Caged (The Defiant Kings Book 1)
Caged: Chapter 11

“Take me home, King.” Those words send a jolt through my body and straight to my dick, whether she meant them that way or not.

Maddie crosses her smooth stocking-covered legs and leans her head back against the seat, then pulls her phone from her bag to show me a picture Daphne just sent of my newest niece. She’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the woman sitting next to me.

“Wanna tell me what happened between you and Dixon?” She doesn’t answer. Just shakes her head no.

Okay then.

“Did you get to train tonight, or did you skip it and come right to the hospital?” Really? She’s going to make small talk?

I’ll humor her for now. “I finished the session. We go light tomorrow, then I cut any remaining weight on Thursday. Weigh-ins happen Friday afternoon.”

“Are you ready?” Her look of concern catches me off guard.

“Yeah, sunshine. I’m good. Just a few more pounds to cut, and everything’s done.” I train hard all year long, so these weeks are only a little longer than normal for me.

Her stare is almost unnerving as we turn on to the back roads of Kroydon Hills. “Hud . . . how did you get into MMA? I mean, you’re a Kingston. How in the world did you end up fighting in a cage for a living?”

And there it is.

There’s my in.

The in I’ve been waiting for. “I’ll make you a deal. A question for a question.”

“What?” The word is clipped as she shuts down, but I refuse to let that happen.

“For every question you ask, I get to ask you one too.” This might be my first real chance to force my way past some of her walls. “I won’t push. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.”

She plays with the hem of her dark gray dress before agreeing. “Fine,” she huffs. “But I’m not answering any questions until we’re in your house. I don’t want to feel like I’m trapped in this car.”

“No problem. What’s your first question?” I volley back to her.

I quickly look her way and see a frustrated expression tightening her face. “I already asked it. How did you end up being a professional MMA fighter? Why that instead of the family business?”

“Short answer first . . . I hated school,” I tell her honestly.

“What?” she asks.

“I hated school. It was never easy for me, and I was never as good as Sawyer or Lenny. My parents didn’t figure out I was dyslexic until I was in sixth grade, and by then, I’m pretty sure they thought it was ADD. Instead of medicating me, Lenny’s mom signed me up for karate. She thought it might help me focus.”

“Why Lenny’s mom?”

“Once my mom divorced Dad, she checked out. She collected her check every month from different European countries. Sawyer and I barely ever saw her while we were growing up. Len and Jace’s mom was way more of a mother to us than ours ever was.” My mom was wife number two of four. Dad didn’t even marry Amelia’s mom.

“Okay, so twelve-year-old Hudson starts karate, then what?” She smiles at me while we’re stopped at a red light. Damn, that smile. Her dimples sit deep in her cheeks, and my chest expands. Men have died protecting less than what she’s giving me right now.

Because this . . . this is the real Maddie.

“Basically, I loved it. I begged Kristen—that’s Lenny and Jace’s mom—I begged her to let me take judo, too, because the owner’s son was teaching it, and he seemed larger than life. And if you ever tell Cade I said that about him, I’ll deny it.” It’s true though. Little did I know he was also banging my sister Scarlet on the side.

“Anyway, I loved it,” I tell her, then I go deeper. “And I was good at it. Those classes made you think, but in a different way than in school. When I was on that mat, and eventually in that cage, it didn’t matter what my last name was or how I scored on a math test. No one was telling me how special I was because of who my dad was. They weren’t comparing me to my brothers and sister. I had to earn my place, and it felt fucking fantastic.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” she whispers.

“Which aspect?” I ask because I want to know what makes this woman tick.

“The expectations. I don’t remember a time growing up when anyone ever had any expectations of me.” As if she realizes what she just said, Maddie clears her throat and straightens. “Okay, so little Hudson liked the classes, but how did that translate to this career?”

“Little Hudson,” I laugh. This woman is going to be the death of me. “Dad hated that I did it. He hated that I was fighting. He couldn’t understand it. But he never got in my way. Even though I’m pretty sure he wished he could. He sent me to train in Brazil the summer after my senior year in high school, and it was incredible. Watching those men. Their work ethic. Their skills. Their love of the sport. That’s when I knew that was what I was going to do. And when I came home, he stopped trying to talk me out of it.”

We pull into my driveway and wait for the garage to open. “I’m telling you, Mads, there’s just something about being in that cage. Once you step foot on those mats, nothing else matters. Not your name or how much money is in your pocket. Not the color of your skin or where you’re from. It’s about how much time you’ve put in. How hard you worked. You decide who you want to be, and ultimately whether you’re going to win the fight.”

Maddie and I both get out of the car and walk into the house. “How exactly do you decide you’re going to win the fight? Wouldn’t both of you think that going into the cage?” She bends down and takes the hospital socks off her feet, giving me an incredible view of her delectable ass.

Fuck me . . . I’m going to hell.

My hands itch to touch.

To taste. To take.

But I don’t.

No matter how fucking badly I want to.

“Hudson?” Oh right. She asked a question.

“I work harder every day, not just for the six weeks leading up to the fight. I will always work harder. I will always be in control.” I follow her like a damn puppy dog when she walks into the kitchen and tosses her dirty socks into my trash can.

She washes her hands, then turns to face me. “Hud, can I use your shower? I feel gross.”

“One question first, sunshine.” She lifts her stubborn chin higher and waits. “Why did you come home with me tonight?”

When Maddie doesn’t answer, I clarify, “Was it really just to avoid your brother?”

The room is silent for one long beat.

Then another before Maddie moves in front of me.

Slowly . . . so fucking slowly, she reaches up and runs her thumb along my jaw.

I’m a strong man, but the strength I have in the cage doesn’t compare to the strength I need right now to control my need to touch this woman. But this show is hers. She’s in control, and I’ll move when she’s ready.

But I don’t think that’s now.

Not yet.

She drops her hand to the front of my hoodie and hooks her fingers inside my pocket, keeping her eyes locked on mine. “No, Hudson.” Maddie’s top teeth dig into her pouty lower lip. “It wasn’t.”

I slowly run my hands up her arms, waiting to see if she flinches or backs away before I gather her face in my hands. “Tell me to stop, Madison.”

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, and I don’t have to be told twice.

I take it slow, going against every instinct I have but unsure of what Maddie needs, and lower my lips to hers as her eyes drift shut. Softly at first. Testing. Teasing. Making sure she’s okay.

I don’t want to scare this beautiful woman in my arms.

She tugs at my sweatshirt, pulling me closer, the electricity between us sparking to life as Maddie lifts up on her toes, and the tension that’s been building finally detonates. I may have only waited three years for this woman . . . for this kiss, but I kiss her with the need of a hundred years.

I slide my hand to the side of her neck and tangle my fingers in her soft hair, while my thumb presses against her wildly thrumming pulse.

She sighs one of her sexy sighs, and the sound washes over me as my brain starts working through all the ways I want to make this woman sigh. Want to make her fucking scream.

I part her lips with mine and slide my tongue inside her hot mouth, deepening the kiss.

Tasting her.

Wanting more.

Her hands move under my shirt and flatten against the skin of my hips.

And I battle the impulse to lift her in my arms and carry her to my bed.

To bury my tongue in her pussy and make her scream until she soaks my face, then flip her over so I can fuck her from behind with that perfect fucking ass in front of me.

I may want this woman more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, but she needs to stay in control.

We need to take this slow, even if the thought makes me break out in fucking hives.

“Sunshine . . .” I pull back, and Maddie opens her bright blue eyes as her chest rises and falls in a heavy rhythm. Her lips are bruised and swollen, and her fingers tremble when she lifts them to her mouth, like she can’t believe what just happened. “Go shower, Maddie. That was only the first question. You owe me more than one.”

Those big blue eyes of hers are heavy-lidded and full of need.

But after a minute, she lowers her hands and fixes my shirt, then finally smiles. “Better make it a good one, King.”

I watch her walk out of the room. My eyes stay locked on her until she’s out of my sight, then I take ten minutes to ice my knee before I set the alarm and follow her up the stairs.

By the time I make my way to my bedroom, the water has turned off in the bathroom, and steam billows through the open crack in the door. Heating my room and my blood. I step into the closet, stripping out of my shirt and throwing it and my sweats into the laundry basket in the corner of the room. Then I grab a pair of knit pajama bottoms and slide them on.

When I step back into the bedroom, I’m greeted by a sight that makes my cock weep.

Maddie is standing next to my bed. Her flawless skin has a warm pink glow from the shower, and her long hair is damp and piled high on top of her head.

I desperately want to run my tongue up the length of her bare neck until she’s squirming. One taste is never going to be enough.

One of the clean Crucible tees from the basket at the foot of my bed is swallowing her, but it fails to hide the bare thighs I want wrapped around me or her hard nipples brushing against the soft fabric. She’s fucking perfect, and I’m fucking screwed.

I run my hand over my face and remind myself of Cade’s rules.

No drama.

No booze.

No women.

Three days left, and I know, without a doubt I’m breaking at least one tonight.

Maddie

I’ve been kissed before.

But I never enjoyed it.

I’ve never been able to get out of my head.

To get comfortable. To feel safe.

It was never anything like that.

I was always aware of the hands on my body.

And not in an oh wow, I want more kind of way.

Never . . . Until tonight.

Until Hudson.

And now, he’s standing in front of me in dark-green pajama bottoms and nothing else. Every inch of the beautifully golden skin of his muscled chest is on display. A gorgeous script stating Only the good die young is inked across his collar bones, with an intricate Celtic warrior band forming the top of a sleeve on his arm. Black bands and more detail cover his skin. All of it tells a story I’m desperate to know.

He moves across the room with a confidence few men own, and it’s intoxicating. Hud hits a button on the fireplace, and the flames crackle to life as he drops down into one of the two chairs in front of it. “Okay, Madison. Your turn.” He pats the seat next to him, and I pad across the room, my toes sinking into the plush, cream carpeting.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, King? You’ve got training tomorrow.” I smile, knowing my diversion tactic isn’t going to work. But it’s worth a try.

He ignores my attempt to stall. “We’re not starting tomorrow until ten. I’ve got time.” His eyes lock on my bare legs when I take the seat next to him and rest my feet on the gray ottoman in front of us. They come to a stop where his big shirt hits the top of my thighs, and his gaze burns my skin with want staring back at me.

“Fine. What’s your question?” I’m expecting him to ask why I don’t like to be touched. He’s done it before, so it would be logical for him to try again. But he doesn’t.

“How did you end up in social-media management?” Hud kicks his feet up next to mine, and gently nudges me with them.

A softball question to start with, huh?

I can handle this one, and I’m guessing he knows that. We’ve always been peripheral friends. We share a circle. But I think we’ve both paid more attention to each other than either of us has been willing to admit. I think he knows me better than I realized.

And I think I like that.

“Brandon was drafted to play for the Kings my senior year in high school. He petitioned the courts and was granted legal guardianship. I was living with him by the time I graduated and had started handling his social-media accounts for him because he hated doing it. When I started Kroydon Hills University in the fall, I was also doing it for a handful of other players too. It evolved from there, but it wasn’t until Daphne started the Start A Revolution Foundation and brought me on board with them and the Revolution that I finally, officially started my own business.” I shrug. “Scarlet asked me to freelance for the Kings last year, and the rest is history.” I cross one foot over the other and turn his way.

“Then why are you still teaching yoga at the gym?” he pushes.

“Why not? I’m young, and I enjoy it. And not all of us were born with savings accounts big enough to buy small island nations, Kingston.” I arch my brow.

“Touché.” He nudges my foot again. “I gotcha. Okay, am I allowed to ask why it’s just you and Dixon?”

I let my eyes trail over the hard planes of his face, buying myself a minute to get my thoughts together. “That’s a long story.”

Hudson lounges in the chair. “We’ve got time.”

“This isn’t something I really talk about,” I admit. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“You don’t have to,” he offers.

But he’s wrong.

I need to share this with him if anything is ever going to happen between us. And I’ve come to realize, I do want something between us. “Brandon and I don’t have the same father. Neither of us actually knows who our dads are. But Mom . . . When my mom was sober, she was the best mom in the world. She was beautiful, and she was fun. She used to hold me on her hip and dance with me in the kitchen and do yoga with me in the backyard. But when she wasn’t . . . well, I didn’t know what it meant back then. I didn’t know sober. I just knew she wasn’t nice to be around.”

I think back to those days. I’m not sure why they’re still crystal clear in my mind, but it’s like it was yesterday instead of twenty years ago. “Brandon and I shared a room, and even at nine years old, he used to sleep on the floor in front of our bedroom door. She used to have men over all the time. Uncles, she’d call them. I didn’t understand it back then. He just said he didn’t want anyone coming in our room.” I figured it out years later, the first time he did it in one of our foster homes. He had a bad feeling, and that night, when the doorknob turned and the door creaked open, it hit Brandon and then shut again.

Hudson’s fists white knuckle the arms of the chair.

“I didn’t know back then she was an addict.” I trail off, remembering how good it used to feel when she smiled down at me.

“Did the state take you and Dix away?” Hud asks as he moves to sit on the ottoman, facing me. He picks up my feet and puts them in his lap as his strong fingers rub my sore arches.

“She died.”

Hudson’s hands stop, and his eyes find mine. “Mads . . .”

“She died, and she broke me with her.” I pull my feet away from him and tuck them under myself. Worry is written all over Hudson’s face. He’s not sure what to do or what to say, but the hole in the dam that popped open earlier is now a full-blown chasm with raging water pushing against it now.

“Brandon was in third grade, and I was home with Mom because I wasn’t starting school until the following fall. I had just turned five. I thought I was such a big girl. I had just poured my own cereal.” The memory is so clear, it’s frightening because I no longer see it through the rose-colored glasses of a five-year-old. I see it for what it was. “When I tried to find her, she was lying on the floor of the bathroom with a needle sticking out of her arm. Her eyes were closed, and I thought she was sleeping . . . but I guess I knew something was wrong because I moved her arm and tucked it around myself, so I could lie down with her.”

Hudson sucks in a harsh breath, but I don’t look up. I can’t. Not now.

“I remember how cold the tile was, and the chemical smell of the bathroom. It was early when I tucked myself against her. After a while, I tried to wake her up. She was supposed to take me to the library, and I wanted to go. But she wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t open her eyes.” It’s funny the pieces that are still crystal clear all these years later.

The way her hair tickled my face.

The smudges of mascara giving the illusion of two black eyes.

“I’m not sure how long I was in there before I finally pulled the needle from her arm, thinking she’d wake up then, but she didn’t. I think something inside me broke, and that’s when I realized she wasn’t sleeping. That she wasn’t going to come back.” I still remember how heavy her body felt against mine. I cried for hours, refusing to move. Tears fill my eyes now, even after all these years, remembering those final moments. “She had aspirated at some point. Then later, after she’d been dead a few hours . . . well, I was lying in my dead mother’s arms. In her fluids. And I was scared to move.” She was so cold, and so heavy.

“I remember thinking I should have taken the needle out sooner. That maybe that would have helped. By the time Brandon got home from his baseball practice after school, it was five o’clock. I had been with her for something close to nine hours.” When I look up at Hud, it’s like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. He looks horrified.

“Brandon and I were placed in our first foster home that night. It was just a temporary placement, but it was the first of so many.”

“Sunshine . . .” Hudson stands, then bends down to me. He slides one arm under my legs and the other behind my back, then waits to see what I do.

I guess he’s giving me time to tell him no.

To flinch away.

But I don’t have any fight left in me.

I wrap my arms around his neck and press my face against his chest as he picks me up and carries me to his bed, like I’m something precious.

“Sleep, Maddie. No one will ever hurt you again.”

And with his lips pressed against my head, I close my eyes, believing him.

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