Evan Lockwood was a bastard. Everyone said so. His mother said it as a matter of fact. His friends said it while laughing at some joke he’d made. Women said it when they were thinking about slapping him, or while they were in the process of slapping him. His enemies said it when they were bracing themselves to get punched. When people called Evan a bastard, they meant it. His work involved guns and fists, and his nights were full of sex and violence. He loved it. He loved every second of it. He loved being fierce. He loved waking up after a hard night and going to the gym, and he loved only one mistress—war. His love language was command, and he was fluent in it.

His latest woman of the night, Tanya, gripped his arm with nails like knives. They even looked like knives, with a chrome finish and sharpened edges. Her smile was clean and precise. She wouldn't last a week. She was casual, a one-time thing. And she was funny. She spoke fluent . . . something. He wasn't sure. Vietnamese? Her given name was unpronounceable, and while Evan had insisted on trying—he wasn't so big a bastard he wouldn't try to pronounce things—she had told him to just call her Tanya. So he did. They had worked together for a while now.

His job right now was to look tough. There were important things going on in the back room, and his job was to make sure that no one got any ideas about interfering. The black tank top helped. He was a machine of lean muscle and tattoos. He drank a lot of protein shakes to look tough like this, but the upside was that he was very well compensated for his time.

The dark neon lighting made him look like a demon with bloody red skin. It was a quiet night in the club, and there weren't a lot of people down on the dance floor. Mostly, it was a contemplative drinking kind of night.

His cell phone rang. Before he could reach into his pocket and get it, Tanya had. It was a very titillating move, and he grinned at her. He didn't recognize the number, but he answered anyway. It was the middle of the night.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hi, I'm calling for Evan Lockwood?" said an efficient voice on the other end of the line.

"This is him," he answered.

"Hi, Mr. Lockwood. This is Carla from the emergency room at Mercy Medical Center on fourth street. I'm calling on behalf of Mrs. Gloria Lockwood."

Tanya scooted off of his lap and took a seat so he could sit up all the way.

"Yes, what's up?"

"Earlier this evening Mrs. Lockwood had a fall and she injured herself. She has a fracture in her leg, and she called our paramedics to come pick her up. She said you might be willing to give her a ride home?"

"Yeah, I can do that. I'm about twenty minutes out."

"That's fine, she's still going through the discharge process."

"Is she, like, okay?"

"Yes, Mr. Lockwood, she's lucid and um . . . She doesn't like the doctor," said Carla from the ER with a laugh in her throat. "She threatened to bite several people."

"Oh, okay. Thanks. Yes, she will bite you, so don't tempt her."

Tanya looked a little alarmed.

"We'll see you soon sir."

"Thank you."

He hung up. He rarely had to leave early, and he wasn't really sure how it was going to go down. When he stood, Tanya watched him. It's not so much that Evan was tall—he was slightly above average height—it was that he was intimidating. While his muscle was all lean, he had quite a lot of it.

"Sorry babe, looks like we'll have to pick this up later."

"Maybe. See ya, stud."

He winked at her, and walked up to KC. He had been told that KC was the man to go to if there were any issues. He had also been watching Evan on the phone.

"Problem?" the bald man asked. He was as big around as a California redwood and there was an ash-black rose blooming on his neck.

"Yeah, I got some emergency business to take care of."

"You know we aren't gonna pay you for not being here, right?"

"That's fine. I just . . . I gotta go."

KC gave a single nod of his shiny head. "I understand. Make sure you come in tomorrow. Big day."

"Yes, sir."

Evan left the club. Outside, he realized how loud it had been inside. The kind of people he worked for usually worked in places like this, where alcohol and bad judgment flowed freely to create the perfect cocktail for drug sales. Of course, that wasn't Evan's problem. He didn't use, and never had. Evan was hired muscle in every sense of the word. He wasn't just there to look intimidating, but on fight nights, Evan used that muscle to good effect to rack up huge wagers. Small coin compared to cocaine, but Evan always got a cut, and it had been enough to buy a house in the 'burbs for his grandma and a sleek, sexy muscle car, and make sure that his bills were always paid. He was an "independent contractor" with no ties except that one, to the woman who had raised him.

Grandma Glory was a hard-talking bit of gristle that had watched helplessly while her grandson had fallen into the family trap of living the hard life. She was mean, and surly, and she loved him absolutely, because he was the only one that stayed. Everyone else had gone to the big city for the big money and left her behind. Except for Evan.

For that, she was willing to forgive his bad mouth and bad car, and when he had bought her a house, she had moved in on the stipulation that he moved in too. He took the cottage in the back, so she didn't have to be aware, strictly speaking, of his girlfriends. And, of course, he didn't have to listen to the Sopranos again. He was so tired of the Sopranos.

* * *

When he got to the hospital, he parked in the emergency lot, and walked up to the ER entrance. Inside, he found his Granny in a wheelchair, attended by a very charming male nurse.

The thing about Granny Glory was that she didn't look her age. She looked old, of course, but she didn't look like she was in her seventies. Her hair was a perfect dyed red, and her long Italian face was still elegant, with big sleepy eyes that made lesser men swoon. She wore a thick gold ring on every finger, and a stack of bracelets given to her by a hundred lovers. She smelled like cloves.

"Well, there you are," she said. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up."

"I'm sure you were having a terrible time," he said, motioning to the nurse, who stood up. The guy was around his age, and handsome in a bland way.

"He's a bore," she said dismissively.

The nurse—who was probably gay—pretended to be offended. "After everything we've been through together?"

"I'm sorry love, but I'm just not that into you," said Granny.

The nurse said, "That's fine. You're not my type anyway."

Evan rolled his eyes. "Thank you," he said to the nurse.

"Anytime. I need you to come sign some paperwork."

"Sure."

Evan followed him. As they walked over to the desk, the nurse said, "She fell and bruised her hip pretty bad. Said she just got dizzy. She's got some gnarly osteoporosis going on and the doctor has prescribed a calcium supplement. She lives alone, right?"

"Yeah."

"We usually recommend at this point that she has twenty-four-seven companionship. I'm not gonna say she's elderly, exactly, but if she falls and hits her head or something, it could be bad."

"There's . . . I mean, I live next door, but I work a lot. She's alone most of the time."

"I feel you. Have you considered a home care company?"

Evan felt like he was living in some parallel universe. One in which Granny wasn't totally invincible. "What, like a nurse?"

"Not exactly. There are lots of companies that will provide a medically trained companion to help the patient out with chores, help take care of them, and basically just make sure they aren't alone. My grandma worked with one company for a while, do you want their number? Her insurance would cover it."

"Yeah, sure, actually. That would be cool."

"Yeah! I think we have their card. I'll go find it for you."

"Thank you," he said.

The nurse went off to go find the card. Evan signed his name on his grandma’s paperwork. When the nurse came back, he handed the card off. He asked if they needed help getting to the car, but Evan said they were alright, and Glory stood up to prove that she was okay. The nurse took the wheelchair and blew kisses to Glory, who caught an imaginary kiss and held it to her chest. She gave him a wistful look, and he waved to her sadly. "Goodbye, Cara Mia. Don't forget me."

"I can barely remember breakfast. It's not looking good for you, handsome nurse I met three hours ago. How about I promise not to forget you until tomorrow?"

"Deal. Have a good night, guys!"

The nurse laughed all the way back to the ER. The dim fluorescent light made Evan feel a bit sick, and he didn't exactly have great memories tied to this place. He offered his arm to Glory and led her out to the car. She rolled her eyes when she saw it.

"Still driving this can around? When are you going to get something more practical? How are you supposed to take my great grandkids to the store or whatever in that?"

"You don't have great grandkids, Granny. Not from me, anyway."

"No, I don't. You're getting old, Evan, when the hell are you gonna settled down?"

"I'm twenty-nine!" he said, stepping off the sidewalk and opening the door for her. She brushed off his offer of help and climbed into the passenger seat.

"That is old. Kids these days wait way too long to have kids. It's obscene. When me and Pa-paw were your age, we had three kids!"

"Yeah, that's because you lived in the seventies. When you could afford to have kids."

He closed the door and walked around, spanking the hood of his gorgeous red car. When he opened the driver door, he continued, "Besides, Gran, I don't even know if I want kids."

"You can afford to have kids—or you could if you got a decent job instead of this nonsense you do. Do you know how much an electrician makes? It's obscene. You bought your grandmother a frickin' house. A house! In the suburbs no less. You need to hurry up and give me some more great grand babies before I kick the bucket."

He started the car while she was ranting. Carefully, he backed out of the parking stall and then drove out of the parking lot. This was a tiny, quiet town, with tiny, quiet streets. His work was out in the city, a forty-five-minute drive away.

"Gran, the nurse wants me to hire a home care company to take care of you."

Glory was quiet for a minute while she processed this information.

"It should be one of your brothers and sisters. Or your parents."

She suddenly looked rather frail.

"But I guess that's my own fault. I just . . . I fell, Evan. I blacked out. I don't remember falling. I was walking to the fridge to make something to eat."

"Have you eaten?"

"I had a brownie in the ER."

"You want something to eat?"

"I want Mexican food."

"I'll buy you Mexican food, Gran."

"You're such a helpful boy."

Evan snorted. Not many people would agree with her on that. Evan was not a helpful boy at all. He was a brawling, nasty boy. Even his own parents thought so. In fact, they were probably why he was such a brawler.