PREGNANT FOR A PRICE Page 5

  I'd never really thought very highly of him. We ran in some of the same circles and had some mutual friends, but he was never somebody I wanted to hang out with. I knew what he wanted, and there was no way in hell I was going to give it to him. Damian had always been arrogant and crude. And he was most definitely really into himself. I liked to have a good time, but I was serious about doing well in school. Damian? Not so much. His life was football, girls, beer, and – well – girls.

  I'd heard that he'd joined the Marines after graduation. It had given me some hope that he'd finally gotten his life together and was doing something to better himself. But to be honest, I'd never really given him much thought after leaving high school. I had priorities and things I wanted to achieve. The past, I'd always figured, was better left in the past.

  But now the past was right there in my face again. And I had to admit that I was a little bit disappointed to see that he was a member of the Kings. The VP according to the flash on his kutte. Disappointed, but not entirely surprised. Being in an outlaw MC seemed to suit him. And it drew a definitive line in the sand for me.

  So, why was it that I couldn't stop thinking about him?

  Chapter Seven

  Damian

  I opened my eyes and saw Cara standing at the foot of the bed, jotting down some notes on my chart. I'd always thought she was superhot back in high school. But now – she was ten times more stunning as a grown woman. A hundred times.

  But it was more than that. She just had this presence about her that was absolutely compelling. I couldn't put my finger on what it was exactly, but seeing her again, after all these years – it really sparked something in me. Something I don't recall ever feeling before. I felt drawn to her.

  Or maybe it was just all the pain meds in my system.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She gave a slight start at the sound of my voice and then looked at me.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to wake you.”

  “You didn't wake me. Can I have some water?”

  “Just a little bit.”

  She set the chart down and poured a small cup of water. I winced as I sat up, the pain shooting through my body making me feel like I was on fire. Cara put the cup to my lips and helped me drink, pulling the cup away before I'd gotten my fill.

  “Not too much—”

  “I know,” I said. “You'll send in some ice chips.”

  Her smile was soft and, if possible, made her even more beautiful.

  “I know how much you love those ice chips.”

  I laughed softly. “Can't get enough of 'em. And thank you. Seriously.”

  “No need to thank me. Ice chips aren't all that exciting.”

  I shook my head. “No, that's not what I meant. Thank you for taking such good care of me. For saving my life.”

  “Oh, Dr. Hightower is the one responsible for patching you up,” she said. “I was only there to assist.”

  “Yeah well, thank you anyway, Cara.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  I laughed softly again. “You don't take appreciation very well, do you?” I commented. “I bet you're even worse with compliments.”

  She smiled. “Can't say I do.”

  “That's a shame,” I replied. “You deserve them.”

  She cleared her throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “So, how are you feeling?”

  “Like I got hit by a bus.”

  “That's normal. Nothing to worry about.”

  I gave her a grin. “Normal, huh? Had the same experience the last time you took four bullets?”

  She looked down, and I realized that she'd taken it the wrong way. Just when I thought she was starting to warm up a little bit, I had to go and stick my foot in my mouth. The temperature in the room felt like it had just dropped twenty degrees and that chasm between she and I only widened and deepened.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just kidding. I didn't mean anything by it.”

  “It's okay,” she said quickly. “On a scale of one to ten, where is your pain at?”

  Gone was the smile and in its place was Cara's professional, all business face.

  I sighed. “Probably about a seven.”

  She nodded and made a quick note on the chart. “I'll make sure we adjust your pain meds to compensate for it.”

  “Listen, Cara—”

  She hung the chart on the end of my bed. “Now that you're awake, I'm going to have to tell the police,” she said. “They'll be coming to talk to you today, I'd imagine.”

  “Wonderful. Looking forward to it.”

  Her eyes softened – somewhat. “What are you going to tell them?”

  I shrugged. “Have no idea yet.”

  “Here's a novel idea. Why not tell them the truth?”

  “Because the truth is… complicated.”

  “Complicated?” She sounded somewhat shocked. “Damian, somebody tried to kill you. They put four bullets into you.”

  My grin was rueful. “And if I talk to the cops, next time I get eight,” I said. “Nobody likes a snitch.”

  “Damian, this isn't a joke,” she snapped. “Somebody tried to kill you. And if you don't tell them who it was, what if they manage to kill you next time? Or kill somebody else?”

  “I'll handle it, Cara.”

  She snorted derisively. But she didn't understand. She couldn't. She didn't move in my world and had no understanding of what life in an MC was like. You didn't snitch on somebody like Ray Mendoza and the Fantasmas. Not unless you really wanted to end up dead.

  But there was going to be retribution. You could count on that. I wasn't going to tell Cara that though. It wasn't her business or her concern. Although she was a very intelligent woman and I guess it sort of went without saying that somebody was going to pay for what they'd done to me.

  She looked at me with her arms folded over her chest, and it felt like she could see right through me – knew that I was already coming up with a plan to pay Mendoza back in kind. And I could see that she didn't like it one bit.

  “When I heard you went into the Marines, I really thought you were getting your shit straight,” she snapped. “Guess I was wrong. Cops should be here in an hour or so.”

  She turned, and I watched her storm out of my room, not understanding why she was so upset.

  Chapter Eight

  Damian

  “So, what can you tell me about your attack?”

  I was sitting up in bed, spooning some Jello into my mouth, staring at Sheriff Dan Perkins. He was a big man, still in good shape – and we'd been friends back in high school. Or at least, we'd been teammates on the football team. That sort of made us friends. It at least gave us something in common.

  But that commonality was gone, and any bond of team went with it. Now, Perkins was a cop, and I was – well – not.

  I shook my head. “Not much, really. It was dark. I never got a good look at who was pulling the trigger.”

  Perkins sighed. “C'mon, Damian,” he said. “You and I both know that's bullshit. Who was it?”

  “I don't know, man. I never saw his face.”

  I was lying, and Perkins obviously knew, but there was no way in hell I was going to get tagged with the snitch label. But more than that, I was going to pay Mendoza back on my terms, in my own time. And that would be a little difficult if he was sitting up in Pelican Bay rotting away in a steel cage.

  Perkins snapped his notebook shut with a loud pop. He was getting annoyed – not that I cared. He stared hard at me as if he could intimidate me with his steely-eyed gaze. It only made me laugh and shake my head.

  “You might be able to get some sixteen-year-old kid you popped for shoplifting to piss his pants with that look,” I said. “But I'm not a sixteen-year-old kid, man.”

  “Ahhh that's right,” Perkins replied. “You're the grizzled war vet. You've stared down the enemy and blown him to pieces. You're—”

  “Shut your fuckin' mouth right now,” I snapped. “You d
idn't serve. You don't know shit.”

  There were a lot of insults and snide remarks I could deal with. Most of the time, some asshole's words didn't bother me. Water off a duck's back and all that shit. But when it came to demeaning my service – especially by some candy-ass who'd never been in a combat zone – that was a bridge too far. Way too fuckin' far. That was something I wouldn't put up with.

  “Touchy, touchy, aren't you?” Perkins asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “You think because you're wearing that tin star on your chest you're a tough guy or something?” I growled. “You ain't shit, man.”

  Perkins chuckled. “Yeah, if you say so,” he said. “Look, I'm trying to avoid some goddamn biker gang war from breaking out in my town. You gotta give me something. Because if you don't, and you retaliate, and people start getting hurt, I'm going to pin this all on you. You can avoid it all by giving me a name.”

  “I got nothin' to give you, man,” I replied, trying to calm myself down. “I never got a look at the guy.”

  “Goddammit, Damian—”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Cara said as she stepped into the room. “But I think that's enough for now, Sheriff. Damian needs his rest.”

  The Sheriff looked from her to me and back again, clearly torn between his desire to throttle an answer out of me and obeying the wishes of my doctors. Plus, I knew that Perkins had always had a thing for Cara – and the fact that he'd been married for the last fifteen years had obviously not snuffed out that flame.

  He turned and flashed me that steely-eyed gaze again. “This isn't over, Damian,” he said. “I'll be back, and I'm going to want some answers.”

  Perkins turned and gave Cara a shy little smile and a nod as he left the room. She stepped into the room and let the door swing closed behind her. She didn't meet my eyes as she grabbed my chart and started to read.

  “Clearly, that guy hasn't gotten over his crush on you,” I said.

  “How are you feeling today?” she asked, still not looking at me.

  “Sore. I still hurt.”

  “I'll see about increasing your pain meds.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Look at me for a minute.”

  She seemed to resist at first, but slowly lowered the clipboard and looked at me, something akin to disgust in her eyes.

  “What?” she asked, distinctly irritated.

  “Thanks for sending Perkins outta here.”

  “I only did it to keep you from getting so worked up that you might tear your sutures,” she said. “That would just make more work for me. I wasn't doing you a kindness.”

  I shrugged. “Thank you anyway.”

  She sighed. “Why didn't you just tell him the truth? Even I know you're full of shit, Damian. You know exactly who shot you.”

  “Like I said, it's complicated.”

  “Not really,” she snapped. “It's not all that complicated.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “If you do what I expect you to do – which is go kill the guy who shot you in retaliation,” she started, “you'll set off some goddamn gang war in town. And innocent people are going to get hurt.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing like that's going to happen.”

  “You can't guarantee that, Damian. And what happens when one of these comes gunning for you, and innocent people get caught in the crossfire, huh? What happens if it's me? If it's my son?”

  Cara stopped speaking, and her eyes grew wide as if she had said something she shouldn't have. And maybe she had. Or at least, revealed something she didn't want me to know.

  “I didn't know you had a son,” I said. “How old is he?”

  “My son is none of your business,” she snapped.

  I sighed. “Listen. I know what you think of the club. And believe it or not, but we jump through hoops to keep anything bad from touching this town. We run all of the bangers, drug dealers, and any other bad guy out of town. This is our home too, and we have a real vested interest in keeping it safe and clean. And we do everything necessary to keep it that way.”

  She sighed and shook her head again – she seemed to do that a lot around me. “You got shot – clearly, you failed in keeping Fernwood safe and clean.”

  I shifted positions and grimaced as a bolt of pain shot through me. “Technically,” I said and gave her a grin, “I wasn't in Fernwood. I was outside of the city limits.”

  Cara couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She shook her head. “You're such an ass.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  A moment that had been charged with tension and even anger slowly dissipated. And while the atmosphere wasn't necessarily warm and friendly, it was at least companionable – which was a huge step up from what it had been recently.

  “Listen, Cara,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for taking good care of me in here—”

  She shook her head. “Like I said, I'm just doing my job.”

  I shrugged. “Regardless, once I get out of here, I'd like to take you to dinner.”

  She looked at me for a long moment and then shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but no. Thank you.”

  “Okay, how about coffee, then?”

  Her smile was soft. “Again, I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you.”

  I flashed her my best smile. “Come on – it's just dinner. Catch up. Talk about old times?”

  “I'm just doing my job, Damian,” she said. “I'm really not interested.”

  Ouch. That kind of stung. I wasn't used to being turned down so flatly, to be honest. I tried not to be too arrogant or cocky about it, but I'd never had trouble with women before. Cara was proving to be a tough nut to crack. Which only made her all the more compelling to me. Not because I thought she'd be a satisfying conquest, but because she was… different. Different in ways I couldn't quite understand yet. But different in ways I wanted to get to know better.

  It seemed, though, that I was having trouble outrunning my past – a past that had bled over into my present and was coloring how she saw me. I couldn't blame her for wanting to steer clear of a guy like me – if only for her son's sake. But I found myself wanting to prove that her preconceived notions of me were wrong – that I wasn't the guy she assumed me to be.

  She gave me a small smile. “I'll check on you later.”

  I nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

  Chapter Nine

  Cara

  I sat in the doctor's lounge sipping a cup of coffee, lost in thought.

  “You doing okay, Cara?”

  I looked up and saw Dr. Thorne looking back at me, an expression of concern on his face.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I said. “Just got a lot going on right now.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “Been there. If you ever want to talk or get something off your chest, my door is always open.”

  I gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Dr. Thorne. I appreciate that.”

  “It's Jim, Cara,” he said with a smile. “How many times do I have to tell you that? The stick up my ass isn't nearly as large as some of the others around the hospital.”

  I laughed. “Good to know. Thank you, Jim. I might just take you up on that sometime.”

  “Please do.”

  He left the lounge, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I knew that Thorne liked me – I'd known it for some time. And I'd always managed to deflect his advances without hurting his feelings. I just wasn't all that into him, to be honest. He was a handsome enough man. He was kind, considerate, and compassionate. But there was just something about him that – well – just didn't quite do it for me. He was a good man, but I knew that he wasn't my kind of man. I wanted something more.

  The trouble was, I didn't know what that something more was exactly.

  Thinking about Thorne's dogged pursuit of me inevitably led me to thoughts about Damian – and his apparent interest in me. I'd honestly been flattered by his invitation to dinner. Aside from Thorne, it seemed like it had b
een forever since somebody had asked me out on a proper date. But I couldn't let myself get caught up in that and not see Damian for who he was – a guy who very likely did a lot of very bad things. Things I didn't want in my life. In my son's life.

  “So, where did Thorne invite you to this time?” Julia asked as she stepped into the lounge.

  “Nowhere, actually,” I replied. “He just offered an ear to listen.”