Chapter 17 Camile #2
I can’t go back to the compound. I need to go home and be with what remains of my family.
I fight against a pair of big, strong arms as they try to lift me.
I don’t care what I look like, tears pouring down my face, my skin blotchy, my nose completely blocked.
Everything else important to me has vanished in the space of a few seconds.
He tries to pull me to my feet, but I yank back. “No, I need to find my mom and brother. Their phones both went to voicemail when I called.”
What does that mean? Has something happened to their phones?
Or something happened to them? I can’t bear to think about it.
I must know they’re safe. God, I wish I had a current number for Xavier.
It seems crazy that I don’t, but we are not remotely close these days.
If I can get to Mom, it will all be all right.
“I know where the safe house is,” I insist. “I can go to them.”
“And if someone has eyes on you? What then? Let’s say they let you live, at least long enough to leave here. You’ll then lead them straight to your family, where they’ll wipe all of you out. You want to have that blood on your hands?” He rubs his palm over his face. “You could get yourself killed.”
“Or worse,” Saint points out, his French accent giving his blunt words a melodious ring. “You might get tortured. Raped. You’re a woman, and the things they could do…”
I swallow hard against the tight lump in my throat as my vision blurs with fresh tears. No, of course I don’t want that, any of it, but I also can’t sit around here and do nothing.
“I’ll make sure no one is following me.” It’s a pathetic attempt but I have to try.
“Grow up, Camile. How can you be sure of that?” Jack snarls the words at me.
I jerk back at his sharp tone as though he’s just slapped me. I want to tell him this is none of his business, that what happens to me and my family has nothing to do with him. But I made it his business the night I climbed over his fence and ran to him for help.
“I don’t need your help anymore,” I blurt.
He narrows his eyes at me, a muscle beneath his cheekbone ticking.
“You don’t get to be the one who decides when it is and when it isn’t suitable for me to help you.
I’m not a trained guard dog you can call to attention when you need me, then give a little pat on the head when you’re wanting me to stand down.
You got me involved, and so I’m fucking involved. ”
The tears come harder. “That isn’t what I’m doing!”
“You sure about that?”
He stoops down, and in one swift move, hauls me up and throws me over his shoulder, fireman style.
“Jack!” I screech. “Put me down.”
“I’ll put you down when I’m ready.”
He carries me over to an old truck, which belongs to Roman.
Roman isn’t the type of person who is into material things.
He prefers nature and is more likely to be found out in the woods than inside a building.
Until recently, he and his friends were considered outcasts and freaks in the college—I guess they still are to some extent.
They exiled themselves by stalking around the place wearing freaky masks and doing pagan rituals, but their new relationship with one of my other friends, Ophelia, has brought them more into the open.
The back door is already open, and Jack throws me inside like I’m a sack of flour. He tosses the bag I’d brought from the compound and my purse in after me.
“Put on your seatbelt.”
I dart for the opposite door, but Roman is already there, shaking his head. “Oh, no, Camile, not on my watch. Sit down and do as you’re told.”
“Fuck!” I scream and kick at the back of the seat.
I can sense people watching me with wary eyes. This isn’t the Camile they know and love. The sensible girl. The one who does everything right and is a shoulder to cry on, and is always the one who dishes out advice when needed. I’m unrecognizable, and I don’t even care.
Maybe I’m acting a little crazy, but who the hell can blame me?
Deep down, I understand that running off home is a suicide mission.
A part of me wants that, though. I want to lose myself in pain and madness.
Succumb to it completely. Losing my mind and screaming and lashing out is better than facing the huge hole of grief and loss yawning inside of me.
How come I’m mourning a man who never really loved me and who treated me like a pawn to be used in his power games?
In some ways, I know my life is going to be better in some aspects without my father, but the fact I’ve only just found out he’s been brutally murdered is still a huge shock.
The doors are all shut now, trapping me inside, but the windows are half open so I can hear everything that’s being said.
“When Vani gets back here with her stuff, we leave and drive fast, okay?” Jack tells Roman. He keeps his voice low, and he glances to the trees again. “I’ll tail you on my bike.” He flaps open the inside of his leather cut, and I realize he’s armed.
A jolt of shock goes through me. Does he really think we could be ambushed on the road? I guess it’s possible. It makes sense that he called Roman. He wanted to be our armed escort. Shit.
Even though Jack’s pissed me off, I don’t want to be separated from him.
It hits me that if I were to stay at the college and refuse to leave with him, I wouldn’t have Jack anywhere nearby.
The thought makes me feel unstable, like the ground beneath me is no longer solid and I could fall through it and continue to fall forever.
I can’t make this man the only solid thing in my life because he never asked for that role, but it seems my mind and body have already done so, without my permission… or his.
It’s hot in the car, and as we wait for Vani to return with my stuff, I lean against the open window, letting the breeze brush over my damp cheeks.
I’m not sure how long I stay like that, my mind whirling with one thought after another as the men talk in low, deep voices.
My eyes drift as an exhaustion like I’ve never felt before seeps into me, bone deep.
Footsteps by the car jerk me back to awareness as Vani suddenly appears at the window. She has a big bag of my belongings, which she hands to her dad, who tosses it in the back of the truck.
“At least I won’t be short of clothes,” I say, almost laughing at how much seems to be in the bag.
“I grabbed a load without really looking, as I know you need to go. We’re all sitting ducks out here. I’ll call you asap, okay?” she says to me.
She reaches her hand through the gap in the window and gently cups my cheek. It’s a tender gesture, and it makes me feel a little less alone. Thank God for my friends.
But once more Jack steps in, ruining the moment. “No, we need to get rid of her cell phone. There’s a chance someone will be tracking it.”
He wants to take my phone? Hell, no. This is the only means I have of contacting my family.
“You can’t take my phone.”
“I’ll get you a new one, Camile. Just make a note of your family’s phone numbers, and you can contact them from that. You can’t risk keeping it now.” He drags his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “We probably should have gotten rid of it the moment you arrived at the compound.”
“Great, so now I’m going to be held prisoner and you’re going to take my phone. I might as well be dead.”
“Don’t fucking speak that way,” he snaps.
I shrink in my seat. “Don’t shout at me.”
“Then hand over your fucking phone. Unlock it first.”
“God, Dad, chill out. Jesus.” Vani stares at her father as if he’s grown a second head.
Saint grabs Vani’s hand and pulls her around to face him.
He tips Vani’s chin up so he’s looking in her eyes and says in a clipped tone, “This is fucking serious. We don’t know where the risk is, and we’re all standing out here like, what was it you said?
Ah, yes, sitting ducks. You ladies need to realize the severity of this situation. ”
Vani flinches a little at either his words or his tone, and I realize that I’m not going to win this. Reluctantly, I do as Jack says and pass my phone through the open window.
He scrolls, using his own cell to take photographs of my saved contacts, then he opens the SIM holder, takes it out, crushes it beneath his boot, and does the same for my phone.
Seeing the device that holds my entire life within it crushed when I’m already losing everything else makes something inside me break apart.
“I hate you!” I snap at him, not even caring that his daughter can hear every word I say.
“Hate me all you like if it means you’re still alive.”
God, he’s so fucking cold sometimes.
He gives a nod to Roman. “Okay, time to go.” He pats the side of the truck like it’s an old horse.
I curl up in the seat, cover my face with my hands, and dissolve back into tears. I don’t even have the emotional headspace to be embarrassed about the scene I just caused. Since when did Jack get to have so much say over what I can and can’t do? He’s not my father.
No, but you wanted him to be your Daddy, an insistent little voice whispers in my head. Now he is, and maybe you don’t like it so much.
My father’s dead, and Jack’s just some replacement I wanted to fuck because I have daddy issues. They’ll probably be ten times worse now, but his recent behavior has left me as wet for him as the Sahara.
If he wants me back at the compound, fine, but he’d better not think he can control everything I do.
Right now, I hate him with burning ferocity.
It’s easier to hate Jack than it is to grieve for my father, especially because of the very complicated relationship I had with him, or to fear for the safety of my mother and brother.
I’d rather channel that anger and hatred and use it to make him hurt.
Why did he say that about me being involved with Ace? Is that what he wants? Deep down, I find it hard to believe, but he was the one who told Vani that Ace was following me around like a puppy. Perhaps I need to put that to good use to hurt him back.
The thought of hurting Jack gives me just enough spark to make me want to live.
I don’t speak the whole way back. Roman eyes me nervously in the rearview mirror a few times, perhaps wondering if he should try talking to me.
I don’t make any attempt to talk to him.
He’s doing Jack’s bidding, so right now I hate him, too.
I know Jack and the rest of the MC helped Roman and the other Preachers a while back, so Roman owes him, but he’s still pissed me off by being on his side.
Jack rides close behind the truck. I’m constantly aware of his presence and the growl of the bike.
It’s a bit like having my own personal bodyguard, except I don’t want one.
I want to get on a flight or lease a car and drive past the border to find my family.
What if they’re dead? What if I no longer have any family?
The thought brings on fresh tears, which silently stream down my face. I stare out the window and watch the mountains go by.
Am I torturing myself with the thought? Maybe I ought to stop. Or is it more like prodding at it like a sore tooth, preparing myself for the inevitable, so when I learn the truth, it doesn’t come as such a shock? I guess both things can be true at the same time.
We arrive back at the compound. Jack overtakes the truck, so he gets there first, and the gates open for him. He leads the way to his place, Roman following. Heads turn, bikers curious as to who the new arrival is, and I sink lower in the seat, not wanting to be noticed.
I climb out of the truck into the mid-afternoon sun, my head down, shoulders rounded. Jack steps off his bike and stalks to the truck to retrieve my bag.
“Stay safe, Camile,” Roman calls to me.
I can’t bring myself to smile at him. The best I can manage is a nod of acknowledgement.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be among all these rowdy men and these sexually confident women.
I’m the complete opposite of them. I feel like a little mouse, wanting to curl into a ball and hide, and I hate myself for it.
I wish I was strong and fierce. I wish whoever killed my father and is now after my remaining family was frightened of me and what was coming for them.
Instead, I’m helpless and insignificant, and it makes me wonder what’s the point in even being alive.
At least if I’d been able to return to the college, I’d have had my own belongings around me, and my own friends. That I feel completely alone, and stranded, untethered to either my life back at Verona Falls University or my life back in Mexico, only serves to make me feel even more insignificant.
Jack enters his house, climbs the stairs with my bag, and I follow close behind.
“You can have my room,” he says, leading me into his bedroom.
“What? No, I can’t stay in your room.”
“Yes, you can, and you will. I have a foldout couch in my office. That’ll do me perfectly fine.”
“I can’t take your bed, Jack.”
“Stop fucking arguing with me, Baby-girl. Do as I say.”
I don’t have the energy to fight with him anymore, and the thought of being curled up in his big bed and closing my eyes is too alluring to say no to.
I’m completely exhausted, emotionally and physically.
All I’m capable of doing right now is crying and sleeping and then most likely crying some more.
I kick off my shoes and jeans—not even caring that he’ll see me in my panties—and crawl beneath the covers. His pillow smells of him, and I bury my face in the soft material, wetting it with my tears.
His big hand lands on my head with surprising gentleness, and he strokes my hair.
“You’re safe,” he says, and I wonder if he’s saying it more for himself than me. “No one is going to hurt you here. You can sleep.”
The rhythmical stroking of my hair, his gentle, reassuring words, and the mental and emotional exhaustion of the day lulls me into sleep.