Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
WEST
My hand runs up warm, soft skin, curving around her waist, teasing her belly button as my arm wraps her tight, pulling her body into mine. Her sleepy moan makes my already hard cock beat with a heated rhythm at the crease of her delectable ass.
“Cami,” I whisper into silk sheets of ebony black hair.
“West,” she moans, arching her back deeper into my front.
The hand around her waist slides up her torso, taking one, full, bare breast in hand until my fingers find her hardened nipple. Her gasp stirs my wired body, causing the tingling at the base of my spine to charge. Everything below comes alive and yearns for release.
“Bacon,” she whispers.
My brow crinkles. “Cami?”
She turns her face and mouths, “Bacon.”
A light jerk, and my eyes open.
The. Fuck?
My tired eyes stare at the window by my bed. I never bothered with curtains, wanting to be woken by natural daylight. Groaning, I roll over and rub my eyes with the heel of my palms.
The smoky aroma hits immediately.
I chuckle, slapping my arms down on the mattress. Bacon. She’s cooking fucking bacon. Well, that’s going to ruin me for bacon forever now.
I peel my body out of bed and grumble as I brush my teeth. I stare in the mirror at my alert but equally exhausted reflection.
“If I get hard every time I smell bacon…God help me,” I mumble around toothpaste foam, then spit and rinse.
I walk into the living area and there she is, looking refreshed, softly smiling while shaking her shoulders to something she must be singing in her head.
I give myself a moment to take her in. It’s eight in the morning—I slept in—the sun streams in rays, illuminating my home.
Camille is still wearing my sweatshirt, which I fucking love seeing her in.
She glances up from turning the bacon—fucking bacon—and smiles. “Morning.”
My chest aches with the idea of seeing this every morning for the rest of my life. I grin, approaching the kitchen, coffee already made in the corner.
“What are you doing up?” I ask, bumping her hip on my way to the coffee pot.
“Six am hit, and for some reason, I was wide awake. I figured I’d wake you with breakfast. You still take three bacon and a spinach cheese omelet?”
My hand stills over my coffee mug.
“You remember that?”
She’s quiet a moment. “Hard not to. You ate the same thing every morning since you were a teenager.”
Still. She was a kid when I was a teenager. “Someone was obsessed with me,” I tease, because the implication that she watched me that closely all our lives does something funny to my gut.
She scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself, Casanova.”
I face her and lean against the back counter, watching her set the bacon on a napkin to drain.
“Oof. Nyx. You can do better than that.”
She barks a short laugh. “You’re right. I’m still working on it, Whiskey Jack.”
“No. Absolutely not,” I laugh, sipping the rich, espresso brew with one sugar and a splash of half and half she left out. “Damn, I love coffee.”
“Same,” she sips hers and folds two omelets. “Go sit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I slide into the barstool in front of her as Camille sets my plate down.
“I was supposed to cook you breakfast,” I grumble, slicing into my eggs and taking a bite.
The cheese, sharp, melted, mixed with the spinach, peppers, and onions.
“Damn, woman. I’m kidnapping you. You can’t leave. I dub you, Kitchen wench.”
Her laughter is husky and melodic. A perfect contrast that makes up Camille Lane. “Whatever you say, Bourbon Bill.”
“Dear Lord, Nyx. You’re killing me here.” She sits next to me and bites into bacon—fucking bacon. “You’re really bad at this,” I turn my body toward her.
“Excuse you,” she gapes at me. “The creation process takes time. You have to allow yourself to try and fail. How else does one achieve magic?”
I stare. Her wide, full mouth grins, chewing more bacon.
Seriously. Don’t fucking get hard, body. I’ll never forgive you.
“Wise words,” I nod, biting into perfectly crispy bacon.
We eat, humming and making small talk about fall in Eden Ridge, how the annual Festival is coming up, confirming that yes, Old Man Jenkins still claims he grows the biggest pumpkins in the country, and Sweet Pines is still owned by the old woman who’s always been suspicious of any Hunter boy she sees.
Never understood that woman’s issue, but it’s the price of small towns.
When our plates are empty, we spin in our barstools with our coffee refills and gaze out at my large glass terrace doors.
The mountains in the distance reach high in the sky, capped in white.
The sun gleans over them to the right. The dense forest at the base of the mountains creates a picturesque view I’m proud of.
Beckett and Asher helped build this property over ten years ago.
At the time, I didn’t know it would be mine, but they did.
This has been the hideaway I’ve needed when my social battery reaches zero.
It’s not that the persona I present to everyone isn’t genuinely me, but I’ve become self-aware enough at my age to recognize the need to keep the mask on.
Even when I desperately just want to stay introspective, quiet, and observant… like my brothers.
“Well, if this is the view I get to see every day, kidnap away,” she says, smiling into her coffee mug.
“How are you feeling today?” Time to face what we both wish could stay outside this bubble.
Sighing, she rests her mug in her lap. “My head hurts a bit. Body’s a bit tender, achey. But, all in all, I’m good.”
I’m already up, grabbing some painkillers from the cabinet and handing them to her with a fresh bottle of water.
“Thanks,” she softly says, accepting and then taking three.
“Alright, Nyx. I’ve been thinking,” I start.
“Oh boy,” she exhales, turning her seat to face me. Her knees are at my hips as I angle my body toward hers.
“I agree that we’ll keep this from Styx. For now,” I say, bursting her bright bubble. “Until we know more and have a solid plan. Face it, Camille. This is MC business now. He will find out. It’s up to you if it’ll be from you or intel from his brothers.”
Her body deflates. “I worry, West. This can start something big. Dangerous. My brother’s an overprotective knucklehead, but I love that dickhead fiercely.”
The corner of my lip twitches, thinking how fast Styx would say something equally cutting and endearing back.
I’ve watched these two grow up. Camille was a surprise baby, but Styx loved the shit out of her.
She challenged her parents since she was a toddler.
As a kid, I’d laugh when she’d pull some shit that would make her poor, straight-laced parents turn white as ghosts.
Go figure, both kids turned out differently from what they thought.
“What are you going to say about that?” I point to the stitch and bruise formed around it.
Her hand lightly touches the area. “When packing up my apartment, I tripped over a box and hit the corner of the wall.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah,” she chuckles. “Seems believable enough. Have you heard anything from Nora?”
I shake my head. “She’s still knocked out, I’m sure. Not an early riser. But you can trust her.”
“I know,” she nods. “I remember thinking she was so cool when I started high school. She was a senior.”
“Pain in the ass, is what she is,” I joke.
“Does she hear you say shit like that? How are you not missing both testicles by now?”
I bark a laugh, covering my balls. “Way to paint a picture, Nyx. Shit. Don’t give her ideas.”
This is effortless. There’s a familiarity like home, while also the excitement of getting to know someone new that you—no, West. That you, nothing. You can’t be crushing on your best friend’s younger sister. Your Enforcer MC best friend at that.
“I will be recruiting Holden in this.” Her body locks. “Cami, he’s not in the MC, but he’s involved enough to help. His garage custom makes bikes and keeps the MC’s shit maintained. We need someone close enough to help us navigate this.”
“But that could put your family in danger, West.” She shakes her head. “This is my problem. Brian somehow got me involved. I need to call him.”
A protective wave so intense propels my body up. “Do not call that fucker.”
Her eyes widen, surprised by my reaction.
“You haven’t told me everything, but you’ve said enough. A man you broke up with over four years ago, who still doesn't get the hint, showing up unannounced at your place of employment and your apartment? That’s trouble.”
She stands and holds onto my forearms, grounding me in this panicked anger.
“I hear you, West, but I’ve managed the situation just fine all these years. I don’t know why they came after me, just that Brian has to be the reason.”
“How is he involved?” I ask, keeping the fury in check.
Her hands lightly squeeze my arms. “Drugs,” she whispers. “I know he owed them money.”
“Fuck,” I spit, closing my eyes. “They think y’all are together?”
I open my eyes to see her shrug. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s told them we are. They’ve probably seen us together.”
My eyes narrow. “When was the last time you two were together?”
“Not together,” she insists.
“Seen together,” I amend.
“The last time I saw Brian was two weeks ago. He cornered me outside my apartment after work. We fought. I got inside the building and locked him out.” My body grows so tense, one wrong move might snap a bone. “Hey,” she shakes me lightly. “West? Look at me.”
My gaze is trained on her shoulder. I take breaths, counting to ten, then give her my eyes.
“I’m okay,” she says quietly. “I’m right here. Safe. With you.”
My jaw clenches, imagining what Brian could look like, and in my mind, I’m punching him, over and over, not stopping.
I need to steer away from that image. I’m usually better at controlling this, but right now, I’m consumed with a blinding rage just thinking about this fucker cornering her, harassing her.
She stretches up on her toes and takes my face in her hands. “Look at me. Really look at me, West.”