Chapter 9 #2
"Go ahead," I tell her. "But stay where I can see you."
She nods solemnly then darts off to join her friend. I watch her go, a pang of both pride and concern tugging at my heart. She seems so at home here, so comfortable among these people who were strangers just weeks ago.
"Beautiful costume," a voice says behind me, and I turn to find Eda, resplendent in a queen's regalia, complete with a small crown perched atop her dark hair.
"Thanks to you and Effie," I say, self-consciously adjusting my wings. "I feel a bit silly, but Emily loves that we match."
"You look anything but silly," she assures me. "In fact, I think you've caught someone's attention already."
I follow her gaze to where Storm stands across the room, deep in conversation with Shadow and Digger.
Unlike most of the brothers, he's made a genuine effort with his costume, a pirate, complete with a billowing white shirt, leather vest, and a red bandana tied around his head.
A fake sword hangs at his hip, and what appears to be a real gold hoop glints from his ear.
"He cleans up nice, doesn't he?" Eda comments with a knowing smile.
I feel heat rising to my cheeks. "I hadn't noticed."
She laughs, not fooled for a second. "Sure you haven't. Come on, I'll get you a drink. Ace makes a mean Halloween punch."
I let her lead me to a table lined with food and drinks, trying not to be obvious about stealing glances at Storm. But every time I look his way, his eyes are already on me, as if he can't help watching me even in the midst of conversation with his brothers.
"Here," Eda says, pressing a cup of orange liquid into my hand. "Don't worry, there's a non-alcoholic version for the kids. This one's got a kick."
I take a sip and the sweet, tart flavor with a hint of something stronger bursts on my tongue. "It's good," I say, surprised.
"Told you. Ace might look like he could bench press a car, but he's got a secret talent for mixing drinks." She smiles fondly in the direction of her husband, who is currently allowing several children to examine his costume; a Viking warrior, complete with an impressively realistic axe.
"He's good with the kids," I observe.
"They all are," Eda says. "These men might look scary, but when it comes to children, they're absolute marshmallows. Especially Storm."
I nearly choke on my drink. "Storm?"
She nods, her eyes twinkling. "Haven't you noticed? He's completely wrapped around Emily's little finger. I've never seen him like this with any child before."
Before I can process this information, the music changes, shifting from background ambiance to something louder, more energetic.
The children immediately gravitate toward the cleared space in the center of the room, Emily among them, her butterfly wings bobbing as she dances without a care in the world.
"Mom! Come dance!" she calls, waving me over.
I shake my head, content to watch, but Eda nudges me forward. "Go on. It's a party. Live a little."
With a resigned sigh, I set down my drink and join the children on the makeshift dance floor.
Emily beams as I twirl her around, her laughter a bright counterpoint to the thumping music.
Soon, other adults join us: Effie and Mayhem, Eda and Ace, even Cruz, who demonstrates surprising rhythm for such a large man.
I'm so caught up in the joy of seeing Emily happy, of feeling almost normal for the first time in weeks, that I don't immediately notice the shift in atmosphere.
But suddenly, the music seems too loud, the laughter too forced, the lights too bright.
Tension ripples through the room, starting at the entrance and spreading like a wave.
I turn toward the door and my heart stops.
Eric is standing in the doorway, flanked by two men I've never seen before. His face is bruised, and there’s a healing split in his lip, but his eyes are clear and focused. On me.
The music cuts abruptly, plunging the room into tense silence. I reach for Emily, pulling her close to my side, my pulse pounding in my ears.
"Get the kids out," Ace commands, his voice carrying across the room without being raised.
Eda and Effie spring into action, gathering the children and herding them toward the back of the clubhouse. Emily clings to me, sensing the danger despite not understanding its source.
"Mom?" she whispers, fear creeping into her voice.
"It's okay, baby," I assure her, though I'm far from certain of that myself. "Go with Eda. I'll be right there."
She hesitates, looking between me and the strangers at the door. "Promise?"
"I promise," I say, putting every ounce of conviction I can muster into the words. "Now go."
Once she's safely out of sight, I turn back to face Eric, my fear morphing into anger. How dare he come here, to this place where we've found safety, where Emily is finally starting to feel secure.
The brothers have formed a loose semi-circle, creating a barrier between us. Storm moves to stand directly in front of me, his posture relaxed but alert, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
"You've got about ten seconds to explain why you're breathing my air," Ace says to Eric, his voice deceptively calm.
Eric steps forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. His companions remain by the door, tense and watchful. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk to Camryn."
"Not happening," Storm says flatly.
"This is between me and her," Eric insists, his gaze fixed on me over Storm's shoulder. "Come on, Cam. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking."
"She's not interested," Storm replies before I can respond. "Neither am I. So turn around and walk out while you still can."
"I've got rights," Eric says, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "She's kept my daughter from me for eight years. Eight years! I deserve a chance to know her."
"You lost any right to call her your daughter the night you forced yourself on a sixteen-year-old girl," Storm growls, taking a step forward. "Now get out before I decide to finish what I started in that alley."
Eric's face pales slightly at the reference, but he stands his ground. "This isn't over. Cantlay wants his money, and if I don't get it from her, he'll come for her himself."
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. Storm's back stiffens, and I can feel the tension radiating from him even from behind.
"You threatening her in my clubhouse?" Ace asks, his voice dangerously soft. "Because that sounds like a real bad idea to me."
One of Eric's companions, a tall man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward. "Mr. Cantlay doesn't appreciate people interfering in his business. The debt needs to be paid. One way or another."
"You tell Cantlay," Storm says, moving with a speed that belies his size, until he's toe-to-toe with the scarred man, "that Camryn is under my protection.
Under the Fury Vipers' protection. Any problem he has with Eric is between them.
He comes near her or her daughter, and it becomes our problem. And trust me, he doesn't want that."
The man doesn't back down, but I see a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Cantlay doesn't take threats lightly."
"Neither do we," Storm replies, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "Now get out. All of you. Before this becomes something you can't walk away from."
For a tense moment, I think Eric and his companions might actually be stupid enough to push the issue, but then the scarred man nods slightly, touching Eric's shoulder.
"This isn't the time or place," he murmurs.
Eric's eyes find mine one last time, a mixture of anger and what looks like fear flickering in their depths. "This isn't over, Camryn."
And then they're gone, the door closing behind them with a loud bang. I hear Ace on the phone with one of the prospects, growling and cursing at them for letting Eric and the other men into the compound.
I'm rooted to the spot, my legs suddenly weak with the aftermath of adrenaline. Storm turns to me, his expression a mixture of concern and barely contained rage.
"You okay?" he asks softly, for my ears only.
I nod, not trusting my voice. He steps closer, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back, steadying me.
"They're gone," he assures me. "They won't be back tonight."
"But they will be back," I say, finding my voice at last. "As long as Eric owes this Cantlay person money, they'll keep coming."
Storm's expression hardens. "We'll handle Cantlay. I promise you, this ends now."
Before I can respond, Emily comes running back into the room, her butterfly wings slightly askew from her hasty exit. "Mommy! Are the bad men gone?"
I crouch down to her level, checking her over instinctively though I know she's fine. "Yes, baby. The men are gone. Everything's okay now."
"Were they the ones making you scared?" she asks with the direct perception of a child. "The ones Storm is protecting us from?"
I hesitate, caught between the truth and the desire to shield her from it. "Something like that," I finally say. "But you don't need to worry about them. We're safe here."
She nods, accepting this with a trust that makes my heart ache. "Can we dance again? Sera and I were practicing our butterfly dance."
I glance at Storm, who gives a slight nod. "Go ahead," he says. "I'll make sure everything is secure."
As he moves away to speak with his brothers, the music slowly returns, though at a lower volume than before. The children, resilient as ever, resume their dancing and games, though the adults maintain a heightened vigilance, eyes regularly sweeping the room and checking the exits.
I watch Emily rejoin Sera, their butterfly and biker costumes creating an odd but somehow perfect pairing as they twirl together. Despite everything, despite the lingering fear and uncertainty, I feel a strange sort of peace settling over me.
For eight years, I've lived with the threat of Eric hanging over me, the fear that he might someday return and try to take Emily from me.
Tonight, that fear materialized, and was faced down not just by me, but by an entire community of people who, for reasons I'm still trying to understand, have decided that Emily and I are worth protecting.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Storm's voice breaks through my reverie as he returns to my side.
"Just thinking about how strange life is," I say honestly. "A month ago, I would never have imagined being at a biker clubhouse Halloween party, dressed as a night butterfly."
"Regrets?" he asks, his tone deliberately light but his eyes serious.
I look at Emily, happily dancing with her new friends, then back at Storm. "No," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it. "No regrets."
A slow smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from intimidating to handsome in a way that still takes my breath away. "Good. Because neither do I."
The music shifts to something slower, and he holds out his hand to me. "Dance with me?"
I hesitate only a moment before placing my hand in his, allowing him to lead me to the edge of the dance floor. His arm encircles my waist, pulling me close but not too close, respectful of the public setting and the children nearby.
"Storm?" I say as we begin to sway to the music. "Thank you for what you did tonight. For everything you've been doing."
His hand tightens slightly at my waist. "You don't need to thank me for that. Ever."
"I know," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "But I want to. I've spent so long handling everything on my own, being strong for Emily, not letting anyone help… it's still hard for me to accept that I don't have to do it alone anymore."
Something shifts in his expression, a softening around his eyes. "You're still handling it, Camryn. Still being strong for Emily. Letting people help doesn't change that."
The wisdom in his words surprises me, though perhaps it shouldn't. Storm may be a man of few words, but when he speaks, he tends to cut straight to the heart of things.
"When did you get so smart?" I tease, trying to lighten the moment.
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where my hand rests. "Must be all that time spent around you. Some of it was bound to rub off eventually."
Across the room, Emily spots us dancing and waves excitedly. Storm waves back, his smile genuine and warm in a way few people ever get to see.
"She likes you," I observe. "A lot."
"Feeling's mutual," he says simply. "She's a great kid. Smart, brave, kind. Like her mom."
Warmth blooms in my chest at the compliment. "I don't always feel very brave."
"Bravery isn't about not being afraid," he says, his voice low and intense. "It's about being scared as hell and doing what needs to be done anyway. By that definition, you're the bravest person I know."
Before I can respond to this unexpected declaration, Emily comes bounding over, her wings slightly drooping from hours of energetic play.
"Storm! You promised to dance with me too!" she reminds him, tugging at his hand.
He looks down at her, then back at me, a question in his eyes. I nod, stepping back to give them space.
"I did promise," he agrees solemnly, crouching down to Emily's level. "And I always keep my promises. May I have this dance, Miss. Butterfly?"
Emily giggles, placing her small hand in his large one. "Yes, Mr. Pirate."
I watch as Storm leads my daughter in a gentle dance, modifying his steps to match her smaller ones, spinning her carefully so her wings don't tangle.
The sight of them together, this imposing biker with his scars and tattoos, treating my little girl with such tenderness, makes my heart swell with an emotion I'm not quite ready to name.
But as the night continues, as I watch Emily dance and laugh and eventually fall asleep in Storm's arms, her butterfly wings drooping with exhaustion, I can no longer deny the truth I've been avoiding:
I'm falling for him. Hard and fast and against all better judgment.
And judging by the way he looks at me over Emily's sleeping form, the feeling might just be mutual.