Seeking Vengeance

by McDonald, M. P.

  Sam came out of the bathroom wearing the old sweatpants she'd given him. Johnny had left the pair after some other adventure. They were too short for Sam, but better than his torn, bloody jeans. She didn't have a shirt that would fit him and was embarrassed to feel warmth creep up her face as he crossed the living room.

  His broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, his skin golden in the dim light. He appeared lean and fit. It had been ages since she'd been with a man, but she saw plenty of well-built guys at the firehouse, so why did she feel the flutter in her stomach as Sam limped towards her? She tore her gaze away and tossed the pillow from the armchair to the end of the couch. The flutter was most likely a result of fatigue.

  “There you go. It's not the Hyatt, but I hope it's not too lumpy,” she joked to cover her confusion. Luckily, he didn't seem to notice.

  “I'm sure it's fine. I'm so tired, I think I could sleep on a bed of knives.” He looked like he tried to grin, but lines of pain etched between his eyes as he eased down to sit on the edge of the sofa.

  “Okay, well, I'll leave you alone now. If you need anything, just holler. I'm a light sleeper, and my daughter can sleep through a tornado, so don't worry.”

  He put his feet up and tugged the covers to his waist with a sigh. “Good night. I'll be fine. Get some sleep while you still can. I'm sure the first school bell rings awfully early.”

  She paused as she reached for the light switch. The few guys she'd dated since having Kelsie never voiced concern about how early she had to wake to get her daughter off to school. “Good night.”

  Before she left the room, she heard his breathing settle into a deep even rhythm.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The clatter of dishes awoke Sam with a start. Sunlight streamed into his eyes when he opened them and he winced before squinting at his surroundings. The throb in his leg and the tight ache across his back announced the previous night's events, but he barely remembered lying down. A sharp stab of pain between his eyes reminded him that he'd also had more to drink the day before than he was used to—nothing like a hangover to go with bullet wounds.

  He heard Molly speaking in the kitchen, but couldn't make out what she was saying. Even without hearing the words, he recognized the sing-song cadence. By the time a sweet little voice replied, he'd steeled his emotions and was able to ignore the infectious giggle that floated from the kitchen.

  It took him several minutes to lever to a sitting position, and he had to pause and gather his strength before standing. His head felt heavy and his eyes burned. He vowed to never drink whiskey again. The bathroom was just down the hall; he could see the door from where he stood, but it felt like miles as he limped to it. After finishing his business, he washed his hands and splashed his face, hoping to clear some of the fog in his brain. A tentative knock sounded on the door.

  “Sam?”

  He turned off the faucet and reached for a towel, swiping the water off his face and chest as he opened the door. “Yeah?”

  “I found an extra toothbrush. Kelsie got a couple the last time she went to the dentist.”

  Sam took the child-sized toothbrush. “Thanks.”

  She nodded. “No problem. Sorry it's so small.”

  He tried to smile—tried not to remember a similar toothbrush in his own bathroom. “It's okay.” A chuckle slipped out. “I might have to brush my teeth one-by-one with it, but I'll manage.”

  Molly reached behind her head and tightened her ponytail, unmindful of a few wisps that curled along her face. “Great. So, I have to take Kelsie to school. Normally she takes the bus, but she's taking her biggest stuffed dog in for show and tell.” She dropped her hands and hiked her purse up her shoulder.

  Sam gripped the toothbrush, feeling like a fool. He should have woken up sooner and gotten out of her hair. “I'll just brush real quick, and be right out.”

  She tilted her head, confusion crossing her face, then her eyes widened and she held a hand up. “Oh, no. I'm not trying to rush you. You don't have to take off yet. You need to eat, and later, I'll need to change those bandages.”

  “You trust me to stay here while you're gone?” He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or angry. Didn't she realize the possible consequences? For all she knew, he could be a murderer. Hell, it was his plan to become one.

  “Are you going to rob me?”

  “Hell no, I'm not going to rob you, but—”

  “Then shut up and say thank you.” She glared at him for a second before shaking her head.

  “Thank you.”

  She lifted her chin and gave a short nod. “You're welcome.” Moving a few steps down the hall, she stopped in front of the next door, a smile curving her profile as her face softened. “Kelsie hon, you can only take Tiger with you. Put the other animals back on your bed.”

  He heard Kelsie call good-bye to the other stuffed animals and his heart clenched. A second later, a tiny little girl with curls a shade lighter than her mother's hopped into the hallway, her face obscured by a gigantic stuffed blue dog.

  “Come on, Kel, we have to hurry.” Molly put her hand on her daughter's head and glanced back at Sam.

  He cleared his throat and waved the toothbrush. “Thanks again.”

  She nodded, not quite smiling.

  After brushing his teeth, he wandered out to the kitchen looking for something to drink. He'd hoped his leg and back would loosen up once he was up moving around, but the wounds seemed to be competing for his attention with each trying to outdo the other.

  In the fridge, he found the orange juice and didn't think she'd mind if he helped himself. It tasted tart after brushing his teeth, but he welcomed the icy cold as it slid over his tongue. When he finished, he left the glass in the sink. It had been almost twenty-four hours since he'd eaten, and he knew he should, but the idea of food repulsed him.

  He went back to the living room, intending to fold his bedding, but a wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to sit on the couch instead. A little while later, the dizziness passed, but he felt no inclination to move. What he needed was a couple more ibuprofen, but didn't want to rifle her cabinets looking for it. How far was the school anyway? She'd been gone almost an hour. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the ache between his eyes. Sighing, he rested his head against the back of the sofa.

  * * *

  Molly opened the back door; Sam's boot in one hand, a bag of items she'd picked up from the store, in the other. The boot wasn't completely dry, but she didn't want the sun bleaching it either.

  She set the bag on the table. “Sam?” There was no answer and apprehension crawled through her. What if he had robbed her and left? Not that she had much worth stealing—just a few pieces of jewelry from her mother, as well as a computer. She didn't think Sam could carry a computer and drive his motorcycle at the same time, but the jewelry was portable. The boot in her hand caught her attention. Wait a minute. He couldn't go—not with just one boot.

  Still holding it, she walked into the living room and found him sitting on the sofa, head back, eyes closed. For a second, she admired the broad expanse of chest and his square jaw, darkened by a day's growth of beard, but then noticed the flush on his cheeks. She set the boot by the front door and crossed the room, pressing a hand against his forehead. Hot. Crap.

  He started awake, his eyes glazed. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself. You're burning up.”

  He shook his head. “I'm freezing.” He shivered and reached for the blanket sitting beside him.

  “I have to get stuff together to change your dressings. Don't lie down yet.”

  “Okay.”

  She wasn't sure he knew what he was agreeing to, but she hurried to gather what she needed as quickly as possible before he fell back to sleep. What would she do if he had an infection? She should have reported a gunshot wound but she hadn't. If she lost her job, what would she do? How would she take care of her daughter?

  “Damn it all to hell,” she muttered as she carried the supplies o
ut to the living room. When she saw Johnny again, she was going to rip him a new one.

  “Sam, take these, then sit forward so I can get to your back.” She handed him three ibuprofen, and a glass of water.

  Dutifully, he took the pills and leaned forward. She cleaned the wound, applied more ointment, and re-bandaged it. As she applied tape, she noticed a scar lower on his back just above the waistline of the sweatpants. It wasn't large, but she recognized it for what it was. No wonder he wasn't too concerned about this injury. Compared to the healed wound, this one was a mere scratch.

  At least two times in his life, this guy had been shot. That wasn't exactly the kind of man she wanted around her daughter. Even if the target of last night's shooting was her brother, Sam had been there. Most people knew to avoid rough bars and seedy neighborhoods.

  Finished, she patted the couch. “Go ahead and sit back if you want. I need you to bring your foot up on the coffee table so I can check your leg.” She felt a twinge of sympathy when he winced as his back touched the sofa.

  “Is my boot dry? I should probably get going.”

  Molly paused while unwrapping his leg and glanced at him. He watched her with eyes bright with fever. There was no way he'd make it a mile on a bike. “Sorry, not yet. Besides, I guess you'll need some clothes to wear. If you can wait a bit longer, I'll run to the department store over in Franklin and pick up what you need.” The wound was clean and dry, so she wrapped it with a clean strip of gauze. “You should keep that elevated as much as possible.”

  He sighed. “Don't take this wrong, because I appreciate what you've done for me, but I need to get the hell out of here as soon as I can.”

  “Believe me, no offense taken because I feel the same way. The sooner you're gone, the better.” Did he think she was trying to keep him here on purpose? She slammed the roll of bandages back in the first-aid kit. “If I thought you were capable of handling that huge bike of yours, I'd drag you out there myself and give you a big wave as you roared away; but tell me, Sam, what if you pass out while driving? What if you misjudge a curve and take out an innocent mother or father, or God-forbid, a whole family?” She tucked the box under her arm and glared at him. “You may not care about things like family, but other people do and I won't risk that.”

  A flash of anguish shot through his eyes before he closed them briefly. She studied him, curious about the flash. It was almost as if she had slapped him, but the expression vanished so quickly, she wondered if she'd imagined it.

  Now, he regarded her with a mask of indifference. “Fine. I feel like shit, so I guess you're right.”

  “I'm always right.” She tried to lighten the remark with a wink, but he'd turned his head away. Guilt jabbed her but she ignored it and headed for the bathroom where she stashed the first-aid box in the closet. There was no reason for guilt. Whatever caused the pain she'd seen, it was none of her doing.

  Taking a moment away from him, she threw in a load of laundry, tidied up Kelsie's room and then headed to the kitchen. The more she tried to forget about the man in her living room, the more he intruded on her thoughts. She stopped at the sink and cast a look around the kitchen. It didn't look like Sam had eaten at all. Other than a glass with a few drops of orange juice in it, the kitchen looked exactly the same as when she had left.

  The guy needed to eat something if he was going to get any strength back. To further that goal, she dropped two slices of bread in the toaster, poured another glass of juice, and when the toast popped, buttered it and placed it on a plate. With a jar of grape jelly tucked under her arm, she carried the items into the living room and set them on the coffee table.

  Sam held out a hundred dollar bill.

  Molly stared at it, puzzled. “What's that for?”

  “For the clothes.”

  She plucked the bill from his fingers. “Okay, but I'm only going to the nearest discount store. I'm pretty sure this is more than I need.”

  “It's the smallest I have. Sorry.”

  Crap. Had the guy robbed a bank before heading to the bar? Johnny had said Sam had bought drinks all night long.

  “Why don't you get something for your dinner with the change? It's the least I can do.”

  Every time she wanted to pound him into the image of a rough biker, he said or did something that altered how she saw him. “Thank you. Kelsie loves chicken fingers, so I guess I'll get some of those.”

  He'd taken a few bites of the toast but now lay back. In seconds, he was asleep.

  She decided to leave his breakfast there in case he woke and was hungry.

  * * *

  Sam shifted on the couch, unable to find a comfortable position. Molly had left a while ago and he felt like a stray dog that she was stuck with. They should have let him drive his own bike. He'd have headed to his motel. It was a forty-mile drive, but he was sure he could have made it. With the damn fever, he was in worse shape now. At least in his rented room, he'd be in a bed. Not that he didn't appreciate Molly's help, he just hated causing trouble.

  In the confusion of the shooting and aftermath, he'd almost forgotten Tuck's comment to Johnny about how the shooters had been aiming for the kid. Why would the Ravens be trying to kill the guy? And would their attempts at revenge eventually extend to Molly and her daughter?

  He'd have to find Johnny and question him. If he could get the kid to talk, it might be key to Sam getting his own revenge. The Ravens had to be stopped.

  Sitting on the edge of the couch, he drank some juice and still thirsty when he finished it, decided to get some water. His head pounded with each hobbling step as he crossed the living room towards the kitchen, but he decided to make a detour to the bathroom first.

  After washing his hands, he wondered if the medicine cabinet held the bottle of ibuprofen. It had only been a few hours, but he knew he could take one more and be okay. A twinge of guilt washed over him as he opened the mirror. Normally, he'd have no compunction about snooping. It was his job, but not in this situation. Avoiding the small box of tampons, he couldn't help hesitating when he saw the circle of a birth control pill dispenser. Was Molly in a relationship? Was some guy going to walk in and get the wrong idea?

  He shook his head. It wasn't any of his business, and he'd be gone soon. On the second shelf, he found the pain medication beside a bottle of children's acetaminophen. After shaking a pill out, he went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, washing the medication down.

  His leg throbbed by the time he made it back to the couch and he cursed his weakness as he shivered. His teeth chattered and he tightened the blanket. Soon, he fell into a restless sleep. Disjointed images of fire filled his dreams. In them, he rushed around in the flames always searching. Panic and desperation consumed him, and he shouted.

  * * *

  “Sam! Wake up!” Molly shook his shoulder, alarmed at the heat radiating from his skin.

  His eyes snapped wide with panic. “I can't find him. Help me!” He sat straight up, turning his head as though looking for something.

  Molly crouched in front of him, trying to cut into his field of vision, but he seemed to look right through her. “Who? Who are you looking for, Sam?”

  “Sean. I gotta find him. But the fire and smoke…” He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face. “It's so hot. Sean?”

  The raw pain in his voice tore at her, but when he attempted to stand, she held his shoulders, pressing down and urged him to stay seated. “It's okay. You're only dreaming.” She had to repeat it several times, before he finally focused on her. He blinked as if trying to place her face before she saw recognition. “Are you okay now?”

  He rubbed his face, scrubbing at his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, but I don't think there's any chance of you leaving today.”

  “I shouldn't have let your brother bring me here. I didn't realize where we were going.”

  She sighed. “It's not your fault. My brother is always screwing up.” Molly winced at her choice
of words and the way Sam flinched at them. “I didn't mean that like how it sounded. I truly don't blame you for this and I'm grateful to you for saving my brother’s life.” She sat beside him on the edge of the sofa and gave a slight shrug. “It's always something with him, but…he's my brother.”

  “Why are the Ravens targeting him?” Sam slanted a look at her.

  Surprised at his bluntness, she stared at him for a long moment before answering, “I don't know, and even if I did, I don't think it's any of your business.” His eyes narrowed, but she cut him off as he opened his mouth. “Don't tell me it's your business because you threw yourself over Johnny. That was your choice. Nobody asked you to.”

  “I think getting caught in the crossfire damn well did make it my business, but aside from that, I was asking because I thought I could help.”

  “How could you help?” It was on the tip of her tongue to add why he would offer. What was in it for him?

  Sam stood, wincing as he straightened. “I've had some dealings with them before.” He hobbled down the hall seeming to feel right at home as he entered the bathroom.

  Molly remained on the edge of the sofa for a few moments, wondering if Sam had a clue what he was dealing with. She knew first-hand how cruel biker gangs could be, but if Sam was like other guys she had tried to warn, he would brush off her warnings. She had learned to stop trying. Sam had walked off in the middle of the conversation anyway, so slapping her palms on her thighs, she muttered, “Well, I guess that's the end of the discussion.”

  She rose and went to the kitchen to retrieve the bag of clothing she'd bought for Sam. It had felt odd buying clothes for a man. Not knowing what he'd like, she bought a couple of t-shirts and a button down shirt along with packages of socks, boxers and a pair of jeans. She intended to carry them out to the living room, but as she rounded the corner she ran face first into his chest.