Page 2 of Sweeter Than Honey
It’s just nerves. I’m ok. I’m a strong, confident woman.
She didn't take shit from anyone, and she wasn't the type to be dishonest either. She didn't care one bit if Roan wanted to be in the child's life or not. Sure, that would be nice for the child, but it wasn't a deal-breaker for her. She wasn't looking for marriage—God, no. They could co-parent, separately, from their own homes. In different neighborhoods. Possibly separate cities. She'd already worked it all out in her head. What she would tell him. How it would all work, what he could expect.
She just needed totellhim. Roan mentioned he went to The Mark often. He’d even used it in his cliché pickup line,“Hey baby. I’ve never seen you in here before.”
She’d already had a few tap drafts and three vodka shots clouding her mind. He was sexy, stacked, and he’d been explosive in bed. So explosive that he’d broken the condom—something she didn’t realize until later when she’d spied it in the trash. Her birth control should have covered her, but when she missed her period two weeks ago, she just knew.
Pulling off her sunglasses, she squinted as she entered the building. The interior was unusually dark. Despite no smoking laws, cigarette smoke drifted through the air and instantly turned her stomach. She hadn't been one for frequent morning sickness, but the stale scent of old tobacco made her want to make a beeline for the restroom.
Her sight adjusted as she went to the bar. Several tables were full. The sounds of pool being played filtered from the back. Cara raised a hand to get the female bartender’s attention. Her scalp tingled and little shivers raced down her spine. Something wasn’t right. Pausing with her hand mid-air, she glanced around and swallowed hard.
Every man in the room was looking at her. She'd been around shifters all her life. They tended to keep to themselves unless they were looking to get laid. But this was different.
She felt like prey.
The bartender caught her eyes and Cara’s heart flipped in relief. She recognized the woman from the night she was here. The colorful tattoos, and multiple ear piercings were hard to forget. They’d chatted until Roan had interrupted with his stupid pick-up line.
Sandy. That was her name.
“Help you?” Sandy bobbed her head in greeting.
Cara looked over her shoulder as all the hairs on the back of her neck spiked. The sounds of the pool game had stilled—four men stood in the archway that led to the game room with pool sticks in their hands. Had they stopped playing to stare at her?
An old man got up from his stool a few seats down and stiffly ambled to the seat next to her. It was Pisser. His watery brown eyes bored into her. Not friendly. Not threatening. Just… oddly intense. She had a mental flash of his penis aerobics and inched farther down the bar toward Sandy.
“I hope you can help me.”
“Get you a drink? Water, maybe?” There was a knowing in the bartender’s tone that gave Cara pause.
"No thank you. I was wondering. Do you remember me? I was in here about a month and a half ago with a man named Roan. I know he frequents here. I need to get in touch with him."
Sandy’s eyebrows went up. She leaned her forearms on the bar top. "Why?"
“That’s personal.”
The other woman made a hum from low in her throat, her expression sympathetic. “You don’t watch the local news, do you? Come with me." She motioned Cara around to the back of the bar and held open the door to the kitchen. The door swung closed with an ominous woosh, woosh.
“Look, he mentioned that he comes here a lot, so you probably know him? If I could just get his last name… maybe a phone number?”
Sandy scratched her lower lip with a finger covered in dainty tattoos of a swirling vine and tiny birds. She’d always admired tattoos but hadn’t been brave enough to get one herself. She expressed creativity through her jewelry. She considered it the type of body adornment that wouldn’t look distorted when your body parts began to sag.
Sandy crossed her arms. "I don't know what you're up to but coming here in your state was one of the dumbest things you could've done.”
Cara’s brows knitted. "I'm sorry?”
Sandy leaned in, her voice low and tight. "Roan Dixon is dead. He was killed in a motorcycle accident a few weeks ago. It was all over the news. Do you know how dangerous it is to flaunt his baby around without him here to protect you?"
Chills ran down Cara's spine. Dead? "Wait… how did you know that I’m—”
Her lips were too numb to finish forming words. How the hell could Roan be dead? He wasn’t much older than her. So young to have his life cut short. Jesus, she’d come here to tell him he was going to be a father.
Sandy’s expression softened. “Whoa, you’re really pale. You better sit.”
She gripped Cara’s shoulder and maneuvered her onto a stool. “Look, you obviously didn’t know shit about Roan. He was the Alpha of his pack and he died without an heir. By shifter law, the baby you're carrying is heir to his estate and his hierarchy in the pack. He was a wealthy man. Shifters from his pack and any outside rivals that feel like a fight will try to claim your kid. Do you get what I’m saying?”
Not really, but it sounded shady as hell. “That’s not legal.”
“Honey, shifters don’t care about human laws. Not if they can break them and get away with it. Which they will. You’ll be carried off, your kid will get ripped away from you, and you’ll never be seen by human eyes again. Now, how about that water?”
