Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
WEST
My hands tremble with fury as I take in Camille’s injuries.
The washcloth covers the gash bleeding down her face.
Dirt and scratches line her cheeks, down her arms, and legs.
Her shirt is practically scraps hanging off her body, torn in various places.
Her bare legs are marked with blood splotches and cuts.
She’s practically naked. Her black bra and underwear in view, as all that’s left of her clothes is a long-sleeved button-down. And socks. Torn, bloody socks.
I release her face before I squeeze it in anger. Not at her, of course.
“Where are they? Who did this to you?” I ask, removing her socks with the utmost care. She flinches as fabric snags on torn skin.
She’s trembling under the thick wool I wrapped her in. I think shock is setting in. I hand her another towel to squeeze the rain out of her hair.
Camille Lane. My best friend’s little sister.
I haven’t seen her in years. She left Eden Ridge at eighteen for college. Since then, she’s visited her family for some holidays, but our paths kept missing each other.
Shit. Styx needs to be here.
I reach for my phone in my back pocket and start pulling up his contact.
“No,” her voice croaks.
Her eyes are wild, full of fear.
“Don’t call, Drew,” she pleads. I haven’t heard anyone call Styx by his real name in years, other than his mother.
Her vocals are raw, which means she’s been screaming. The rage boiling in my body has nowhere to go. My skin feels tight and itchy. I need to punch something. I pace a second, then face her.
“Why?”
Her eyes well, but she steadies herself, inhaling deeply.
“He can’t know.”
I count to ten and regulate my breath. Tried and true technique that’s saved me from releasing impulsive emotions I’ve feared would one day escape and cause havoc.
I walk slowly over and sit at the edge of the couch by her feet, which she pulled up on the soft, plush, dark maroon leather. She holds the cloth still at her face, clutching the blanket tightly around herself. Her knuckles are drained of color from how hard she’s holding the two ends together.
I channel the control I’ve honed, thanks to Styx, my best friend, the one who found me at my worst after my parents died.
“Camille.” I wait for her eyes. Her big, unique honey-hazel eyes have never held back any emotion that travels through her.
When I get them on me, my lungs stall. Fuck. She’s always been beautiful. When she turned sixteen, Styx and I were twenty-six and knew we’d have to keep every snot-nose fucker in check around her.
On her eighteenth birthday was the first time I noticed her beauty, not objectively, but as a man. Her leaving for college was a blessing in disguise. No way was I going to be attracted to someone so young. I kept her at a distance since.
Now, here she is, still way too young, but fuck, I can’t deny she’s grown into a captivatingly beautiful woman.
“You need medical attention,” I begin. She shakes her head rapidly in denial, but I continue.
“I’m going to make you a deal, Nyx,” the nickname spilling easily from my lips.
“If I agree not to tell your brother, my best friend, may I remind you, then you have to be honest with me. I need some answers. I need to know what happened and…”
When her brow furrows and that sinful mouth opens to protest, I raise my brows and persist. “You need to agree to medical attention. We can do so discretely, but I’m getting someone to tend to your wounds.”
Her back hits the couch with an exhale. That sharp jawline of hers clenches stubbornly. That has not changed with age, it seems. Doesn’t help that my amusement escapes with a grin, causing those hypnotic, warm eyes to narrow.
“Bossy as ever, Hunter,” she mumbles, still glaring.
I chuckle, which feels good after all the dark energy bouncing around in my system. I show her my phone.
“I’m calling a friend, who’s trained in first aid.”
“What friend?” she asks, clearing her throat.
I stand and get her some water from my water cooler, then sit back down beside her. She takes it, whispering a thanks and sipping slowly.
“Don’t fight me on this,” I start. “And don’t give me that look, Nyx.”
Her expression shifts so quickly from stubborn to curious. “Nyx? The Greek goddess of the night?”
Damn. I’m an idiot. Of course, she’s smart. She was always one step ahead of her brother in most arguments.
“I mean, it’s the dark hair,” I point up and down her long, loose, black as night shiny waves. “When did you get so much ink?”
Her right arm is a sleeve of monochromatic designs. The black silhouette of a pixie in the mix of designs by her forearm catches my eye. I’ve always seen her as just that since she was little, a dark pixie; cute, petite, and running around with bursts of energy.
Her left arm’s tattoos are focused below her elbow. The rest of her body looks bare of them, except for the large floral design at the top of her left thigh.
She looks over her arms before looking back at me, then shrugs. “I’ve worked at a tattoo studio all these years. Kind of hard not to get the itch for ink.” Her voice sounds better after drinking water.
I text my friend Nora, asking her to come with First Aid supplies and to be discreet about it. When I finish and lock my screen, Camille watches, brow raised, waiting. Better to wait till Nora gets here instead of telling her now.
“What happened, Camille?” I lower my voice, asking. Her entire energy shifts back to defensive, guarded. “I promise not to tell Styx, but that deal only applies if you tell me the truth.”
Everything on her heart-shaped face is small except those eyes and full, wide-set lips that she gnaws on, thinking. Sighing, she reaches over to set her cup on the floor.
“You promise?” she asks. “I’m serious, West. If my brother finds out, this could be far worse than either of us can imagine.”
The sound of my name on her lips was an unexpected shiver down my body until she finished her statement. Now, my body braces.
“I promise,” I barely get out from my tight set lips.
Those intelligent eyes search my face. “Okay,” she says softly. “I was driving back home. I packed everything up from Silver Lakes and was coming home when an MC rode up and surrounded my Jeep.”
My mind instantly fires scenarios, motives, faces I’ve seen from afar. “Black Feral?”
She stares as she wrestles to answer. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“And then?” I ask, counting to ten in my head.
Her eyes cast down to her lap. Her fingers fidget with the blanket. “Someone I knew, they got involved with the MC. I don’t know why they came after me tonight, but…”
“Everything, Camille.” I need to know. I need to remember every detail for when the time comes.
Shaking her head, she exhales before letting out the entire story in practically one breath. Them shooting her tires, the Jeep spinning into a ditch, how they grabbed her, threatened to take her.
“And your clothes? Why are you…,” I can’t finish the statement, or I will lose my shit, and she doesn’t need that right now.
“I took care of it. I got away,” she says instead.
“Not what I asked.”
Finally, those eyes meet mine, only now, they’re void of fear and full of fire. Good. I prefer that for her over the former.
“I said, I got away. That’s all that matters.”
“Did they touch you?” She knows what I’m asking.
“He got my pants off. I shot his dick.”
My eyes widen before I cough a laugh. “Fuck, Nyx. Atta girl.”
She gives me the first genuine smile. It’s small, but damn, it softens her face, and she’s a siren, lulling me to her dangerous waters.
A knock from my office door.
Gone is my mischievous pixie, and back is the fear, choking out her light.
“Hey,” I soften my tone, gently squeezing her ankle. “It’s my friend. You’re safe with me. I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” I vow, and I mean it.
The protective instinct that demands retribution for my dark pixie overwhelms me. It’s not what it was when we were younger, but I can’t analyze that right now. She’s the priority.
I open the door but keep it cracked so neither of them sees the other yet. Nora stands before me, brow raised, already sassing me as is her nature.
“You can’t tell anyone. I mean it, Nora.”
Now, she’s suspicious. “West, what the fuck did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. Damn, woman. Busting my balls before you even know the scenario. What if I’m the hero?”
She scoffs. “Yeah, yeah, the fun-loving Hunter. If only people knew,” she teases, but not even she knows how true that is.
“For real though. She’s been hurt. Bad.”
At the mention of a female being injured, her demeanor shifts, and the MC princess, whose grown up around bikers all her life and doesn’t take shit from anyone, emerges. A sharp nod tells me all I need to know, and I trust her with my life.
I open the door, letting her enter before closing it again.
“Nora?” Camille straightens on the couch, her accusing eyes aimed at me. “You told Nora? Are you insane, West! She’ll tell my brother.”
“Whoa,” Nora holds her hand up, then props it on her hip.
“Listen here, little Styxs.” Oh yeah. My dark pixie didn’t like being called that.
“You haven’t really been around for some time, but let me update you.
This one here,” she points her thumb at me over her shoulder.
“If he promised not to tell your brother, then Styx stays none the wiser. West tells me to keep my mouth shut, I keep it shut.”
Nora sets a large black backpack on the couch and starts taking out supplies. “I’m not loyal to the MC. I love my brother. I even love some of those fuckers like brothers, but MC business is none of mine. By choice. Now, what happened to you?”
Camille’s eyes flick to mine. I stand by her shoulders. The instinct to reach for her hand to give support is huge but I refrain. “You can trust her.”
Camille holds my gaze before meeting Nora’s green ones. “MC from Silver Lake ran me off the road and attacked me. I shot two of them and got away.”