Chapter 21 Rome
ROME
Are we acting like everything is normal or talking about the sex tape?
It’s. Not. Me.
No shit. Our tattoo artist is better than the AI shit on this dude.
—Text from Ryker to Rome
Sundays might be my sacred day, but one of the things I’ve learned since Dillan moved in with me is Mondays are her Sundays.
She was up late again last night, locked in the office, working on whatever it is she’s doing but doesn’t want to talk about.
At least not with me. But last night when she came to bed, sometime around three a.m., she didn’t put the useless pillows between us.
It was a small victory, but I’ll take it. A win’s a win.
An hour later, she’d tossed and turned her way right into my arms, and damn if that didn’t make it hard for me to get out of bed this morning.
I skipped my run and stayed there, holding her as long as I could.
Until I knew I was pushing it and had to shower so I wasn’t doing today’s press conference looking like the dog shit I already feel like.
Now, with gentle fingers I brush her hair from her face and drop a kiss to her temple, needing to get to the gym to handle this.
“Rome,” she murmurs. “What time is the press conference? I’ll come with you.”
“Not today, stellina. Sleep. I’ll be back later,” I whisper before quietly closing the door and heading for Crucible.
Time to get this shit taken care of.
Three hours later, I’m sitting in the middle of a long table set up on the closed gym floor, a black tablecloth covering it, with a hunter green Crucible MMA Gym logo emblazoned on it.
Hudson, Killian, Killian’s dad, and my uncle Cade, the original MMA champion and owner of Crucible, all stand behind me while Liv sits beside me.
My parents are here, next to the rest of my family in the front room. They’re all supporting me among a room full of vultures. Liv and Hudson pulled this together overnight, closing the gym to give us privacy for the press conference.
One I still can’t believe I’m having.
I fucked off a lot in the early years of my career.
Drinking, women, the occasional prohibited substance, and yet none of that has ever come back to bite me in the fucking ass the way this sex tape has, and it isn’t even me.
Maybe I’d be way less pissed at the entire fucking world if it was.
At least then I’d have earned this bullshit.
Liv stands, moving to the microphone at the end of the table, wearing another expensive fitted black suit. Today’s shoes are dark purple, and the heels look sharp as hell—another pair of weapons disguised as shoes.
Livvy doesn’t need shoes as weapons. When you’re as smart and good at your job as she is, you only need words.
People underestimate her all the time because she’s young and hot.
Not that I think she’s hot because what the fuck, she’s my cousin, but men and women have been drooling over her for years.
What none of them have bothered to learn is she’s an actual genius with a Mensa IQ and photographic memory.
I’d pick her in a battle of intellects every single time.
Would I want her to be the person giving someone the warm and fuzzies?
Fuck no. Warm and fuzzy, she fails at, but I don’t need warm and fuzzy. I need a shark.
I sit back, letting her speak without saying a word.
I don’t flinch.
I don’t move.
That’s my job until the questions start.
We went over this earlier.
She basically threatened me if I reacted to anything that was said. Emotionless. That was Liv’s order, and apparently, I’m taking orders.
So I sit and wait until Liv turns my way once she’s done, winks so only my team and I can see it, then sits down, so prim, prissy, and self-satisfied with the job she’s done, I don’t bother fighting the quick grin that tugs my lips as the shouting begins.
“Rome— Rome— Titan—” the voices all call out at once from every direction in the crowd.
I don’t answer any.
Not right away.
We discussed this too.
Prepped for it.
I was given instructions for this too because Liv thought of it all.
I wait for the voice I know.
The one who’s agreed to ask a specific question in return for an exclusive after my fight takes place. The sports editor at The Philly Press.
“Rome—” His voice is finally heard above everyone else’s, and I nod my head at him. The old man’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows narrow as he holds out his phone, no doubt recording this. “What’s your take on this, Titan? Do you have any idea why you’re being targeted?”
And there it is.
According to Liv, that’s the magic phrase we needed everyone to hear.
Why you’re being targeted.
“My take . . . ?” I repeat. “I think this is someone searching for their chance to get ten minutes of fame, and they’re using my name to do it.
I think someone’s going to take credit soon enough, and their name will be splashed everywhere.
I’m not sure what that gets them or how that helps them.
All I know is that man in the video isn’t me. ”
“Next question,” Liv announces, making sure I don’t say more than I’ve been instructed to.
She was very specific this morning during the prep.
Answer the question. Move the fuck on. Don’t give more than I’m supposed to.
Don’t get mad. Don’t give them any kind of catchy headline.
Stay on point—that man in the video isn’t me.
She would have been an incredible trial lawyer had she decided to go that route after law school instead of becoming an agent.
The shouting starts again, and I’m left feeling more like a monkey at the damn zoo than a fighter missing half a day of training for this shit show. A half a day I don’t want to miss.
“Who is it?” someone else calls out, and I shrug my shoulders like I don’t have a care in the world. It’s all bullshit. With every word, the anger grows. Fuels me.
I need to fucking hit something.
I need to spar.
I need everyone to get out of here so we can go back to work.
Back to the one thing I’m good at.
“Not a clue,” I answer. “I just know it’s not me.”
“And what about your girlfriend?” a young woman who looks younger than me asks, and I sit up straighter. Liv warned me that Dillan would be brought up. She said there was no way to avoid it. But I was hoping she’d be wrong.
I knew she wouldn’t be, but still . . . I was glad Dillan was asleep when I left. I didn’t want her here for this. Didn’t want to put her through it. I’ve already forced this on her, and now that I know what I know, I fucking hate myself for it.
“What about her?” I ask as unaffected as I can pull off while my blood boils in my veins. The psychopath Dillan likes to tease me about sitting right there under the surface, ready to explode.
“What does she think about it all?” the reporter asks.
Stay calm, Liv had warned. She knew it would be hard. Calm . . . “She knows the truth. Knows it isn’t me.” I look around at the reporters, ending this line of questions. “Next question.”
The voices all blend, and I look at Liv as my patience splinters, needing her to wrap this shit up.
I’m a fighter, not a dog on a fucking leash.
“Why isn’t she here today, Titan?” calls out a middle-aged guy with a pot belly in a short-sleeve blue striped shirt and a crooked red tie.
“Where’s Dillan Ryan?” he yells because apparently, he’s too stupid to take the hint.
Dumb fuck. “Are we supposed to believe she’s okay with you having a sex tape?
Wouldn’t she be here if she believed you?
Is she the woman in the tape? Is this her way of finally eclipsing her sister’s fame? Is she behind it?”
Red-hot rage blurs my vision like never before at the sound of Dillan’s name on this asshole’s lips, and I slam my hands down.
The table cracks under my palms as I push to my feet, muscles tight and primed. “Keep my woman’s name out of your mouth or you’ll never take another drink without a fucking straw.”
Chaos erupts.
Cameras flash.
Reporters all speak at once, yelling over each other to be heard until you can’t understand a thing any of them say.
I jump over the table before Hudson can stop me.
One thing in my sight.
This piece of fucking shit.
Killian appears in front of me before I get to my target.
His arms band around my chest. “Stop, man. You gotta stop.”
I shove him back, but he refuses to move. “I’m not letting you do this,” he forces out through gritted teeth, holding me back with every ounce of strength he can. “You’ll lose it all. You’ll lose her.”
And those words. Fuck. They ring truer than he knows.
I already lost her once. I won’t do it again.
“That’s a wrap, everyone,” Liv calls out as she moves around Killian and me. “Get him out of here.” Her eyes snap to mine. “Now.”
Dillan
Cassia falls to her knees, a scream wrenched from the darkest part of her soul. This can’t be the end. Gods, don’t let this be the end. Not when they’ve come so close . . . No—
My phone vibrates again for what has to be the tenth time in as few minutes.
Ahhh . . .
I always silence my phone while I’m writing.
I basically live with it in focus mode. But I’ve got it set so my family’s texts still come through, just in case it’s important.
Today, I’m regretting that choice because my phone won’t stop blowing up, and all I want to do is finish this chapter before I check my messages.
But apparently, the universe has other plans.
Cassia might not be the only one in this room screaming in a minute.
Being in the middle of a difficult scene and being interrupted is worse than losing an orgasm. An orgasm you can find again with a good vibrator, but my muse is a sneaky little bitch who likes to play hide and seek for hours at a time.
Fuck this.
I flip my phone over and stare at the ridiculously high number of missed messages. What the hell?
Lilah
Hey, little sister. Do you want me to go to the press conference today?
Okay, what’s with the radio silence?