He shrugged. “I'm a little hungover, but otherwise, I'm okay. Why do you ask?”
Oh, he was making it really difficult to not punch him in the face.
“Not what I meant,” I said. “What in the hell, Damian? What made you think having happy hour in my living room was appropriate?”
He cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face, the stubble making a dry, scratchy sound. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I tied one on last night. Sorry.”
“Sorry isn't going to cut it, Damian,” I said. “What if Austin had been here? Do you really want him to find you like this? That's what pisses me off the most.”
Looking like it took a Herculean effort, Damian got to his feet – and was unsteady at best. He wobbled a little bit and looked like he might just fall. And given the fact that he was so much bigger than I was, I would have no choice but to let him hit the ground. There was no way I was going to be able to keep him from going down.
But he somehow managed to recover his balance and remain on his feet. He looked around at the mess he'd made – the couch cushions and pillows all askew, the coffee table pushed out into the middle of the living room, and all of the bottles on the floor. His cheeks colored and he wouldn't meet my eyes. And it wasn't hard to see that he was feeling pretty bad – and not just because he was hungover.
“Listen, Cara,” he said. “I'm really sorry. I–I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry.”
I sighed. I knew that Damian was conflicted over what happened last night. I could see that he was tormented by it. I wished I could set his mind at ease, or at least take away some of the hurt it was causing him. I wanted him to see that it wasn't a bad thing – that Mendoza's death was ultimately a good thing. Or at least, a necessary evil.
The fact that he was gone and the power of the Fantasmas had been broken – at least, I assumed it had – meant that Austin and I were safe. We were free. We wouldn't have to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, wondering when they were going to show up again.
But as I looked into Damian's eyes, all I could see was the torment. Killing Mendoza might have been the original intent behind the plan, but he'd had a change of heart about it at the last minute. And the fact that Mills and the Kings had executed Mendoza and his men anyway, probably had Damian feeling responsible. And probably guilty as hell.
His eyes were glassy, and I could see that he was fighting back the tears. Feeling a little bad for unloading on him, I stepped closer, putting my hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes.
“Talk to me, Damian,” I said. “What's wrong?”
He looked back at me, and I saw something in his eyes that I couldn't quite place. He was haunted by something – something more than what had happened last night. I could see it. But as he looked at me, it was like watching a curtain descending over his face. His expression changed – it became colder. More distant. He'd ruthlessly shut down any impulse he might have had to open up and talk to me.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. I'm okay.”
He stepped back from me and picked up all of the bottles, setting them down on the coffee table before moving to clean up the rest of the room. I watched him as he moved about the room, avoiding my eyes. He opened up a window to let some fresh air in and then gathered up the empty bottles and went out back to where the recycling bin was.
When he came back in, he gave me a small smile. “I–I'm gonna take a shower, if that's okay with you,” he said. “And then I can get out of your hair. Now that Men – now that it's over, I shouldn't need to hide out here anymore. You and Austin can get back to living a normal life.”
I stood there, stunned. I'd thought that Damian and I had grown closer. Had intended to explore whatever this thing was between us. But all of the sudden, he was shutting down on me and freezing me out – and it was about more than me getting on him for getting hammered in my living room. It was as if he couldn't wait to be away from me.
“Damian, what's going on?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I'm good. I just figured that you and Austin could use a little space.”
He didn't give me a chance to respond. Instead, he hurried down the hallway and jumped into the shower. My head spinning and a lump in my throat, I moved into the kitchen and made some coffee, all the while, trying to figure out what had happened and why he was suddenly shutting me out.
A few minutes later, he reappeared with his bag in his hand. He stepped into the kitchen and looked at me – kind of. His eyes were focused on a point over my head.
“So, I'm gonna take off,” he said. “I don't even know how to thank you for everything you've done for me.”
“Damian, I wanted to—”
He shook his head and took a step toward the front door. “Listen, I'll call you, okay?” he said and forced a smile that didn't come close to looking genuine. “I haven't forgotten about that dinner date.”
And then he was gone. A moment later, I heard the roar of his bike and listened to it speed away. All the while, a lance of pain stabbed me through the heart as I got the feeling I was never going to see him again.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Cara
I sat at the table at the Starbucks down the street from my house. It had been a week since I'd seen Damian and I was getting worried. Really worried. I knew he needed a little time and space, but after having had zero contact with him over the last week – I started to think the worst.
I knew that what had happened out at the barn with the Fantasmas had hit him hard. That much was clear. And I didn't know enough about his past to know exactly why. I suspected it had something to do with his time in the military, but he was something of a closed book to me on that subject.
I needed to get in touch with Damian, but I didn't know how. He wasn't picking or returning my calls or texts. I didn't know where he was. For all I knew, he was as likely to be passed out drunk on his couch as he was to be lying dead in a ditch somewhere.
I wanted – no, I needed – some answers.
Which was why I was sitting in a Starbucks in the middle of the day. I'd left Austin with Mandy for a while. I needed to meet with somebody who might know where Damian was – or at least, how he was doing. At the very, very least, that he was still alive.
The place was half filled with students and hipsters. And when Crank walked in wearing his Kings kutte and looking every bit the biker, most eyes turned his way. I looked around and saw a few disapproving glances and even some expressions of fear.
As he walked over to my table, I started to grow a little uncomfortable as the scrutiny of the other patrons began to shift to me. There I was, a small, unremarkable looking woman. Most would have mistaken me for a soccer mom or a housewife. And then there was the big, burly biker taking a seat at my table – it was a little uncomfortable, but it didn't surprise me that people stared.
Though honestly, Crank was less of a stereotypical-looking biker than some of the other Kings. He had a baby face and was relatively clean cut, unlike some of the other guys. Hell, he looked less menacing and less like a biker than even Damian did most days.
But still, people saw the leather kutte, the patches, the dirty jeans – and of course, the bike – and they made assumptions. They cast judgments. But what did they know? Damian and Crank were two of the best men I'd ever known. Yeah, some of their biker brothers were disgusting pigs – and probably worse – but those two proved to me that all bikers were not cut from the same cloth. Not anywhere close, actually.
Maybe it was because they had served in the military, but they carried themselves with distinction, acted with honor. It was a very stark contrast with Mills, who never served, and was more ruthless, cutthroat, dishonorable, and malicious than anybody I knew. Even my own mother – which was saying a lot.
“I wasn't sure what you liked or wanted, so I just ordered you something,” I said and motioned to the other drink on the table. “I hope you don't mind.”
He smiled at me. “Na
h, I don't mind. I usually don't get around to getting one of these mocha-frap-presso things,” he said. “I appreciate it. Thank you.”
“You're welcome.”
Crank took a long sip of his drink and nodded. “It's good.”
I fidgeted with the straw in my cup, avoiding Crank's eyes.
“I was surprised you called me and wanted to meet,” he said. “But then I thought about it, and I kinda figured what it was you were calling about.”
I gave him a small smile. “Yeah, I'm sorry. I appreciate you meeting me, Crank. I just didn't know who else to turn to.”
“That's okay, Cara. No worries. Damian cares about you. Which means I care about you. And I'm here for you, okay? Don't ever forget that.”
Emotion choked me, and the warm sting of tears burned my eyes. “That means a lot. Thank you.”
The absurdity of it all wasn't lost on me. Just a few months back, I wouldn't have been seen anywhere near somebody like Crank – or Damian for that matter. They were the wrong kind of people. They were the kind of people I'd worked so hard to cut out of my life and my world. I didn't want that influence in my life and most importantly, in Austin's life.
And yet, there I was, sitting with Crank and feeling my heart being torn into a million pieces because I cared about Damian.
Crank cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. Not because people were staring at us – which they were – but because I was being a little emotional. He wasn't comfortable with tears, I guessed. So, I wiped my eyes, bit back the rest of them, and tried to gather my composure.
“Sorry,” I said. “There's just… a lot on my plate right now.”
“It's okay,” he replied. “Sorry I'm not better equipped to be… comforting, I guess.”
I chuckled. “You shouldn't have to be. You've got enough of your own going on to have to deal with the hyper-emotional crazy lady.”
Crank smiled. “You're not crazy, Cara.”
We sat in silence for a few moments while I composed myself. Crank looked around and sipped his drink. It belatedly occurred to me that he probably wasn't the coffee house type and that I probably should have arranged to meet him somewhere else. Maybe somewhere the crowd didn't seem to have such a stick up their collective asses. But he seemed to be handling the scrutiny well enough.
“Anyway,” I said. “I was just hoping you'd been in touch with Damian. It's been a week now.”
Crank smiled softly and shook his head. “I haven't heard from him either. He's gone off the grid for a bit. But I'm sure he's fine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He shrugged. “Been through a lot with that guy. We've seen some things. Done some things. And if there's one thing I know with absolute certainty about him, it's that Damian is a survivor. He's not the type to pack it in and off himself – if that's what you're worried about. He'd never do it.”
A small sense of relief flooded my body as I listened to his words – but only a small sense. Until I saw Damian alive and in the flesh, standing in front of me again, I was going to continue to worry. But if there was somebody who knew him better than anybody else on the planet, knew what he was and wasn't capable of doing, it was Crank. So, if he told me that Damian wasn't going to kill himself, I was going to have to believe him.
“Where did he go?” I asked.
“Sometimes he just needs to get away from everything,” he said. “Clear his mind. Reboot his brain. What went down at the barn that night was some pretty heavy shit.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Crank cocked his head and looked at me. “You seem to be handling it all pretty well, all things considered.”
I shrugged. “Am I happy with what went down? Of course not,” I said, pitching my voice low to avoid being overheard. “But, I saw it as a necessary evil. Mendoza and his guys were threatening my child. They were threatening me. It was – terrible – but I no longer have to worry about those guys showing up at my house. Trying to kidnap me from the parking lot at work. I wish to God I'd never seen what I saw, but I did. And if I'm being honest, I'm glad they're gone. I'm not going to shed a tear that scum – evil scum – like that is gone for good.”
“And you shouldn't shed a tear,” he replied. “They're not worth it. All I'm sayin' is that you seem pretty adjusted to it. Not that there's anything wrong with that. All I'm sayin' is that Damian – he's strugglin' with it a bit.”
I took a sip of my drink and nodded, my heart going out to him even more than it already was. I never thought it would have been possible, but I cared about Damian. Quite a lot. I'd done my best to keep him at an arm's distance. Had done my best to fight my feelings for him. To deny them. But at the end of the day, I realized that I cared for that stupid man.
“I know he is,” I said. “And I want to help him—”
Crank shook his head. “This is just one of those things he's gotta sort out in his own head first. He just needs a little time.”
“I don't understand. Help me to understand.”
He sighed and looked down at his drink, seeming to be debating within himself whether or not to tell me. He drummed his fingers on the table and gave himself a little nod as if he'd made his decision.
“It has to do with our time over in Afghanistan,” he said. “There was… this thing that happened...”
Crank's voice trailed off, and his eyes got this faraway look, like he was reliving the pain of whatever happened over there. He seemed to catch himself as he shook his head and gave me a small, rueful grin.
“Talk to me, Crank,” I urged him. “What was this thing that happened?”
He sighed and then told me one of the most harrowing stories I'd ever heard. I listened to every word, riveted to his tale – but was simultaneously repulsed by it. War stories were something I'd never really heard before. War was an abstract concept for me. I'd never lived it – and never would.
But Crank and Damian had. And given the story he was telling me, it was every bit as terrible as anything I could have imagined. I had to imagine it left scars. Deep, horrible scars on both men. It was no wonder that what happened in that barn had sent Damian over the edge.
I only hoped he could pull himself back from it.
“How is that you seem so…”
“Okay with it? Well adjusted?” Crank finished for me.
I offered him a small smile. “Well – yeah. Basically.”
He shrugged. “When I got back stateside and rotated out of the military, I started seeing a shrink,” he admitted. “She helped me through it. The worst of it anyway. I still have nightmares at times and some flashbacks, but overall, she taught me how to cope with it. How to deal with everything I'd gone through and how I felt about it.”
I sat back in my seat, still trying to absorb it all. What had happened to them over there – what they'd been part of – it was unimaginable to me. Unconscionable. And it broke my heart.
“Damian didn't ever see anybody about it?” I asked.
Crank shook his head. “Nah. I tried to get him in to see my doc, but he wasn't having it. Preferred to deal with it his own way.”
“That sounds like him. Stubborn to the core.”
Crank shrugged. “I was lucky. I had a good support system. My sister – she wasn't going to put up with my shit and made sure I got in to see somebody. Damian didn't ever have anything like that. He's got no family. He's all alone.”
Just when I thought I couldn't feel any worse for Damian, Crank delivered that little piece of information and my sympathy for him hit a new high. I knew he'd bristle at the notion that I pitied him, but my heart broke for him. I knew he hadn't had an easy life – but I never knew just how difficult it had been for him. Still was for him.
“He's not alone anymore though,” I said. “I wish he knew that.”
Crank smiled at me. “I wish he did too. You're a good woman, Cara. He needs you in his life. You're a stable, good influence on him.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I don't know ab
out all that. But at least, I'll be here to help talk him down when he needs it.”
“Sometimes, that's all he needs. Even if he doesn't really know it.”
“Do you have any idea where he is?”
“I might. Maybe. Sometimes he goes up to this cabin he has out in the middle of nowhere. I don't know though.”
“Can you call him?”
He shook his head. “No phone out there. He's barely got running water,” Crank said and laughed. “But, I'll tell you what. I'll take a ride out, see what I see.”
I smiled, feeling a depth of gratitude that surprised me. “Thank you, Crank.”
“I can't promise he'll come home. I'll do my best to make him see the light, but I can't guarantee anything.”
PREGNANT FOR A PRICE: Kings of Chaos MC Page 18