Chapter 19 Camile
CAMILE
I wake with a jolt. At first, for a few blissful moments, I only remember the dream and nothing else. It was fun. I’d been humping Jack’s thick thigh as he kissed me passionately. As more of the real world impinges on me, I realize I’ve got a pillow between my legs and my panties are soaked.
Oh, God, did I come in my sleep? Did I make noise?
Shit, what if Jack heard?
Wait, I’m in Jack’s house. Why?
Then it hits. With a sledgehammer of pain, my memories all slot back into place, and the dark void widens in me as sheer panic rushes to fill all my empty places.
Anxiety. Fear. Despair.
They all vie for supremacy, and my stomach lurches.
Oh, mierda.
Scrambling out of bed and getting caught in the covers, I fall onto the floor with a curse. The blankets are still wrapped around my legs, and I kick them off, desperate to get to the bathroom.
My stomach lurches again, and I push to my feet. I pause only long enough to snatch up my top to pull it over my head—aware I’m still in Jack’s house—and race to the bathroom.
Just in time, I hit the floor on my knees, the toilet seat flipped up, as I throw up what tiny amount I had left in my stomach. The vomiting is violent and painful, and I start to cry as I gag.
Something wet and cool touches the back of my neck, and I’m dimly aware of someone else in the room with me. Is Jack here?
God, the idea of him seeing me like this makes me want to curl up into a ball and die.
“You’re okay, Camile. It’s okay. Let it out.”
That’s not Jack. I can’t look around, though, because I’m going to be sick again.
I’m not sure how long it lasts. Only that once it’s finished, I’m wrung out and exhausted.
The person who had a wet towel on my nape stands and does something at the sink. I fall back against the wall to sit on my ass, my hands covering my face. Then the person is in front of me, pushing the strands of sweat-damp hair from my forehead and wiping my face with the cool cloth.
It’s Ghost.
Oh, Lord, how embarrassing it is to be seen this way in front of him.
I bet I stink, and he’s gotten a good view of my panties and ass while he’s been in here.
I wish I’d picked up my jeans, too. He doesn’t seem to care about that.
Instead, he continues to clean my face with the cloth before he stands and goes to a medicine cabinet.
After rummaging around in it, he grabs a travel toothbrush still in its wrapper.
“I needed one of these,” he says to himself.
I’m not sure what he means, but then he hands it to me.
“Here you go. You can brush your teeth, if you feel up to it. It’ll make you feel better.”
I’m grateful for the chance, as my mouth tastes awful. I stand and almost fall again, but a strong arm is around my waist, and I’m guided to the sink. Once there, I brush my teeth as Ghost flushes the toilet.
I run the faucet and wash my hands and face, and the cool water feels heavenly on my overheated skin.
Once I’m done, I take the soft towel Ghost offers me and wipe my face and throat dry.
“Do you feel better?” he asks.
Better is a subjective word. I don’t feel sick anymore, but I’m still devastated and beyond terrified.
Waves of panic keep washing over me, and they make me want to scream, or run and never stop. It’s like my fear is too big for my skin, and if I don’t let it out, it’s going to explode and take me with it.
Another wave of outright terror hits, and I groan as I clutch my waist trying to hold myself in one piece.
“You going to be sick again?” Ghost asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s… I keep feeling as if I want to scream. Like I need to run. Like I’m going crazy.”
“I mean, you’ve been through hell. So screaming isn’t a crazy reaction. Why don’t you?”
“What? Seriously?”
He opens the bathroom window a crack, and the steady thump of a distant bass reaches me. God, it must be only early evening, judging by the light. They start partying early at the compound.
“They’re pretty noisy here, see?” Closing it again, he smiles at me. “Most people will be riding, or working on their bikes, or in the clubhouse. The windows are closed up here. There’s no one around to listen, so why not scream?”
“You’re here,” I point out. “I wasn’t raised to do things like that.”
His shrug is casual. “That’s okay, but it might help. Sometimes, when I first got out of the military and I was extra fucked up, I used to ride my bike out to the middle of nowhere, gun the engine and just tip my head back and shout as loud and as long as I could, until I felt better.”
He was in the military? I try to remember if I knew that about him already. I don’t think I did. I wonder how old Ghost is. He’s older than me, but he’s also a lot younger than Jack. I’d put him at early thirties, at a guess.
Maybe it’s worth a shot, though I don’t think I’ve ever felt so self-conscious in my life. I have to try something before I lose my mind.
Tipping my head back, I let out a small scream. It sounds like a cartoon mouse.
My cheeks heat as I look at Ghost.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he asks, head cocked to one side in challenge.
“I expect you can do better, huh?”
He lets out a loud, terrifying war cry, and I jump.
“Jesus,” I say, my hand clutched to my chest.
“Give it a go.”
This time, I put my all into it. My fists balled, my arms tense, and my neck strains, and I bend over and scream so fucking loudly it hurts my throat.
“Aaagggghhhhhhhhhh!”
The sound dies from my lips, and I’m left panting. I do feel oddly better, although my throat hurts from being sick and then screaming.
“What the fuck?” The door bursts open and Jack storms into the bathroom, his face pale.
He takes me in, wearing only a t-shirt and panties, my body all sweaty, and Ghost, standing there grinning, and his face darkens.
“I thought she was being attacked,” he says to Ghost.
It’s then that I realize he has his gun in one hand.
Ghost shakes his head, not fazed at all by the weapon. “She’s been sick. Panic. I told her to scream it out. It helps.”
Jack’s gaze flicks between the two of us, his eyes narrowing, as he shoves his weapon into the waistband of his jeans at the base of his spine. Needing to cut the tension because I cannot take any more drama, I speak.
“Can I take a bath or a shower, Jack? I’ve been sick, and I’m so hot and sweaty, I feel awful.”
“Um, yeah. Of course. Which would you prefer?”
“I think a cool shower.” I glance at the door. “But first, I need a cell phone so I can try my mom and brother again.”
“I brought you one,” Jack says. “I had a spare. I just put it on the bedside table.”
Aware of my semi-nudity, and the two huge men in the room with me, I grab a towel off the rail, wrap it around me, then go fetch my new burner phone.
Jack has already plugged in the phone numbers he’d taken from my old phone, but I know my mother’s number off by heart anyway.
I swipe the screen to call, and it goes straight to voicemail.
I leave another brief message and hate the sinking terror that curdles in my stomach.
That panic starts to threaten again, but then three dots appear on my screen.
She’s typing. Oh, my God, she’s alive. If it is her.
A sob bursts out of my throat, but it’s a happy one. “They’re alive,” I cry out, racing back into the bathroom.
Ghost smiles at me. “Good news.” He turns to leave. “I’ll be downstairs,” he says to Jack.
I type a fast reply to my mom, letting her know I’m alive and safe.
“Don’t say where you are.” Jack’s words are firm, but his tone is softer than usual.
“I won’t,” I tell him and hit send.
I turn to Jack. “Thank you. I’ll take that shower now, if that’s okay?”
He turns it on, messes with the knob to adjust the temperature, then hands me some fresh towels from the closet.
“There you go. There’s shower gel in there, and you’ve got your own toiletries, right, in the bag Vani packed. We’ll go downstairs and give you some privacy, but we’ll be nearby.”
The door closes with a gentle click as he leaves. I take a shuddery breath and let the tears flow again, but this time they are happy tears. I’ve lost my father but, right now, my mother and brother are alive, and I have a way to contact them.
It’s more than I could have hoped for.