Page 10 of Life Or Death

“The hospital bills are piling up. She’s got no insurance, no family, and the hospital won’t move forward with her surgery until I settle the account.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “I already wrote a check for fifty grand. It’s gone. Now, I’m in the negative, and they won’t do her first surgery until I clear that up and hand them another ninety grand.”

Dread lets out a low whistle and reaches for his whiskey. He takes a long pull, then sets the glass down with a deliberate click.

“Why are they coming after you to pay her bills?”

Something about his tone makes me wonder if he already knows the answer to his question, and for a second, I contemplate avoiding the truth. I’m not really in the mood to have him haze me over my insane decision to play Jess’s husband, but I am fucking desperate, and desperation makes a man do stupid things.

“They think I’m her husband.”

I brace myself for the ridicule. For the what the fuck were you thinking that’s surely coming. After all, it’s not every day the president of the Fallen Demons proposes liquidating his club’s arsenal for a girl far too young for him ever to claim.

But he just stares at me, and somehow that’s worse.

“I got a hundred and twenty thousand at my mother’s house in a safe. That’s every penny I have to my name. Say the word, and it’s yours.”

There’s a lot to unpack there.

“How do you even have that kind of cash on hand?”

He shrugs. “Been putting it away since I got out of the can. Figured I’d buy a piece of land one day. Maybe build something. But land ain’t going anywhere, and this seems like a matter of life or death.”

It is, but I can’t take the man’s life savings.

“I just told you I’ve been pretending to be Jess’s husband, and you’re offering me your life savings? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Dread takes another sip of whiskey. “Brother, I’ve seen the way you look at that girl.” He sets the glass down and turns to face me fully. “You’ve got it bad. Real bad. And I ain’t ever seen you like that about anyone or anything.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand.

“But me offering you the money is a temporary fix. Even if we deplete our stock over the next few weeks, those bills are going to keep adding up. You need a plan, and selling all the club’s assets isn’t it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I’m fully aware I’m up shit’s creek without a paddle. I just need to get her this first surgery before I figure out how I’m going to sell my soul to get the rest of the funds.

“There’s a simple solution to this. You’ll still need the money to get the hospital off your back, but you have medical insurance. You just need to add her as a dependent.”

I stare at him like he’s just grown a second head. “How the fuck do you suppose I do that?”

Mulling it over, he reaches for his glass once again and rolls it between his palms. The amber liquid sloshes around, spilling over the rim and dripping down his hand. Then he lifts the glass to his lips, and his gray eyes lock with mine.

“You marry her for real.”

All the air leaves my lungs, and for a second, I think I’ve misheard him. But Dread doesn’t blink. He just sits there on that barstool like he didn’t just suggest the most insane fucking thing I’ve ever heard.

You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“Have I?” He knocks back his drink, draining his glass in a single gulp. “You’re already pretending to be her husband. Might as well make it official. You can reap the benefits and spare yourself from going broke.”

“She’s in a coma, Dread.” The words come out rough. “She’s been unconscious for days. I haven’t spoken more than a few fucking words to her in my entire goddamn life, and you’re suggesting I marry her?”

Hell, I don’t even know her real last name. Everyone’s been calling her Mrs. Holland. I know fucking nothing other than the little Tori divulged.

“It’s the most practical option.”

He wants to talk about practical when I’m standing here with my guts in a knot over a girl I’ve never had a real conversation with. A girl who doesn’t even know I exist beyond being the silent, brooding bastard who owns the bar she worked at.

“She can’t consent, Dread. She’s fucking unconscious.”

“I said it was practical. I didn’t say it would be ethical or legal.” He reaches into his cut and pulls out his phone. “We’ll need to call in a few favors.”