Cara

 

Well, they weren't wearing their kuttes or anything else that identified them as members of the Kings of Chaos, but I wouldn't have gone so far as to say they didn't stand out. The two prospects Damian had posted in the hospital lurked around, trying to be nonchalant and discrete. But both were well over six feet tall, had thick beards, long hair, and looked straight out of central casting for bikers.

 

But I'd be lying if I said that I didn't feel a little bit safer knowing they were watching my back.

 

I went about my day as normally as I could – making my rounds, checking on my patients, and helping deal with whatever crisis cropped up in the ER. And throughout it all, the two prospects shadowed me. They stayed well out of the way, but I was rarely out of eyesight for them.

 

I walked into the lounge where they were sitting, carrying a couple cans of cold soda. The prospects looked up at me, their faces expressionless. I handed them each a can.

 

“Thanks,” the dark-haired one said.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” the other, with the blonde hair, said.

 

“You boys tired yet?” I asked.

 

They shook their heads in unison – almost as if it had been choreographed – and I had to stifle a life. Except for the difference in their hair color, they were almost like clones of one another. And as I looked at them a little more closely, I saw the similarities in their features.

 

“Brothers, right?” I asked.

 

They nodded – again, in unison. “I'm James,” the dark-haired one said. “This is my brother, Jack.”

 

“Nice to meet you both. And thanks for babysitting me today.”

 

James smiled – and it was the first hint of a personality I'd seen in him. “No worries. It beats the hell out of sweeping the clubhouse and cleaning up after the members.”

 

Jack didn't say anything, but he nodded and smiled along with his brother. I dropped down into the seat between them and felt absolutely dwarfed by them. I had no doubts that any of Mendoza's men would think twice before messing with me with those two sitting beside me.

 

I thought about Damian and his belief that his club's president set him up to be killed. I thought about what he'd told me about the different factions within the club and wondered which side James and Jack belonged to.

 

A cold tendril of fear slithered up my spine as I couldn't stop myself from wondering if these two were loyal to the club's president. And if they were, would it be that big of a stretch to think that had Mills worked with Mendoza to try and have Damian killed, that he would work with the Fantasmas leader again to have me handed over.

 

Or was I simply letting Damian's possible paranoia rub off on me?

 

I needed to find out what side of the street these two were on – but I knew that I needed to be discrete about it. I had to watch what I said and how I said it because the last thing I wanted to do was tip them off that I knew about the rift within the club. As far as they knew, I was just a little damsel in distress that Damian was helping out. And I wanted to keep it that way.

 

“So, you two are club prospects, huh?” I asked. “When do you get full membership?”

 

James shrugged. “Whenever they decide to hold a vote, I guess.”

 

I nodded as if I understood – though I didn't, not really. Neither of them said very much and getting them to speak was like pulling teeth. Compared to Jack though, James was a regular chatterbox, so I directed my questions to him, though I left them open enough for either to answer.

 

“So, how does that work?” I asked. “Who calls for a vote?”

 

“The prez,” James said.

 

“And that's this Mills guy?”

 

Both men nodded, still not giving me any hint where exactly their loyalties were at. And I really didn't know how to come at it from a discrete direction. I was growing a little more anxious as the time ticked by and I approached the end of my shift. I had a feeling that if these two were going to grab me and take me to Mendoza, they'd do it when they were escorting me home.

 

And personally speaking, I wanted to know well before that happened so I could plan accordingly.

 

So, I decided to ditch the roundabout way of getting the information I needed and tackle it straight on – mostly.

 

“So, what is Mills like?” I asked. “Is he a nice guy?”

 

Both men made a choking sound at the same time. They shared a glance and seemed to be communicating with one another without saying anything. But the look they shared told me – or at least, I thought told me – all I needed to know. These two were Damian's guys. At least, I thought they were.

 

“I don't know that nice is the right word,” James finally said. “None of us are really all that nice. We're bikers, lady.”

 

I laughed and gave them a genuine smile. “Oh, I don't know. You two seem pretty alright to me. Damian too. He's risked a lot to help me. I think beneath that gruff, rugged exterior is a good guy. Maybe with the two of you as well.”

 

The brothers exchanged another look, and I could have sworn that beneath those big, bushy beards, they were blushing.

 

“Damian's a good guy,” James said, giving me a meaningful look – Jack did as well. “We'd follow him into hell.”

 

“Mills is an asshole,” Jack said, surprising me by speaking. “But he's the club prez. Not much we can do about it at the moment.”

 

Hearing their words brought me a sense of relief that was deep and profound. I let out a breath and looked at them gratefully. James reached out and patted my hand.

 

“Don't worry, Cara,” he said. “Damian's not trusting your safety – or your boy's – with nobody he doesn't trust. We've got your back. And don't worry, if anybody can find a way out of this whole thing, it's Damian. He's going to figure it out.”

 

I smiled and felt the tears welling in my eyes. I took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

 

He nodded. “Any time.”

 

“Okay, I'm off in an hour,” I said. “And then we can get out of here.”

 

“Sounds good,” James said.

 

“And as a thank you, I'm going to make the both of you a good, home-cooked meal.”

 

“Sounds even better,” Jack said.

 

I got up and wiped the tears from my eyes, walking away with a smile on my face. And strangely enough, feeling lighter and a little freer than I had in a few days. For the first time, I was starting to really believe that things were going to be okay. That Damian was going to figure a way out of this; getting Mendoza and his men out of my life forever.

 

Unfortunately, I had a strong suspicion what that was going to look like. I didn't see that confrontation ending in anything but violence and bloodshed. But then, knowing that the Fantasmas were a threat not just to me, but to Austin as well, that stab of guilt faded quickly.

 

And then I realized that I didn't feel guilty about a man probably being killed. What did that say about me?

 

I carried on with my day, tending to my patients and doing my share of the dreaded paperwork. After finishing up, I ran to the locker room to change and grab my bag. All squared away, I went back to the lounge where the brothers said they'd be waiting for me and froze in my tracks.

 

The brothers and two of Mendoza's men were standing in the lounge, practically nose to nose. The threat of violence was thick in the air.

 

“Hey, Cara.”

 

The voice came from behind me – very close behind me – and nearly made me jump out of my skin. I spun around quickly and found myself face to face with Mendoza himself. He smiled as he looked me up and down, his eyes roaming my body.

 

“I've been thinkin' about you,” he said, licking his lips. “Thinkin' about you a lot.”

 

I took a couple of steps back and looked over my shoulder. The brothers had their backs to me and were tied up, arguing with Mendoza's guys. Which was apparently the plan – distract the brothers so Mendoza could scoop me up.

 

I opened my mouth to get their attention when Mendoza reached out and put his finger to my lips. “Ssshhhh,” he said. “You don't want to do that.”

 

“No?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why not?”

 

“Because you don't want my guys shooting up your hospital, do you?” he asked as casually as if he were discussing nothing direr than the weather. “I mean, if you want some of your patients and your co-workers shot up – especially that Julia chick – then go ahead and scream. All it's gonna take is my signal, and this hospital is gonna be a war zone. And believe me, there are gonna be a lot of fuckin' casualties.”

 

My blood felt like it was frozen in my veins and I was trembling. I risked another look over my shoulder, and Mendoza's men were moving down the hallway, still arguing with the brothers and drawing them further and further away from me.

 

My heart was pounding so hard within me, I was sure it was going to leave bruises, and my adrenaline was pumping fast and furious. I was alone in the hallway with Mendoza, who was leering at me salaciously.

 

“Looks like it's just the two of us, baby,” he said.

 

“W–what do you want from me?” I asked.

 

“Same thing I told you the other night,” he said. “I'm gonna make you my personal bitch. And when I'm done with you, I'm gonna sell you off to somebody. Except first, I'm gonna make you watch me gut that son of a bitch, Damian. I'm gonna smoke his ass and make you drink his fuckin' blood.”

 

A lump formed in my throat and the knot that had formed in my stomach constricted painfully. I took a few more steps backward – but Mendoza took a few forward, keeping himself within arm's reach of me. I had no idea how in the hell I was going to get away from him.

 

“You don't have to do this,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, don't do this.”

 

“No, I don't have to.” Mendoza laughed. “But I'm going to. You're just too sweet a piece of ass to pass up.”

 

“Everything okay, Cara?”

 

The voice came from behind Mendoza – it was Roger, the security guard who'd escorted me out to my car the other night. I'd been so focused on Mendoza that I hadn't seen Roger walk up behind him. An expression of irritation crossed Mendoza's face as he turned around. Roger already had his hand on the butt of his weapon, and though Mendoza seemed to be flirting with the idea of going for his own piece, he seemed to think better of it.

 

“Yeah, everything's cool, m'man,” Mendoza said. “We're just having a talk. No big deal.”

 

Roger looked at me, and I could see the concern in his eyes. “That true, Cara?” he asked. “Are you—”

 

“I said we were just talking, man,” Mendoza snapped. “Everything is cook, okay?”

 

Roger's eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. I could see the situation beginning to escalate and knew I needed to do something to keep it from spinning out of control.

 

“I–it's okay, Roger,” I said. “He was just leaving. I'm okay. Thank you.”

 

I looked at Roger and knew my eyes were wide and had a panic-stricken expression on my face. Roger knew that something wasn't kosher – especially after what had happened in the parking garage the other night. But I didn't want him getting hurt – because I knew Mendoza would shoot him dead without thinking twice about it.

 

“That's right,” Mendoza said, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “I was just leaving.”

 

“I think it's best that you do,” Roger said, his hand still on the butt of his gun.

 

Mendoza looked at Roger's weapon and then chuckled. “Yeah, probably best.”

 

He turned to walk away, and I was ready to heave a sigh of relief when the big man turned around again. He pointed a finger at me and flashed me that same, disgusting lascivious smile.

 

“I'll catch you later, Cara,” he said. “I'll be seeing you very, very soon.”

 

And then he walked away, disappearing around a corner and my legs turned to jelly, almost spilling me to the floor. Roger was there to hold me up, and I latched onto him, burying my face in his shirt and began sobbing. I was so grateful that he'd been there because he'd probably saved my life.

 

“It's okay,” he said. “You're okay.”

 

I nodded. I was okay. The question was – for how long?