Cara

 

I woke up to the sun streaming through my windows. The warmth on my face was welcome, but the fact it felt like the light was searing my eyeballs wasn't particularly pleasant. My eyes felt grainy, and my body was stiff. Sore. It felt like I'd worked out hard the night before, but I hadn't. I hadn't really done anything physically demanding at all.

 

Instead, I'd witnessed the cold-blooded murder of four men.

 

Perhaps the weight that had been lifted off of me in that barn – the nearly crushing weight I'd been carrying around for what felt like forever – is what had left me feeling stiff and sore, now that it was gone.

 

On some level, I knew I should feel bad. Knew I shouldn't be as flippant about the fact that I'd seen four men brutally executed right in front of me. But the truth of the matter was, I didn't. Not in the least little bit.

 

Initially, the shock of it all had caught me off guard. I'd been stunned. But then, as I'd thought about it on the ride home, and then again after lying in bed for a while, I'd come to realize that there was nothing to feel bad about. Mendoza and his men had threatened me. Had threatened my child.

 

Why in the hell should I feel bad about the fact that guys like that were gone, out of my life? Forever.

 

They were bad guys who got off on doing bad things. That sort of thing catches up to a person eventually. And it caught up to them in that barn in a big way. Because of who they were and the things they did, no I didn't feel the least bit guilty about the fact that karma had bitten them in the ass.

 

Which, of course, said a lot about how I'd changed since Damian had come into my life.

 

Damian.

 

I'd worked so hard to keep my life free and clear of the sort of trouble he brought into my world. Drugs. Violence. Chaos. But there was something about him I couldn't help but find utterly compelling. Deep down, underneath the kutte and the bad boy attitude, Damian was a good man. He tried to hide it with his bluster and bravado – but I could see it plain as day.

 

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, contemplating everything that had happened. Also contemplating what it said about me that I felt no guilt or remorse about the whole episode. The house was unusually still and quiet – Austin was still over at my friend Nadia's house, playing with her son. I would pick him up later in the day, but until then, I wanted to enjoy a little peace and quiet – which was a rarity in my life.

 

I stretched and yawned, debating with myself whether or not I should be indulgent and go back to sleep for a little while when the sound of Damian snoring drifted to me from down the hallway. It wasn't an every night thing, but when he got into it, his snoring was on par with your average T-Rex in terms of volume.

 

I shook my head and laughed to myself as I climbed out of bed. I figured I would make him a little breakfast. I wasn't all that tired, and the idea of going back to sleep for a while was sheer laziness. Not that I didn't deserve a little self-indulgent downtime now and then. But I was awake and was feeling pretty good, so I figured I'd get out of bed. I'd make up for it later with a glass of wine and a hot bath.

 

Padding down the hall, I wasn't quite prepared for what I saw. Damian had rolled off the couch and was laying on the floor. Apparently, he'd rolled off with enough force that he'd knocked the coffee table out of the way and lay face down. What concerned me the most though, was that he was surrounded by empty beer bottles. That and the air was saturated with the stink of stale beer.

 

I was angry that he would get so blindly drunk in my house. And was thankful Austin wasn't there to see it.

 

“Damian,” I almost shouted. “Wake up.”

 

He stirred and I thought he might be waking up, but his snoring continued, unabated. I moved around and nudged him in the ass with my foot.

 

“Get up, Damian,” I said.

 

His snoring stopped, and he finally seemed to be waking up. Damian rolled over and looked at me through bleary, bloodshot eyes. He ran his hand across his mouth and slowly sat up, the empty bottles clinking against one another as he knocked them out of the way. Deciding that getting up onto the couch was too much effort, he leaned back against the couch and looked at me, as if trying to comprehend who I was and what was happening.

 

A light suddenly dawned in his eyes as he apparently recognized me. “Cara,” he said as if confirming my identity to himself. “Good morning.”

 

I folded my arms across my chest and scowled at him. “I thought it was going to be,” I snapped. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”

 

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.