Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
storm
Her hand feels small in mine.
It's not something I should be noticing, but I am. Just like I’m noticing how her fingers fit perfectly between mine.
How her skin is soft despite the calluses on her palm that tell me she's no stranger to hard work.
How she trembles slightly with each crack of thunder but tries like hell not to let it show.
The kid's fallen asleep beside us, her head resting against Camryn's side, the "thunder blanket" pulled up to her chin.
The movie ended twenty minutes ago, but neither of us has moved to turn off the TV.
Its blue glow is the only light in the room, besides the occasional flash of lightning through the windows.
We haven't spoken since I took her hand. I'm not sure what to say. I'm not a man who comforts scared women. I'm a man who makes others fear me. But something about Camryn Fletcher makes me want to be more than what I am.
"She's out," I finally say, nodding toward Emily.
Camryn glances down at her daughter, a small smile softening her features. "She can sleep through anything. Even storms."
The irony isn't lost on me. "Unlike her mother."
The smile fades, and she pulls her hand from mine, immediately making me regret my words. She starts to rise, careful not to disturb Emily.
"I should put her to bed," she says, not meeting my eyes.
I stand and gently lift Emily before Camryn can protest. The kid barely stirs as I carry her to the smaller bedroom and lay her on the twin bed with more care than I knew I possessed. Camryn follows, tucking the covers around her sleeping daughter and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
"Thank you," she whispers as we step back into the hallway.
I nod, uncomfortable with her gratitude. "It's nothing."
The storm is beginning to fade; the thunder more distant now, the rain a gentler patter against the windows. But I can still see the tension in Camryn's shoulders; in the way she flinches slightly at each rumble.
"You wanna talk about it?" I ask as we return to the living room.
She stills, her back to me. "About what?"
"Why storms scare you so much."
She turns, her expression guarded. "I think you can guess."
I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. "I want to hear it from you."
"Why?" she challenges, a spark of fire in her eyes. "So you can… what? Fix me? Save me from my trauma? I've been dealing with this for eight years, Storm. I don't need a white knight."
"Never claimed to be one," I say calmly. "And I don't think you need fixing. But knowing what triggers you might help me keep you safe."
She stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, the fight going out of her.
"There was a storm the night Eric assaulted me," she says, her voice flat, clinical, like she's talking about someone else.
"Thunder covered my screams. Lightning showed me his face.
The rain pounded against the house and my tears were silent.
Now, every storm brings me back to that night. "
My jaw clenches, rage building in my chest at the thought of her, sixteen and terrified, with no one to protect her. "I'm sorry," I say, the words inadequate but sincere.
She shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant even as her hands tremble slightly.
"It is what it is. The cops didn't believe me.
They said it was just a case of regret after the fact.
My parents did, but they didn't know how to help me.
By the time I found out I was pregnant, Eric had moved away. I thought that was the end of it."
"Until now," I finish for her.
"Until now," she agrees, sinking onto the couch. "Why do you think he's back? After all this time?"
I join her, keeping a respectful distance. "Could be a lot of reasons. Maybe he saw you somewhere and remembered. Maybe he's just bored and looking to cause trouble. Maybe he needs something from you."
"Like what?"
"Money? A place to stay? Who knows? Men like that, they're always looking for an angle."
She pulls her knees up to her chest, making herself smaller. It bothers me to see her trying to take up less space, as if she wants to disappear.
"How did you handle it?" I ask. "Finding out you were pregnant at sixteen?"
A sad smile crosses her face. "Not well. At first, I was scared, angry, confused. I thought about not keeping her." She glances toward Emily's bedroom. "But then I had the ultrasound, heard her heartbeat, and something changed. I knew I couldn't punish her for how she came into the world."
Admiration fills me. Most girls in her position wouldn't have been that strong, that compassionate. "That took guts."
"It took support," she corrects. "My family stood by me. Blaze was only fourteen, but he promised to beat up anyone who said a word against me or the baby. My parents helped with childcare so I could finish high school. I've been lucky that way."
"Still," I insist, "not everyone would have made the choice you did."
She studies me, her hazel eyes searching my face. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
It's my turn to look away. "My mom got pregnant young," I say, the words feeling rusty in my mouth. I never talk about my mom. She died a few years ago. "Different circumstances but similar outcome."
"What happened?"
"She had me and my brothers," I say flatly. "She loved us fiercely despite only being young when she had us both. She died a few years ago."
Camryn makes a small sound of distress. "I'm so sorry."
I shake off the sympathy. "Long time ago."
"Still hurts though, doesn't it?" she asks, and the understanding in her voice threatens to crack something open inside me that I've kept sealed tight for years.
"Yeah," I admit roughly. "Still hurts."
We sit in silence for a moment, the rain providing a gentle soundtrack. The storm has moved on, leaving just a soft patter against the windows.
"You should try to get some sleep," I finally say. "It's been a hell of a day."
She nods but makes no move to leave. "Can I ask you something first?"
"Shoot."
"Why did you agree to help me? Really. And don't say it's because of Blaze."
I consider deflecting and giving her some bullshit answer about club brotherhood, but something about the direct way she's looking at me makes me want to give her the truth.
"Because I know what it's like to be hunted," I say. "To feel like nowhere's safe. And I know what happens when there's no one there to help."
She doesn't press for details, which I appreciate. Instead, she just nods, like she's filed this information away for later examination.
"Thank you," she says, rising from the couch. "For being honest. And for... earlier. With the storm."
I stand as well, suddenly very aware of how close we are, of the scent of her shampoo—something floral and citrusy at once. "No problem."
For a moment, we just look at each other, and I feel something shift between us; a recognition, maybe, of the strange connection that's forming despite all the reasons it shouldn't.
"Goodnight, Storm," she says softly, breaking the moment.
"Night, Camryn."
I watch her walk to the main bedroom, waiting until the door closes behind her before I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. What the fuck am I doing?
Shaking my head, I head downstairs to the main clubhouse. A few brothers are still up, playing pool or drinking at the bar. Shadow looks up from his game as I enter, raising an eyebrow in silent question.
"They're settled," I tell him, heading for the bar. "Kid's asleep. Camryn's turning in."
"And you look like you need a drink," he observes, following me.
I grunt in response and pour myself two fingers of whiskey before downing it in one go.
The burn helps center me, pulls me back to reality.
This is who I am, a brother of the Fury Vipers, an enforcer who deals in violence and retribution.
Not some soft-hearted babysitter for a scared woman and her kid.
Except it didn't feel like babysitting sitting with Camryn during the storm, holding her hand through her fear. It felt like something else entirely, something I'm not ready to name.
"Security system at her place is all set," Shadow says, pouring his own drink. "Blaze is staying there tonight, checking for any signs of this Eric asshole."
I nod. "Good. I want to know everything about him. Where he lives, where he works, who he hangs out with. I want to know his fucking shoe size and what he ate for breakfast."
Shadow smirks. "Already on it. Cruz and Digger are running down leads. By tomorrow, we'll have a complete picture."
"Have we warned the Irish?" I ask, thinking of Makenna Gallagher and her crew. They control a significant portion of New York, so it never hurts to have their eyes looking out for any trouble brewing.
"Ace put in a call," Shadow confirms. "Kinsley's handling it personally, since this involves a woman and child."
That's a relief. Kinsley Anderson doesn't fuck around when it comes to protecting innocents, especially women and children. She was brutalized as a teenager, losing her baby in the process. The club let her down big fucking time. It’s something that’ll never happen again.
Her ties to both the Irish mob, through her best friend, Makenna Gallagher, and to the Fury Vipers, through her brother, Ace, and her husband, Stag, make her a powerful ally.
"Good," I say, pouring another drink. "The sooner we find this fucker, the sooner we can end this."
Shadow studies me over the rim of his glass. "You're taking this personally."
It's not a question, and I don't bother denying it. "Yeah, well, you've seen her kid. Innocent as they come. And Camryn..." I trail off, not sure how to describe her without revealing too much.
"She's Blaze's sister," Shadow says, like that explains everything. And maybe it should, but we both know there's more to it.
"She's strong," I say instead. "Been through hell and still managed to raise a good kid and build a decent life. I respect that."