his face in her hands and forced his gaze to meet hers. “You were trying to help him and his family. You can't keep torturing yourself with this blame and guilt,” she said, kissing his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks . . . “If you had canceled on the fight that night, someone else would have taken your place.”

“But it wasn't someone else. It was me,” he said.

She had no idea what to say, no idea how to take away the pain she saw in his expression. She'd been planning on telling him the truth that evening, but she couldn't cause him any more heartache. Now was not the right time. So, she kissed him gently, holding his face between her hands, hoping he could take some comfort in her support, her presence, her need to rescue him.

His hands on her hips, he drew her closer, his mouth crushing hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his as her tongue slid along his lower lip. He caught hers with his teeth and bit gently.

She felt him harden under her, between her legs, as his tongue explored her mouth and his fingers dug into her hips. She rocked them slowly, pressing herself into him, feeling her sex grow slick with moisture.

He moaned as his hands slid up beneath her tank top and around her back, unclasping her bra. Cupping both breasts, he massaged them, letting his thumbs drag across the nipples until they hardened in tight, aching buds. “Dane,” she whispered, breaking free of his mouth to catch her breath.

His mouth was on her neck, biting gently and sucking on her flesh.

Her hips rocked faster as his hands became rougher on her breasts, his fingers pinching the nipples until the pleasure mixed with pain.

Reaching for the buttons on his jeans, she undid them and yanked down the zipper, sliding her hand beneath the fabric of his underwear. When she wrapped her hand around his hard, thick cock he moaned again. “Colby . . .”

She pumped her hand along the shaft, slowly at first, then picking up speed, feeling the pre-cum drip onto her hand.

Picking up her body, he turned her around so that she sat on his lap with her back to him. Again he started massaging her breasts as he pulled her back against his chest and he slid a hand inside her jeans and underwear. She opened her legs wide and lifted her hips to allow him access to her wetness. He kissed her neck as he slid two fingers inside and she moaned his name.

With his other hand, he continued to jerk himself off while his fingers plunged in and out of her and his thumb caressed her clit.

Behind her his labored breathing fell into a rhythm with hers as another finger went inside and she felt his pace quicken on his cock pressed up against her back. “You're so fucking wet, it's driving me crazy,” he murmured, his fingers inside of her moving faster, bringing her near her breaking point.

“Dane, I'm going to come . . .” She closed her eyes and arched her back as ripples of pleasure shot through her, making her legs shake and her body tremble.

His pace on himself quickened even more and he rested his head against the back of her neck as he exploded with his own release a second later. “Colby,” he groaned, as his body went limp beneath her.

She eased his hand out of her pants and wrapped his arms around her as she leaned back against him and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. He kissed her cheek and held her tight.

“Every day you save me a little bit more,” he whispered.

Her chest tightened as his lips caressed the hollow at the base of her neck. If he only knew . . .

Colby suppressed a yawn as she accepted their lattes from the barista and joined Kate at their usual table, her tired eyes hidden behind her designer shades.

Her friend had taken a much-needed week off and had agreed to meet with her that morning to talk about Marco Consuelos and the night he died. After Dane's revelation about the man's condition going into the fight, she was desperate to know what happened at the hospital. There had been no statements released about Marco's recent diagnosis, and the official cause of death had been reported as a direct result of the head-kick.

Something didn't line up, and she hoped her friend could help her put the pieces together. But unaccountably Kate looked uncomfortable. As a nurse, her friend had to deal with situations like this all the time. Colby wondered why this particular death was something she didn't want to discuss. Maybe because she worked with the victim's wife . . . it was closer to home? “Ready?” she asked, watching her friend bring her coffee cup to her lips, but then lower it again without drinking.

“Yeah . . . go ahead,” Kate said, setting the cup down.

“Okay, so just relax and tell me whatever you remember about that night,” Colby said, hitting record on her cell phone.

Her friend hesitated. “Honestly, it was all such a blur and it was almost a year ago.”

Colby gave her friend a reassuring smile. “Anything you remember.”

Kate released a deep breath. “Okay. Well, it was actually one of those rare quiet nights. I think we had only two real emergencies during my shift.”

Colby nodded and waited.

“Eva had been in a terrible mood all shift, worrying about him. It was as if she knew something terrible was about to happen, you know . . .”

That's because she'd had every reason to think that, Colby thought.

“She was so stressed, one of the doctors suggested she go home early and just stay on call in case we needed her. That was around nine thirty . . .” Her voice trailed. “By the time she changed out of her scrubs, the ambulance arrived and they wheeled Marco in.” A look of distress etched across her face at the memory. “Eva was hysterical. We all knew right away there was nothing we could do for him. The ambulance attendant had called T.O.D. at nine forty-three on the way to the
hospital.” She was quiet for a long moment and Colby waited. “It was so heartbreaking . . . Eva clung to him, refusing to let go.” She wiped her eyes and sighed. “Some days the job really sucks. Most days, actually.”

She nodded her sympathy, feeling terrible for her friend and also slightly annoyed at herself for insisting on this conversation. But, she had to know the rest. “What happened next? An autopsy?” Surely that was the standard protocol and no doubt they would have discovered the tumor.

Kate nodded. “Yeah . . .” She hesitated.

“What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It was just . . .”

Colby leaned forward.

“I'm not sure the results of the autopsy were ever revealed. The cause of death on his file was the head-kick resulting in brain trauma leading to death,” she said. “I guess they didn't need to report anything else.”

Her mouth gaped. They certainly did. Obviously, for some reason, they'd kept Consuelos's previous condition unrevealed. Making the cause of death the kick. Dane's fault. She clamped her lips together as she shut off the recorder. “Thank you. This helps a lot,” she said, even though the talk with her friend had only raised more questions than it had answered.

Kate nodded. “No problem. Sorry I couldn't be more help.” She paused. “Eva has been through so much. First, her son needing heart surgery, then losing her husband . . .” She shook her head. “I don't know how she stays so strong.”

Colby nodded. “How is the little boy now?” If Marco had technically lost the fight that night, the family would have only received the minimum payout for his sacrifice. Had that been enough to help pay the boy's medical bills?

But Kate was smiling for the first time. “He's doing great. He had surgery three weeks after Marco's death. It was a miracle that Eva had been able to afford the surgery, but somehow she did. I guess a mother would do anything to protect or save her child.”

“Yeah. No doubt they would,” she mumbled, her mind reeling. How had Eva afforded the surgery?

Kate picked up her coffee and sat back in the chair. “All I know is I'm grateful that somehow it worked out for her little boy, Josh, at least. I don't think she would have survived losing her husband
and
her son.”

* * *

Colby double-checked the address before knocking on Eva Consuelos's door the next day. Her heart raced as she waited,
but Dane's revelation about the fight and her talk with Kate propelled her actions. Since her husband's last fight, Eva and her Fighting Kills organization had been vocal about the dangers of MMA. She'd publicly claimed she could never forgive Dane for killing her husband, and Colby needed to talk to the woman. She had to have known about her husband's condition, and yet she continued a crusade against the sport.

Colby didn't disagree that the sport could be dangerous. Nor did she disagree that the unsanctioned, illegal, underground fights needed to be stopped. But she did need to find out if Eva knew about her husband's preexisting condition, and the fact that his condition when he'd knowingly stepped into the cage that night was more likely what had ended his life.

She leaned closer and glanced through the frosted window of the door, then, hearing footsteps, she stood back and straightened her suit jacket.

The inside door opened, but the screen door stayed shut. “Can I help you?” Eva asked, looking as though she'd just woken up.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon, but she had wanted to make sure not to wake her in case she'd worked the night shift. “Um, hi . . . Mrs. Consuelos? My name is Colby Edwards. I'm a reporter from Knock Out Sports.”

The woman folded her arms across her chest, keeping the screen door closed. “What do you want?”

“I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of questions . . .” She hesitated. “About the fight on November twentieth.” She couldn't bring herself to reference the fight any other way.

Eva's eyes clouded as she shook her head and reached for the door. “I already gave more than enough interviews last year.”

“Please wait!”

The woman paused.

“I'm actually writing a story that might interest your cause. It's about the dangers of some of these fighting organizations.”

“You mean
all
fighting organizations,” she said.

She wasn't prepared to go that far with her statement. The MFL protected their athletes better than a lot of other professional sport organizations, but she desperately wanted a few minutes of the woman's time, so she simply nodded and continued quickly. “I have reason to suspect some organizations are allowing fighters to compete injured, against doctor's notes, and in some cases are pushing the fighters to fulfill their contract obligations with no regard for their safety.”

She frowned, but she did open the door a little wider. “So your goal is to try to shut down these organizations?”

“Not all. As you know, that would be almost impossible, and I do feel there are legitimate organizations out there . . .”

The door started to close again.

“But,” she said quickly, “organizations such as Xtreme Fight? Definitely. The public needs to be aware of what they are doing, the rules they're breaking. I'm hoping to shed light on that organization in particular.”

Eva hesitated. “Fine. I'll give you ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

As the woman moved away from the door and Colby entered, she saw that she was wearing her nurse's uniform under her cardigan.

“All I have is coffee,” Eva said, leading the way into the living room.

“No, thank you, I'm okay.” She'd already consumed a pot and a half trying to summon the courage to visit the woman. She was once again starting to appreciate the on-air position she'd held in Seattle.

“Well, I'm dead on my feet, so I need some. Give me a sec.”

“Take your time,” Colby said, scanning the home. Small but cozy and warm with maple-colored hardwood flooring throughout and rounded archways leading into the living room and the kitchen a few feet down the hall. From where she stood, she could see two bedrooms and a bathroom, and with the doors open, it was easy to spot which room must belong to her son. It was painted a dark royal blue with Avenger and Ninja Turtle posters visible on the wall, a ball and baseball bat spilling out into the hallway.

She walked into the living room and scanned the family pictures on the wall. Images of the three of them at the park, on vacation in Disneyland, the Grand Canyon. She leaned closer, studying a picture of Marco. He had such a nice smile. It was almost as though she could feel his warmth coming through the photo.

A shiver ran through her and she turned away.

A cell phone rang in the kitchen, and Eva popped her head in. “That's the hospital. I have to answer it. Just another minute,” she said.

“Of course,” Colby said, sitting on the sofa to wait. Noticing a stack of mail on the table next to her, she bit her lip, resisting the urge to look.

She didn't have to. Sitting right on top was a life insurance claim letter, and her eyes scanned it too quickly before she could look away.

Marco's life insurance policy. They were paying Eva the full amount of the claim. She frowned. Obviously, the company hadn't been updated about Marco's cancer diagnosis.

And he'd died so soon after the tumor was discovered he wouldn't have had time to have a new medical exam. She suspected the family had already been paying high premiums for the coverage, given his chosen profession, so she was happy the claim hadn't been denied, but it also explained a lot.

Of course Eva was going to continue to blame the fight and Dane. She couldn't tell the truth—that her husband's preexisting condition had caused his death—or else the payouts from the insurance company would stop.

Hearing her on the phone, Colby stood and paced the living room. She'd already gotten the answers she'd come in search of.

An envelope with a familiar logo on the corner caught her eye under the stack of mail and she moved closer. She'd recognize her father's company logo anywhere. Sliding it carefully out of the pile, she saw that there was no mailing info on the envelope. Not even a name . . . just hundreds of dollars in cash inside.

The floor felt a little unsteady under her feet. Dane. He was giving the family money.

Hearing Eva's slippers approaching on the hardwood floor, she quickly tucked the envelope back as the woman entered, coffee in hand. “Sorry about that,” Eva said.

“Oh, it's fine. Um . . . Actually, you know, I know you're busy and I don't think any of my questions are anything you haven't answered before, so I should go.”

Eva frowned, casting a quick glance toward the mail on the table and then back at her. Her expression changed and her shoulders slumped. “I begged Marco not to take the fight,” she said softly. “We fought about it for a week, every day. Josh was so upset hearing us fight all the time. He didn't know . . .” She paused. “He didn't know that Marco had been diagnosed with the tumor. All he knew was that I didn't want him to fight.”

“Mrs. Consuelos . . .”

She shook her head. “Please let me finish.” She took a breath, clutching her coffee cup with both hands. “We needed the money for Josh's surgery, and he did what any desperate father or mother would do,” she said pointedly, her gaze landing on the insurance papers.

“I understand . . . And believe me, I sympathize with you and your family. You've been through a lot,” Colby said. “But if you know your husband's death was only partially the organization's fault, why are you advocating so hard for all organizations to be shut down? And why continue to blame Dane Hardy?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No matter what other circumstances were at play, that kick killed him.”

Colby sighed. “And that's the story you need to stick to for your insurance claim,” she said.

She folded her arms across her chest. “It's the truth.”

Colby glanced at the envelope of money again and resisted the urge to say any more. If this woman continued to blame Dane despite knowing the truth, despite the fact that he was providing additional financial support to the family, there was nothing she could say to change that. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Consuelos. I'm sorry for your loss,” she said, moving past her and not stopping until she'd reached her vehicle.

Inside the car, she rested her head against the steering wheel.

What the hell did she do now?

* * *

“Statewide Claims, how may I help you today?”

Colby glanced around the office. Everyone had already called it a day. She was alone in her cubicle. “Hi. I have a question about your life insurance policies.”

“I can help you with that. Do you have an existing policy with us?”

“No.”

“Can I start with your name, please?”

She hesitated. “Actually, I just have a couple of questions for now.”

“Okay. I'll try to help.”

“I noticed online that your policies don't cover anyone with preexisting medical conditions.”

“Unfortunately, no. There are policies available, but the coverage is not as extensive and the premiums are quite high. Not everyone qualifies.”

“What if the person already had coverage and later found out they had a life-threatening illness?”

“The premiums go up and usually the amount of coverage reduces each year as well. Sometimes continued coverage is denied, I'm afraid.”

“What happens if the person dies of something else, say a car accident that had nothing to do with their condition?” she asked.