Savage Things (Chaos & Ruin Book 2)

by Callie Hart

  “My options?” I know all too well what he’s talking about. Have I thought about if I want to keep the baby, or if I want to take another route? Have a termination. I’ve thought about both options endlessly, but admitting this to Oliver feels wrong somehow. He sighs, his shoulders dropping. Turning around, he leans back against the desk behind him, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Don’t, Sloane. Just don’t. It’s an insult to my intelligence. Let me help you out with your decision. You know as well as I do that you’re in the peak of your career. Do you think you’re still going to be able to specialize if you’re pregnant? Working the trauma floor is exhausting at the best of times. And once you have the baby, then what? You think you’re gonna be able to run yourself into the ground, working sixteen hour shifts while you have a newborn up in the day care? You’d drive yourself crazy wondering if it was okay. You wouldn’t be able to focus.”

  “I wouldn’t bring a baby to work, Oliver.”

  “Ha!”

  “Why ha?”

  “Because that means you honestly think you’d be able to leave your brand new baby at home with its father while you’re out at work all day, and that’s—that’s—”

  “That’s what, Oliver?” My skin is prickling all over. I can feel my anger levels rising. I don’t like the tone of his voice, or the look of contempt that’s stamped itself all over him.

  Oliver lets out an exasperated breath. “You can’t tell me you think Zeth is stay-at-home dad material, Sloane. He wouldn’t have the first clue how to care for a child. I know I haven’t exactly been the guy’s number one cheerleader since you started seeing him, but this has nothing to do with that. It takes a certain kind of guy to stay home and care for their kid while their girlfriend or wife goes out to work. I know I sure as hell couldn’t do it. What makes you think a man like Zeth could? He’s hardly the kind, caring, compassionate type.”

  “Fuck you, Oliver.” I snatch up my jacket, angrily shoving my arms into it and pulling it on. “I didn’t come to you so you could judge, okay? I came to you because you’re my friend, and I thought you’d do your job as a doctor and be impartial.”

  “I can’t be fucking impartial, Sloane. Of course I can’t be. I am your friend, and as your friend I’m telling you a hard truth because I think you need to hear it. I think you know all of this already, that having a baby now will kill your career, that Zeth isn’t ever going to win any father of the year awards, and you came to me exactly because you knew I wouldn’t pull any punches.”

  “That’s not true.” I can’t come up with anything further to say, because I’m so close to tears my throat is closing up. Also, a part of me knows he’s right. A part of me did want to come here and hear him say all of this to me, so I could nod my head in agreement and resign myself to the fact that having a baby right now is the worst thing I could possibly do.

  Oliver’s anger softens as he watches me struggle not to break down into tears. He comes and sits beside me on the gurney, placing his hand lightly on top of mine. “Look. I don’t want to be a jackass, okay. I don’t want you thinking I don’t have your back, because I do. Always. If you want to have this baby, and you want to carry on working, whatever, you know I’ll support you. I’ll do anything and everything I can to make life easy for you. I’ll change diapers. I’ll bottle feed. I’ll be the best honorary uncle this kid has ever had. I even swear I won’t say a word about Zeth ever again. I’ll do all of that for you, Sloane, I promise. If that’s what you want, then you got it. But the thing is…” His eyes are fixed and locked on his shoes. The strip lights overhead reflect in the polished oxblood leather, shining brilliantly. “I don’t think that is what you want, and I think you feel terrible about it. But you have to know that doing what’s right for you is never wrong, okay? It’s sometimes the best thing you can do. Either way, like I said, I’m here. It’s your call. Now all you have to do is make up your mind.”

  ******

  “Zeth?” My voice rings hollow inside the vast, open space of the gym. It’s dark outside, and the dim lights, suspended high above the cast concrete floor, cast just enough light to throw weird, stretched, eerie shadows from the equipment. Zeth’s office door is closed, which generally means he’s out, though the shutters are still up and a radio is playing quietly somewhere, which means someone has to be here. I find Michael in a small weights room off the main area of the gym, sweating profusely as he works out. He smiles when he sees me.

  “Come to challenge me to a few rounds in the cage, Dr. Romera?” He winks. “Zeth’s already gone home. I’m assuming you’re looking for him and not me?”

  “Yeah, just thought I’d see if he was still here. Never mind. I’ll head back and catch him at home.”

  “Is everything okay? You look a little…” Poor Michael. He doesn’t want to be impolite; it’s pretty obvious that I’m under the weather, though.

  “Frazzled?” I offer, trying to help him out. “Yeah, been a rough few weeks. I’ll be okay, though. I probably just need a good night’s sleep.”

  Michael gets up and loops a towel around the back of his neck, using it to mop up the beads of sweat rolling over his shoulders and down his arms. His muscle shirt is soaked through, clinging to his stomach, displaying the wall of abs he has under there. It’s weird—ever since I got with Zeth, I haven’t checked another guy out. Not once. I’m not blind, though. I can see that Michael’s beyond hot. With that beautiful, warm skin tone of his and those shockingly bright blue eyes, he’s quite startling to look at.

  “You know, when you spend as much time with someone as I have spent with Zeth, you come to know them pretty damn well,” he says, cracking open a bottle of water. “And I know you love him, Sloane. I know you’d do anything for him. But you need to learn to trust him.”

  “I’m sorry?” His words are out of the blue, but he has this look on his face that makes me think he knows. He can’t, though. There’s just no way he possibly can. He smiles sadly.

  “You’ve trusted him to save your life more than once, girl. And believe it or not, he’s trusted you to save his a couple of times, too. I never thought I’d see that day. But now you have to trust him to have your back, Doc. Seems like it should be easier than everything else you’ve gone through, I know, but I get it. Sometimes it’s hard to make a leap of faith. To count on someone. It’s all too easy to assume how a person is going to react to something, but sometimes the reality will surprise you. Let him surprise you, Sloane.”

  I puff out my cheeks. My eyes are welling up, my palms sweating. I have no clue what I’m supposed to say to any of this. I don’t know how to react. Eventually I say, “I trust him. Of course I do.” I laugh. My voice is shaky as all hell. “And, boy, you don’t need to talk to me about Zeth surprising me. He surprises me every day.”

  Michael drains the bottle of water he’s holding. He crushes it in his hand, and then tosses it across the room into the trashcan. Getting to his feet, he does something very strange then. He takes a few steps, closing the space between us, and he wraps his arms around me, drawing me into a tight hug. It’s so unexpected that I don’t know what to do at first. I stand there, my hands pressing against the sides of my body, my eyes still stinging as he holds onto me. After a moment, I let myself go and hug him back. It feels like a relief. It feels like I’m allowing the situation to wash over me instead of trying so damned hard to hold it at bay. I close my eyes and I cry. Michael doesn’t say a word about the fact that I’m sniffling like a baby into his sweat-covered shirt. He just rubs his hand up and down my back, remaining silent, which is exactly what I need.

  It feels like we stand like this for a long time.

  “Lacey was like a sister to me, Sloane. She was family. You took care of her and you cared for her like she was your own, too. So whatever happens in this life, know I’ll be here for you, Doc. Never forget that.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  MASON

  “You’re fucking kidding me? Dude, three sec
onds ago, you were telling me there was no way you could go to LA. Now you’re saying you can?” Ben’s wearing nothing but his boxers and some smeared hot pink lipstick on his stomach. I dread to think where else he might have been painted pink. His apartment smells like sex, which is to say it smells like Ben’s been locked up in here for the past three days, not answering his phone, not cracking a damn window for fresh air, while he goes at it with an array of morally challenged women.

  I step over an up-ended carton of Chinese food, trying not to breathe in through my nose. The guy is a fucking animal. “I’m not saying I can go. I’m telling you that you have to go. You’re such a fucking idiot, Ben. You know the guys from French’s are looking for you, right? Don’t you read your text messages?”

  “Oh, I read them all right. Dude, you are panicking over nothing. Johnny’s not pissed. Fighters pull this shit all the time. There’s no way they’re gonna single me out for a beating.”

  “They tried to kill Jameson Rayne, man. He’s their prize fucking fighter. If they’re okay with killing him, they’re not gonna think twice about killing you.”

  Ben makes a disbelieving sound, waving one hand at me as he sifts through the piles of dirty cups and dishes on his kitchen counter with the other. “That’s just people talking shit, Mase. They’d never tackle Rayne. You want some coffee?”

  “No, I do not want some coffee. I want you to listen to me. Rayne’s sister told me a bunch of heavies showed up at her place with serious designs on hurting him. They trashed her apartment, destroyed the place. She wasn’t lying. Why the fuck would she?”

  Ben ceases his mission for a clean coffee cup. He looks at me with narrowed eyes. Finally, a faint look of apprehension is forming on his features. “His sister told you that?”

  “She did. And she said they were looking for you next. Hasn’t anybody been over here looking for you?”

  “Maybe once or twice. I’ve been pretty drunk. And busy. Very, very busy. I didn’t exactly want to be disturbed.”

  Fuck. I’m surprised they didn’t kick his damn door down. I place a hand on Ben’s bare shoulder, trying not to think about the last time he showered and how long ago that probably was. “I have a million fires to put out right now, B. I do not have time to stand here debating whether you’re about to get murdered and chopped into little pieces by some very angry men, because I have a bunch of guys who want to chop me into little pieces, too. So can you please just find a bag, pack some shit into it, and let me drive you to the goddamn airport?”

  Mac’s in the hospital. I called earlier, pretending to be his son, and the nurse on duty at the desk told me he’s unconscious at the moment, but that the doctors think he has a good chance of recovering. As long as the fucker’s out cold, I’m okay. He can’t order his guys, the guys I used to work with, to come find me and tear me to shreds. This is the only reason I’m here, dealing with Ben, instead of dealing with my own problems. I’ll have to face them sooner or later, but for the moment getting my friend out of dodge is my only priority.

  Ben looks blankly around his apartment, like he’s at a loss for words. “I thought I was gonna have a little bit more time to make this transition, Mase. I mean, I need to tell my landlord—”

  “Trust me, your landlord isn’t gonna give a shit about you breaking your lease. I’ll make sure your stuff goes into storage. But you gotta go. Now.”

  So he packs a bag. He throws clothes and fight gear into the biggest duffel he can find, and then he opens up a coffee jar on top of his busted up TV and takes out a huge wad of cash. Must be his earnings from the fight with Rayne. That goes into the bag, too.

  We don’t speak as I drive us to the airport. There’s nothing left to say. He’s been my friend for so long. We’ll still be friends in many years, I’m sure. I’m itching to tell him all about Mac. About Lowell. About Zeth. I wish I could spill everything, every single last gory detail, but if I do that the bastard won’t be going anywhere, he’ll insist on staying so he can help me iron out this entire mess. That won’t be a help to anyone. It’ll only make things even more complicated.

  It’s surprisingly easy to get Ben on a flight. I hug him goodbye, begging him to keep his head down for a while, and he swears he will. I know the man, though. It’s almost impossible for him to keep his head down. He’ll be getting himself into all sorts of shit in California as soon as the plane’s wheels touch down. Fingers crossed he knows better than to get involved with anything as stupid as match fixing out there. As he jogs up the stairs and disappears through the entrance to security, a bolt of jealousy hits me. If I didn’t have Millie to care for, it would be all too easy to disappear through those gates with Ben and never come back to Seattle again. I’ve never resented my lot in life—even now I don’t—but sometimes it’s real fucking nice to imagine what could be. To be free. To be reckless. To act like a stupid kid sometimes and please myself.

  These thoughts are still running through my mind thirty minutes later, when I shoot a text to Kaya, thanking her for the heads up and letting her know that Ben is long gone. She replies almost immediately.

  Kaya: Come over. You can thank me in person.

  It’s late. Wanda’s got Millie—I’ve been checking every hour on the hour to make sure she’s okay, and apparently she’s been sleeping a lot. That’s a good sign. Means she’s recharging her batteries. I make a quick call to check in on her again—she’s just fine—and then I make another call to the hospital. Mac’s still unconscious. They’re a little more concerned about him this time; he should have woken up by now. They’re planning on taking him for a second CT scan to check if his brain is swelling. This news doesn’t hit me as hard as it should. I put Mac in the hospital after all. I’m responsible for the fact that it sounds like he might not be waking up any time soon. I can’t bring myself to feel bad, though. The guy’s a total psychopath, and there’s no doubting his intentions for me this morning. He wasn’t going to give me a stern talking to and send me on my way. He was planning on something a little more permanent, and I reacted in kind.

  Kill or be killed. That’s how life is going to be from here on out.

  The weight of the day sits heavy on my shoulders. Going to see Kaya probably isn’t the smartest thing I can do right now, but smart went out the window a long time ago, and I kind of need this. I need to be a young, reckless guy. I need to go and kiss the girl I like, and I need to forget, just for a second, about the fact that my life has turned to shit.

  I text Kaya and get her address. She replies with nothing but the details I need to get to her, which makes me think she’s not all that surprised that I’m coming over. She’s a persistent kind of chick. I’ve given her no reason to believe that anything’s gonna happen with us, and yet she’s always seemed quietly confident that something eventually will.

  I can’t get the image of her sucking on that red vine out of my head. I’m thinking about that way too much as I hurry across Eastlake. My dick is already hard when I pull up outside the apartment complex. I know immediately which her place is from the boarded up window on the second floor—obviously the window Jameson launched the guy out of. Oh, shit. Jameson. Kaya lives with her brother, and I’m about to go up there and make out with her? With a fucking hard on poking out of my waistband? What the hell is wrong with me?

  I ain’t going anywhere until my dick starts to behave itself. If some dude I’d seen fighting at La Maison markets showed up at my front door, sporting an erection the size of the Fort Lewis’s flagpole, and he wanted to hang out with my sister? Doesn’t even bear thinking about. I’d make him hurt so bad he’d cry for his mama and never show his face around my sister again.

  I close my eyes and think of Denise Lowell. When I first met the woman, I thought she was hot. Her body is rockin’ and all of that blonde hair makes her look like she could be on the cover of Sports Illustrated or some shit. After spending five minutes with the bitch, I already hated her and couldn’t wait to get the hell away, though. Now, the very t
hought of her coming anywhere near me is enough to make my hard-on fall flat in a matter of seconds. My dick practically shrinks up inside my body.

  I banish all thought of red vines as I get out of the truck and head toward the building. I’m buzzed in without a word when I hit the call button for apartment twenty-three, and then there she is, Kaya, leaning against the peeling beige paint in the second story hallway, waiting for me. She’s wearing a black sweater dress that barely covers the tops of her thighs, and a slash of bright red lipstick stains those perfect lips of hers. Her hair is ruffled all over the place, but not in an unkempt way. In an I-paid-three-hundred-dollars-for-this-haircut kind of way.

  “You going out?” I ask. She looks like she’s about to go eat at a fancy restaurant or something. I’m still dressed in the clothes I wore to work this morning, which means I’m in grease stained jeans, a washed out t-shirt and my black leather jacket. I don’t look like I ought to be anywhere near her.

  “No. I just got back from a date,” she tells me.

  I take a second to process that. A date? Is she serious? From the look on her face, she’s serious. Am I supposed to react to this? I feel like I should be pissed off or something, but honestly how can I be? She’s not my girlfriend. We haven’t even been on a date ourselves. Regardless, the thought of her going out on a date with some other guy has my jealously levels flaring pretty high.

  “It’s only nine thirty,” I say, making a show of checking my phone for the time. “Didn’t go well?”

  “It went very well, thank you. I had a nice time.”

  “And yet you’re home, about to put your PJs on? Doesn’t sound like the end of a successful date to me.”

  Kaya shrugs, pushing away from the wall, beckoning me to follow after her. “I’m far from putting my PJs on, Mason Reeves.” She leads us along the hallway and opens a door to our right; standing to one side, she makes room for me to slip in after her. “Jameson’s at work,” she says. “He’s probably going to be back in about a couple of hours, though. You should stick around and meet him properly. If you can withstand the grilling he’ll give you as soon as he walks through the door, he might not kill you.”