I bring my car to a stop and jump out, mind going into frenzy mode with images of Lily: on her back, covered in blood; on her front, her bump squashed against her body, bent at an awkward angle and moaning out for me to save her; Darius with his thumbs buried within her neck, choking her to death. But as I get closer to the wreckage, I hear nothing but the chugging of the engine as it dies. I sprint to the back of the van, grab the handle, and pull. It’s locked, but I’m too desperate to see my woman to give a shit about locks, so I just pull harder. Harder. I pull so hard I feel every shred of muscle in my arms strain to breaking point. I must be exerting hundreds of pounds of pressure on that door. The handle bends, the metal compressing, and then finally something clicks and the door flies open.
Lily is in there, on her back, both hands laid over Bump. Her shirt has been torn up around her belly in the crash. Her hair is blonde, and her face is not Lily’s face. It is rounder from the pregnancy, but that is not what marks the difference. It is her bright blonde hair, and the makeup which smears with sweat over her skin, mixed with blood from her nose. And her bare belly . . . blood. “Lily,” I whisper, emotion freezing me for a second. “Lily, you’re bleeding.”
“Not—my blood,” she says. “But—Roman—lookout!”
I spin around, instincts kicking in, and come face to face with . . .
What. The. Fuck.
I came face to face with myself. Darius is a couple inches taller than me, and one of his eyes is nothing but a mass of goo and flesh and blood, but there’s no mistaking that he looks like me, exactly fucking like me. He even has the same tattoo, the same style and color of hair. Damn, even his nose is like mine. He’s standing a few feet away from me, a long, ridged machete in his hand, a machete which he wields easily and expertly. He doesn’t acknowledge the blood and gore with drips continuously down his face from his eye.
I reach into my back pocket and take out my gun, aim it at him.
“Who brings a gun to a knife fight?” Darius mutters, glee in his voice, as though I don’t have a Glock aimed right at his head. “That’s not very sporting.”
“I never knew you to be sporting,” I mutter. “I never fuckin’ knew you to be sporting once in your goddamn life. Drop the machete, Darius.”
“Aren’t you going to comment on my new appearance?” Darius waves his free hand at his face. “Aren’t I something to look at, Roman? Aren’t I a beauty? Do you remember the first time you tried to catch me? I thought it’d be a funny little twist if all this time you didn’t know you were chasing yourself. And you had no clue, did you?”
“I’m going to give you three seconds to drop that—”
“You usually give ten, don’t you, Roman? But you don’t want to talk to me for that long?” Darius giggles. “What a predictable man.”
I shoot him in the knee, one quick blast which blows his kneecap out the back of his leg and sends him tumbling to the ground. But he doesn’t scream, and even as his kneecap turns to crimson tatters, he somehow manages to climb to his feet, or at least almost to his feet. Using the machete as a crude walking stick, he kneels up, sneering up at me. It’s like staring into a one-eyed, nine-fingered version of myself.
“Yin-and-yang, Roman.” Darius smiles, almost warmly. “All this time, you’ve thought there were two forces in this world, haven’t you? Two balancing forces? Yes, I’ve done my research on you. You’ve thought that by doing a little good with the cunt back there, you could get a little of your soul back—”
I blow out his other kneecap, causing him to slump to the floor, writhing in agony, but not moaning, not voicing his pain. This infuriates me. After all the pain he has caused, he just lies there, rolling around but not making a damned sound.
“Roman.”
Lily is standing beside me, looking up at me with a tired expression. I want to hold her, bring her close to me, kiss her and tell her that everything is going to be okay. I can smell her, through the sweat, the blood, smell the sweet scent of her which I will recognize until my dying day. But I can’t reunite with her, not yet. I have to finish this first. I have to kill this bastard.
I turn away from her, shoot out Darius’ hand. The bullet rips away two of his fingers. He drops the machete into the dirt. I walk to him, place my foot on his chest, and aim the gun at his head. He grins up at me, teeth coated in blood from where he’s bitten off the tip of his tongue. When he talks, his voice is slurred. “You can never correct all the things you’ve done,” he says. “You think killing me will kill the bad man inside of you, Roman? That’s not how it works, I’m afraid. You’ll always be a bad man. You’ll always be just as evil as me. So pull that trigger if you want, see if it makes any difference.”
“I will,” I say.
I’m about to do just that when Lily, at my side once more, says, “No, Roman.”
“No?” I almost laugh the word, it is so illogical. After all this time, why wouldn’t I just blow this fucker’s face off?
Lily lays her hand on my shoulder, her soft, small, caring hand. Her nurse’s hand. The touch I have missed like a phantom limb these past months. It’s unfair, for her to lay her hand on me like that. She knows how much I need her, must know how much I need her: knows that laying her hand on me will weaken me, now when I need to be my strongest.
“Let him stand trial,” she says.
“Don’t listen!” Darius sneers, giggling and coughing at the same time, a blood-soaked mess. “You know who you are, Roman! Be that man! You know who you are!”
“Let him stand trial,” Lily repeats. “Let the world become a better place because what you’ve done. If you really want set the balance right, that’s the way to do it.”
“Lily, this man has done countless evil things. I could fuckin’ list ’em for you but he’d bleed out before I had a chance to put a bullet between his eyes.”
“I know he’s done evil,” Lily says. “But nothing good will come of his death in the dirt, a nameless death, an unmarked death. Nobody will know but you and I. Then what’s the point? He might as well still be out there as far as the corrupt cops and his colleagues are concerned. They will carry on just as they have been. But if you let him stand trial, the trial will go deep, right to the roots, and you’ll make the world a much better place. Think of our mothers, Roman.”
“Don’t say that,” I mutter, but without really meaning to I am lowering the gun. I stop, aiming at his chest now instead. “Don’t do that, Lily.”
“But it’s the truth.” She squeezes my shoulder. That touch, that ached-for touch . . . “If you kill him now, it might make you feel better, for now, and listen, I know you’ll lose your contract, but . . .”
“That’s already done,” I tell her.
“He’s in this for himself.” Darius giggles throatily. “He’s in this all for his bloody desire, missy.”
“Don’t fuckin’ talk to her.” I fire a shot to the side of him, kicking up dirt, causing him to flinch.
“Roman, please hear me,” Lily says. “Please—just think. Just see past your rage. More good can come of it like this. The world needs to know that this man was caught. The world needs to know that this man has seen justice.”
“Says the woman who gouged at my eye and crashed my van!” Darius mutters, his mouth full of blood now.
I see two futures: in one I am the same old Roman and Darius is dead and the world ain’t much different for it; in another Darius has stood trial and is in prison for the rest of his life, and the world is a better place. I walk around to the side of him, kneel down, and press the gun against the side of his head.
“Keep him alive, Lily,” I say, taking out my cellphone and dialing 911. “If he makes a single move, I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”
Lily goes to him professionally, and that’s when I see her: through the makeup and the hair dye and the blood and the pregnancy, I see her. Lily as she was that first night I met her, Nurse Sherlock, seeing through all lies and dealing with everything in a professional manner.
/>
“We’re having a son, by the way,” she says, patching Darius up.
“A son . . .”
“911, what’s your emergency?”
Epilogue
Lily
As I stand at Carol’s grave, the August sun bathing the cemetery and flowers blooming all around, pinks and yellows and reds making it look like a botanical garden, a place of life, instead of a place of death, I think about the past few months. With my hand on my belly—a habit I still can’t kick, even though my belly is now much flatter than it once was—I think about Carol, and Darius, and Roman, and I think about Isaac, too. Isaac will be old enough to go to daycare soon, and so I’ll go back to work, back to the nursing world, back to the rush and the madness of it all. Vegas has welcomed me back, with its flashing lights and the constant ringing of the slot machines. I’ve met with the nursing staff at the hospital, and the police, and all the officials, and I’ve lied through my teeth. Claiming amnesia, I’ve made them all believe I was in a superlative fugue state for the duration of my kidnapping, that I don’t remember any of it. I play the part perfectly, as perfectly as a sociopathic Sherlock Holmes, in fact.
But I’m not here to ponder that. I’m here for Carol. I kneel down and lay the flowers on her grave. Tears slide down my cheeks as they always do when I come and visit her grave. I can’t shake the feeling that it was my fault. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to shake that feeling. But it’s good to come here and pay my respects, to let her know that I love her and I’m sorry. After I lay the flowers down, I sit down on the foldout chair I bring every visit, beside her grave, and place my hand on the gravestone. For the next half hour, I reminisce with her. We talk about the time she got so drunk on vodka shots I had to carry her home, about the time we stayed up all night at my place playing scrabble just because. I tell her that everyone at the hospital is missing her, except Sissy, who is as ferocious as ever. The tears stop after a while, the reminiscence becoming a good thing, warm, welcome, instead of bitter.
As I pack away the chair, I think about Darius. When the ambulance arrived, Roman fled the scene, and I claimed to have been kidnapped by Darius, not Roman. This could be easily disproved by anyone who had a mind to investigate it, but the people who’d have a mind to investigate it were too busy rushing around to cover their own asses when, later the same day, Roman busted Darius from the hospital and took him to a contact he trusted, who in turn presented him to the world stage. Darius has been sentenced to life in a maximum security prison, living in solitary confinement for twenty out of twenty-four hours, and his contacts in police and government have been rooted out. There won’t be any police clearing out hospital wings any time soon, nor shooting up suburban homes.
When I turn around, Roman is there, arms folded, leaning against the wall. My chest aches when I see him, as it does every time. He’s living in an apartment in the same building as me, but we’re yet to move in together. We make love, and go to the movies, and go on dates, but we’re yet to take that next step, though I want to. I think he wants to, as well, but he’s scared. Scared of himself, perhaps.
“Are you okay?” he asks when I reach him, as he does every time.
“I’m okay,” I say. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“The babysitter is with him, and so am I.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, showing me the screen he carries around which shows a view of my apartment. At the moment, he’s sleeping and the babysitter is watching TV.
“I should never have let you install that thing.” But truly I’m glad he did.
“Really, though, you alright?”
“Yeah. I mean . . .” Roman wipes the tears from my cheek. I clasp his hand, kiss it, glad for the closeness. “Carol tried to save my life without even knowing it. I miss her, I miss her more than I can sometimes handle, but I’m okay. I have a lot to live for.”
“You do,” he says, nodding.
He puts the emphasis on you; I don’t think he does it in purpose.
“We do,” I say, stepping into his arms. I look up at him, loving the way his hands feel on me, safe and secure, loving that I am Lily now with my man’s arms around me, not Betty with Markus grabbing at me and OBYGN hens clucking at me. I love how safe I can finally feel. I kiss him on the cheek. “Your mom would’ve been so proud of you, Roman. So proud.”
He laughs, trying to dismiss it, but I push on anyway.
“Getting out of the life, getting a job, going straight, saving innocent lives—mine and others, by turning Darius over. And just being with me, with us.”
“But you want more. You want the picket fence.”
“I want a family,” I say. “But I would never ask you to do anything you didn’t want to do. You know that.”
“I know,” he says quietly, stroking the back of my head. “I know, Lily. I just—sometimes I don’t feel worthy of your love. Yours or Isaac’s.”
“You’re very worthy of our love, Roman. You’re the only person I’d ever dream of giving it to now. Your Isaac’s father and he adores you. I adore you.”
Roman swallows, and then kisses me on the forehead. “And I love the two of you,” he says. “Of course I do. After everything, how couldn’t I? It’s just—it’s hard for me to believe sometimes.” He disentangles himself, and then smirks down at me. I still love that smirk; it still takes me to dark, heated places. “Do you think the sitter will watch Isaac for a little while tonight?”
“Why? What do you have in mind?”
“I want you to meet me at that restaurant, you know the one . . .” His smirk gets wider. “Seven work for you?”
“Of course I know the one,” I say. “I’ll be there.”
Sam
I’m nervous when I walk into the restaurant, nervous like I never used to be. I reckon it’s ’cause I’m about to start a new life, a life where I leave all that blood and pain behind, a life where I be a good father to Isaac and a good partner to Lily. A life where I do what a man is supposed to do: step up to the plate when it matters. But it’s more than that. I want it. I want it deep down in my core. I just need to try and get past all this bullshit that’s holding me back: this pain, this self-doubt.
Seeing Lily goes a damn long way toward that. She looks incredible, as beautiful as the first time I laid eyes on her. More beautiful, even, because now she radiates with our shared history, radiates with motherhood, radiates with love. She’s wearing a sparkling green dress, her legs on display, and green heels. Her face is untouched by makeup, as usual, and her hair mussy around her shoulders. As I approach, she’s got her pinky finger in the cleft of her chin, cute as hell.
She looks up when I reach the table.
“Hey,” she says, smiling.
“Hello,” I reply. I offer her my hand. “I’m Sam.”
She giggles, but takes the hand anyway. “Okay, Sam.”
I reach into my pocket, take out the ID, and show it to her. “No, really. I’m Sam. Sam Stone.”
She squints at it, and then tilts her head up at me. “I don’t understand.”
“I think it’s time I left my old life behind, Lily. I think it’s time I left the blood and the heartache behind. I think it’s time I left the violence behind.” I swallow, nervous, more nervous than I ever was on a job. Lily must be able to tell. She stands up, presses her body close to mine. “I think it’s time . . .” I hesitate, and then push on. “I think it’s time for me to become a new man. I don’t want anything from my old life rearing its ugly head. So I’ve hit the reset button. If you’ll have me, I want to make a new life—with you, with Isaac. I want a picket fence with you, Lily. I want a picket fence and a mortgage and . . . and a place in the suburbs.”
Far back in my mind, a voice whispers: “But that’s not for men like you, never, never.”
But then Lily wraps her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “I want that, too.”
After a moment, I hug her back. For the first time in my life, I feel truly accepted. Like coming home after a life spe
nt in a lashing storm.
THE END
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Read on for your FREE bonus book – BO’S BABY
BO’S BABY: The Burning Angels MC
By Kathryn Thomas
HE’LL PUT A BABY IN ME SO HE OWNS ME FOREVER.
The artist in me wants to admire him.
The bad girl in me wants to strip for him.
But Bo Braxton doesn’t care about what I want.
Because he’s about to put a baby in my belly.
A man like Bo is used to getting his way.
He doesn’t say please.
He doesn’t say thank you.
He just sees what he desires and claims it as his.
BIKER’S SURPRISE BABY Page 38
