They rolled him into the bay I directed them to.
“Pulse is weak, and he's lost a lot of blood,” Guillermo said, an EMT I was familiar with.
“Where did you find this guy?” I asked as I snapped on a pair of gloves.
“Parking lot of an old warehouse. Anonymous call,” he replied. “He's one of the Kings. Not real surprised he ended up here.”
I turned around and stopped in my tracks. I knew the man on the gurney in front of me. His hair was a bit longer than I remembered and he was bigger, more muscular, but there was no question that it was Damian Hawke.
I didn't know him well – we were acquaintances back in high school. I remember that I didn't think much of him back then – I knew he was into me, but his interest went about as far as what was under my skirt. He had been a good-looking boy back then and had grown into a very handsome man.
But I looked at the kutte he wore and lost all interest. The Kings of Chaos were the local motorcycle club that plagued Fernwood. They were drug runners and extortionists. And if rumors could be believed, they were murderers as well. Bad guys all around. Just the sort of guy I didn't want or need in my life.
“Cara, you with us here?”
I looked into the face of Guillermo who was looking back at me with curiosity.
“Sorry, blanked for a minute,” I said. “I know this guy, and it was a bit of a shock.”
Guillermo looked at me. “You know one of the Kings? Seriously? How did that happen?”
“Nothing big. High school acquaintances. That's all.”
The other ER nurses and Dr. Hightower had filtered into the ER bay and were milling about. It was getting crowded and hectic. After he and his partner had transferred Damian from the gurney to a table, Guillermo nodded and moved out of the way.
“He's all yours,” he said. “Good luck.”
I nodded back to him and tried to get my mind back in order. I needed to focus on the patient, whether I knew him or not. There was a ton of blood. His shirt was soaked in it. His kutte and his shirt were cut away, exposing his blood-soaked body. He had a wound on his shoulder, one high on his chest, and one on his upper arm. The most serious one was on his stomach – and that was the one Dr. Hightower was attending to first.
Damian's eyes fluttered and opened for a second – and I could have sworn that he zeroed in on me – and it sent a cold chill down my spine. But then his eyes rolled back into his head, and he was out again.
“Make sure he stays out,” Dr. Hightower called.
The anesthesiologist nodded and placed the mask over Damian's nose and mouth, double checking the gas levels. Damian was out, and truth be told, I wasn't sure he was going to wake up. His wounds looked pretty severe, and he'd lost a lot of blood. I was actually surprised he was still alive at that point.
“Cara, I need you to hang a bag of O-Positive,” he said. “And give him a shot of fentanyl citrate.”
“Right away.”
I moved quickly, glad to be doing something to snap me out of my stupor. The ER bay was a blur of activity, and I fell into common routines and practices. It allowed me to detach a bit and focus on doing the job at hand – rather than tripping out about who the patient was. Given that Fernwood was a relatively small town, I'd seen plenty of people I know come through the ER – but never one for something as violent as four gunshot wounds. Honestly, it shook me up a bit.
It took about an hour of intense activity, but Dr. Hightower had finally cleared out all of the bullet fragments and had sutured his wounds. Damian still lay unconscious on the blood-soaked table.
“Good work everybody,” Dr. Hightower said. “We've done everything we can do. We'll see how he does. Let's get him up to recovery.”
A pair of orderlies transferred Damian to another gurney and wheeled him toward the recovery room. As I watched them go, a strange sensation washed over me. It was difficult to put into words, honestly. I didn't know Damian and had brushed him off repeatedly back in the day. I knew I'd been a bit of a bitch to him and now that he was in there, fighting for his life, for some odd, stupid reason, I felt a stab of guilt.
He wasn't somebody I wanted to associate with. Not in a million years. Bikers and I did not mix. Especially bikers with reputations as checkered as the Kings. But there was some small part of me that felt compelled to at least offer up an apology for my past behavior. Maybe it was because I thought he was going to die. I didn't have the first clue.
I checked my watch – I had about an hour before I'd need to go in to change his dressing and check on his med levels. Maybe this feeling would pass by then.
Chapter Five
Damian
The first thing that registered in my head was the pain. There didn't seem to be a square inch of my body that didn't hurt. If I tried to move, it would set off an atomic explosion in my body that made me want to scream.
I'd been shot before – once back in Afghanistan – and it hadn't hurt nearly as bad as this did. Of course, back then I'd been shot in the forearm. This time, I took multiple bullets to the chest and stomach. My first gunshot wound hadn't even required me to take an aspirin for the pain. I had a feeling I was going to be on some heavy-duty pain meds this time – and a lot of them.
I thought back to the confrontation with Mendoza and felt my blood pressure rise. In my mind's eye, I saw his face – the son of a bitch had been smiling as he pulled the trigger again and again. That dark rage inside of me welled up and threatened to come bursting out – and it might have, had it not hurt so damn much to let myself get all worked up.
I sighed and shook my head. At least I was alive. There was that. And I was going to pay Mendoza back a hundredfold for trying to take me out. That was an absolute guaran-fucking-tee. He was going to bleed for what he'd done.
“Welcome back,” a woman's voice said.
I opened my eyes and winced at the light coming through the blinds. She gave me an apologetic shrug and moved quickly to close them. The room was dimly lit, and I was finally able to open my eyes all the way. I looked down at the tubes sticking out of my arms and all of the machinery arrayed around me.
My throat was drier than parchment, and my mouth felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton. The woman – my nurse, I was assuming – helped me to sit up and gave me a drink of water.
“Not too much,” she said, taking the cup from me. “I'll bring you some ice chips.”
I was dying of thirst and wanted more. That little sip she'd given me had quenched my thirst about as well as trying to water all the plant life in Death Valley by pissing on the ground. But I was in no shape to argue the point.
“How long have I been out?” I asked.
“About two days.”
“Jesus.” I groaned as I slumped back against my pillows and closed my eyes again. “I feel like shit.”
“That might be so,” she said. “But you're lucky to be alive. Really lucky.”
Images of Mendoza squeezing off shot after shot flashed through my mind and I had to fight back that wave of rage that threatened to wash over me again.
“Yeah,” I said. “Lucky.”
“You have no idea, Damian,” the nurse said. “Dr. Hightower did some amazing work and saved your life.”
I opened my eyes and finally looked at my nurse. “How did you know my name?”
She laughed softly. “For one thing, it's on your dog tags.”
I reached up and touched my tags – it was sort of a touchstone for me. The thing that kept me grounded and centered. It reminded me of a whole lot of things – namely, who I really was.
“The second thing is that I know you, Damian.”
I narrowed my eyes and really looked at my nurse. Immediately I felt a sense of recognition. I knew this woman. Auburn hair, eyes the color of polished jade, and even through her shapeless scrubs, I could see she had a body that had amazing curves – you'd think I'd remember a gorgeous woman like that.
After a few moments of intensely racking my brain,
I came up with her name.
“Cara Winters,” I croaked. “It's been a while.”
“It has.” She nodded. “And I see you've been making some good friends since high school.”
I laughed and immediately regretted it as pain tore through my body. I winced and sucked in air through gritted teeth.
“Yeah, you're going to be hurting for a while,” she said. “That tends to happen when you take four bullets.”
“So I'm learning.”
Cara checked the bags of medication hanging from the stand next to my bed. “So, what happened?”
Yeah, like I was going to tell her what happened. Or anybody for that matter. I already knew the cops were going to be here to question me – hospital staff were required by law to report gunshot wounds. And I was still trying to figure out what in the hell I was going to tell them to keep them off my ass.
“Would you believe me if I told you it was an accident that happened while I was cleaning my gun?” I asked, giving her the best smile I could.
“Try again,” she said.
I shrugged. “I don't really remember,” I lied as Mendoza's face popped into my head again. “Everything just happened so fast that it's all a blur.”
She shot me a look that said she clearly wasn't buying my bullshit. “You're going to have to talk to the cops, you know,” she said. “We're required to report—”
“I know you are,” I said. “But I'm telling you, I don't remember much right now.”
“Huh. Well, hopefully, your memory comes back to you. Sooner rather than later.”
“Here's hoping.”
Cara sighed and turned to leave the room. But then she stopped and turned back to me, her expression grim. Serious.
“Don't you want to catch the guy who did this to you?” she asked. “I mean, he's walking around free as a bird after leaving you to die and rot in a parking lot.”
“Of course I do,” I replied. “I'm just not quite sure who it was. Maybe it will come to me.”
She looked at me disapprovingly – it was a look I remembered all too well, and it made me smile.
“I've seen that look before, you know,” I said. “You gave it to me after I asked for your phone number back in high school.”
“Yeah well, I seem to recall that back then, you weren't really my type. And some things never change.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I remember that snooty attitude too. I remember it all too well.”
“Maybe it’s because you tend to attract the sort of people who might shoot you multiple times and leave you to bleed out.”
“Believe it or not, this isn't a normal day for me,” I said. “Most of my friends are good guys.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I'm sure.”
I shrugged. “It's true. I'm not nearly the degenerate you obviously think I am. Anyway, how did I get here?”
“EMTs got an anonymous call giving them your location,” she said. “By the time they got there, you'd lost a ton of blood and were on death's door.”
An anonymous call. It was hazy, but I seemed to remember that I'd called Mills before I'd passed out. Or at least, I'd tried to call him. I thought back and remembered thinking that he was the only one who knew where I was at – he'd be able to get me some help.
And he apparently had. Cara was right – I was lucky.
“I'm going to have to let the Sheriff know you're awake,” Cara said. “So, you might want to – jog your memory a bit faster. I'm sure they're going to be here within the hour.”
“Only because they've got nothing better to do.”
She shrugged. “Probably,” she replied. “Either way though, they'll be coming down, so I suggest you start thinking real hard.”
I fought through the pain of raising my arm and snapped her a quick salute. “Yes, ma'am. Will do, ma'am.”
She gave me a small smile and a shake of the head as she turned and left the room, shutting the door softly behind her.
Fuck. What was I going to tell the cops?
Chapter Six
Cara
“So, who is he? The GSW victim,” Jules asked. “You said you knew him?”
We were sitting in a booth at Zero's – our usual haunt after a night shift. It was dimly lit and quiet – both things I treasured after a day of the hustle and bustle under the harsh fluorescent lighting of the ER. Being able to sit back, relax, and have a conversation was nice and was always a great way to decompress after a hectic day.
I shrugged. “A guy I knew back in high school,” I replied. “I wouldn't say that I knew him, really.”
She smiled. “When I went in to check on him, he was asking all kinds of questions about you.”
I felt a spike of fear-fueled adrenaline shoot through me. Damian was a member of a brutal, vicious motorcycle gang. He'd just been brought in with four bullet holes in him. He'd obviously been doing something very illegal – the kind of thing I wanted no part of.
“What kind of questions?” I asked.
Jules cocked her head. “Why do you look like somebody just stepped over your grave?”
“Did you see his kutte, Jules?” I hissed. “He's one of the Kings of Chaos. What kind of questions was he asking?”
“Nothing major, hon,” she said. “He was just asking if you were single and stuff like that. He's obviously really interested in you.”
I clutched my stomach as the knot inside of it constricted painfully. I felt like I was going to be sick. I had worked so hard to keep my life drama – and crime – free. I'd cut my mother out of my life, not to mention quite a few friends along the way. I didn't want Austin around any of that garbage. I wanted to protect him from all of it.
But the fact that somebody like Damian was asking around after me – it instilled a fear that was deep and abiding. He wasn't somebody I wanted in my life – or anywhere around my life for that matter. And I sure as hell didn't want him anywhere near my son.
“What did you tell him?” I asked, feeling almost panicked. “You didn't tell him anything about me, did you, Jules?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. I'm a little bit smarter than that.”
I sighed, a wave of relief rushing through me. “I'm sorry. I just – I don't want people like that in my life or around Austin.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand gently. “I know you don't, hon. And I can't say that I blame you. Although – no, never mind.”
I cocked my head. “Although what?”
She shrugged and took a sip of her Manhattan before speaking. “There just seems to be something different about him. Something – decent. We've had to treat some of the Kings before, and he doesn't seem like most of those guys. He's a little rough around the edges, sure, but he just seems… different.”
I didn't know how he seemed any different. To me, if you were wearing a Kings kutte, it meant you were a certain type of person. And ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, you weren't the type of person I wanted to associate with. The type of person I'd ruthlessly cut out of my world.
“Decent?” I asked. “How do you figure?”
She shrugged again. “Hard to put into words,” she said. “He just seems a little more… thoughtful. And a lot more well-spoken, that's for sure. Instead of asking inappropriate questions like those guys tend to do, he was asking more about you as a person.”
I took a sip of my drink and leaned back in my seat. Despite how she had a point – most guys like the Kings were more interested in what I wore to bed or what my favorite position was than what I enjoyed reading or my favorite movies – that didn't necessarily make Damian any different. Maybe he was just a bit more of a slick operator than they were. Pretend to be interested in me as a person when the whole time, all he was really interested in what was between my thighs.
I'd dealt with enough creeps like that in my time.
“Yeah well, it doesn't really matter,” I said. “He's not the kind of guy I want in my life. Or Austin's.”
I laughed and shook my head. “Don't let your new man hear you say things like that. You might make him jealous.”
Julia laughed and finished off her drink. “Speaking of which, I'm supposed to meet him.”
“I see how it is. Cast aside the friend when the promise of some nookie rolls around.”
She playfully slapped my hand. “Yeah well, at least it's really good nookie.”
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