Chapter 14 Storm #2
Camryn stands beside me, tense but composed. She's dressed simply in jeans and a dark sweater, her hair pulled back, her face determined. Despite the storm raging outside, the kind that would normally have her huddled in a closet, she stands straight-backed and resolute.
"You okay?" I ask quietly, my hand at the small of her back.
She nods, though I can feel the fine tremors running through her body. "I will be. Once this is over."
We're not alone. Digger and Mayhem flank the main entrance while Shadow and Ace cover the back. Cruz is positioned outside in case Eric manages to slip past us somehow, an unlikely scenario, but we leave nothing to chance.
My burner phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the message from Cruz:
Target approaching. ETA 3 minutes.
"He's coming," I tell Camryn, feeling her stiffen beside me. "Last chance to change your mind."
She shakes her head. "I'm staying."
"Then remember what we agreed. You stay behind me, don't engage unless I say it's okay, and if things go south—"
"I get out," she finishes. "I remember."
I position her behind a stack of crates, where she can see and hear what happens but remain partially concealed. Not hidden, as she insisted on being visible to Eric, but protected.
The minutes tick by, marked by the relentless rhythm of rain and thunder. Then the side door slides open, and Eric is shoved inside by Digger, stumbling to his knees on the concrete floor.
He's soaked from the rain, his expression wild with fear as he takes in the warehouse and the men surrounding him. When his gaze lands on me, recognition flickers in his eyes. He remembers me from our first encounter behind the bar.
"What the fuck is this?" he demands, trying for bravado but his voice shaking. "You can't just grab people off the street!"
"We just did," I reply coolly, stepping forward into the pool of dim light. "We have unfinished business, Eric."
"I told you already, I don't have Cantlay's money! You can't squeeze blood from a stone, man."
"This isn't about Cantlay," I say. "This is about Camryn Fletcher and her daughter."
At the mention of Camryn's name, his face changes, calculation replacing fear. "What? She send you to rough me up? That bitch has been keeping my kid from me for eight years! I've got rights!"
The rage that's been simmering beneath my skin threatens to boil over. "Rights?" I repeat, my voice dangerously soft. "You think you have rights to a child conceived when you assaulted a sixteen-year-old girl?"
"That's not how it happened," he protests, his eyes darting around, looking for an escape route but finding none. "She was into it. She just changed her mind after and played victim."
I take a step toward him, but it's Camryn's voice that stops me.
"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Eric?"
She steps out from behind the crates, her face illuminated by a flash of lightning. The thunder that follows drowns out Eric's startled gasp.
"Camryn," he says, her name a mixture of surprise and wariness on his lips. "What the hell is this? Some kind of setup?"
She approaches slowly, stopping just behind my shoulder. I can feel her trembling, but her voice remains steady. "No setup. Just an end to this. To you threatening me, stalking my house, and trying to use Emily as leverage to get money."
"Our daughter," he corrects, a nasty smile spreading across his face. "She has my blood, Camryn. Nothing you can do will change that."
"Blood doesn't make you a father," Camryn responds, her voice stronger now. "You're nothing to her. You’re nothing to me–except a nightmare I've carried for too long."
Eric's eyes narrow, resentment twisting his features. "You think your biker boyfriend here scares me? Cantlay's people will find me if I don't pay up. I need that money."
"Cantlay's no longer your concern," I inform him. "That debt's been transferred to other parties who'll deal with you separately."
Confusion flickers across his face. "What? Who—"
"Not important," I cut him off. "What matters is this: Camryn and Emily are off-limits to you. Permanently. No contact. No attempts to see them. No legal maneuvers. They don't exist for you anymore."
He laughs, the sound harsh and disbelieving. "And if I don't agree to your terms? What then, tough guy?"
In answer, I nod to Shadow, who steps forward and drops a thick folder on the floor between us. Photos spill out, surveillance shots of Eric entering various buildings, meeting with people engaged in activities that would interest local law enforcement.
"Insurance," I explain. "Cruz has been following you for weeks, documenting your movements, your associates, the deals you've been making. There’s enough evidence here to put you away for a long time."
Eric pales as he stares at the photos. "Bullshit."
"That's just the legal option," I continue, my voice hardening. "The alternative is we ensure you're physically incapable of bothering Camryn or Emily ever again. Your choice."
The threat hangs in the air between us, heavy with promise. Eric's gaze darts between me, the photos, and Camryn as he assesses his options, finding them severely limited.
"She made up that assault story," he tries again, desperation creeping into his voice. "Ask anyone who knew her back then; she was a tease, always leading guys on."
Camryn steps forward. I let her, staying close enough to intervene if needed. "I was sixteen, Eric. A child. You were twenty-two. It doesn't matter what lies you tell yourself, you know what happened that night."
"Yeah, you got drunk and threw yourself at me!" he spits. "Then regretted it the next morning and cried rape!"
Lightning flashes again, illuminating the warehouse, and in that moment of electric clarity, something in Camryn's posture changes. She stands taller, stronger, as if the storm outside and the confrontation inside have fused to create a new version of her, one who's no longer afraid.
"I said no," she states, her voice cutting through the rumble of thunder. "I said no, and you didn't listen. And for eight years, I've been carrying the weight of that night, jumping at shadows, terrified of storms, terrified of you finding us."
She takes another step forward, and I tense, ready to pull her back if Eric makes a move.
"But I'm not afraid of you anymore," she continues. "I have people who love me, who protect me. And more importantly, I protect myself and my daughter now. You have no power over me, Eric. Not anymore."
The simple dignity in her words, the strength in her stance, creates a moment of perfect stillness in the chaos of the storm. Even Eric seems momentarily stunned by the transformation of the woman before him.
The moment breaks when he lunges forward, desperation overriding reason. "You bitch—"
I move before he can reach her, my fist connecting with his jaw with a satisfying crack. He staggers back, blood spraying from his mouth, but recovers quickly, charging forward with a roar of rage.
The fight is brief and brutal.
Eric lunges first, sloppy and desperate. He’s bigger, but his rage makes him stupid. I sidestep, plant my foot, and drive a fist into his ribs. The sound he makes isn’t quite pain. It’s surprise. He didn’t expect me to hit that hard.
I grab his shirt and slam him into the wall.
“For Camryn,” I say, voice low and tight.
He swings wildly. I duck under it and crack him across the jaw. His head snaps to the side and he stumbles.
“This one’s for the nights she flinched at shadows.”
He roars and charges again, but I’m already moving. A knee to his gut. An elbow to the side of his neck. He drops to one knee, coughing.
“And this is for threatening Emily.”
I don’t stop. I don’t give him time to breathe. All the rage I’ve held back for months crashes through me. My fists land faster than he can think.
The last punch knocks him flat, blood staining his lip. His eyes are dazed. His hands twitch like he’s still trying to find the floor beneath him.
I stand over him, chest heaving.
“You don’t get to haunt them anymore.”
I could finish this permanently. Part of me wants to. The storm inside me rages, demanding completion.
Then Camryn's hand is on my arm, gentle but firm. "Storm. Enough."
I look down at her, seeing not fear or disgust, but calm certainty. She doesn't want him dead. Not because she forgives him, but because she's moved beyond him. His continued existence or lack thereof no longer defines her.
I step back, letting her approach Eric's crumpled form. She doesn't touch him, just looks down at him with a complex mixture of emotions on her face.
"This is over," she tells him. "If you ever come near me or Emily again, if you ever try to contact us in any way, what happened tonight will seem like a warm-up act. Do you understand?"
He nods weakly, all defiance gone from his battered features.
"Say it," she demands.
"I understand," he croaks. "I'll stay away."
She holds his gaze for a moment longer then turns away, dismissing him from her life with that simple gesture. When she looks up at me again, there's a peace in her eyes I've never seen before.
"Let's go home," she says softly. "Emily will be waiting."
Home. The word echoes in my chest, finding resonance there. I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as we walk toward the exit, leaving Eric and the brothers who will ensure he leaves town.
Outside, the storm still rages, rain pelting down in sheets, lightning splitting the sky. But Camryn doesn't flinch as we dash to my truck. She climbs in, soaked but seemingly unbothered by the thunder that rattles the windows.
"You okay?" I ask as I start the engine, casting one last glance at the warehouse where we've left the past behind.
She considers the question, rainwater dripping from her hair. "I think I am," she says finally. "For the first time in a long time."
I reach across the seat, taking her hand in mine. "You were incredible in there. Brave."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "I didn't feel brave. I just felt... done. Done being afraid, done letting him have power over me."
"That's what brave looks like," I tell her, bringing her knuckles to my lips.
As we drive away, the storm gradually begins to recede, the spaces between lightning and thunder growing longer. By the time we reach the clubhouse, the rain has eased to a gentle patter, the worst of it having moved on.
A metaphor too obvious to miss.
Camryn looks out at the clearing sky, stars beginning to peek through breaks in the clouds. "Look at that," she says softly. "Storm's passing."
I glance at her, catching the double meaning in her words. "Not all storms," I remind her. "You're stuck with this one."
Her laughter, free and unrestrained, is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "Good," she says, turning to face me. "Because it turns out I don't mind this particular Storm at all."
As I lean across to kiss her, I'm struck by how far we’ve both come. The storm that brought us together has cleared away the threats of the past, leaving behind clean air and open skies.
And for the first time since I can remember, I'm looking forward to whatever weather tomorrow brings.