59. Camilla
There’s a thumping in the back of my head that has nausea rolling over me as I try to place where I am and what happened leading up to this moment.
A steady beep, beep, beep fills the space around me, but it only serves to make my headache worse. Perhaps I’m in some kind of torture chamber, that’s the only place a sound like this belongs.
Slowly, images filter through my mind. Men in masks. A gun in my hand. Blood. So much blood. Crew’s ashen face.
My eyes pop open at that thought. Where is he? I need to make sure he’s okay. I need to make sure I’m not responsible for someone else I love dying.
As my eyes focus, I realize I’m in a hospital room, which, in my opinion, is as close to a torture chamber as I ever want to get. I have so many bad memories from rooms just like this one that my stomach sinks, and I swallow heavily past the tears that threaten to fall. I said goodbye to my mother in a room just like this one. What if I’m about to have the same experience with Crew?
I force the thought to the back of my mind. If I allow myself to fall down that rabbit hole, I might never dig myself out of it.
As slowly as I can manage, I turn my head to the side and cringe as pain shoots through my temple and another wave of nausea crashes down on me. I swallow past the bile that climbs into my throat and pause when I realize there’s someone sitting in the chair in the corner.
But it’s not one of my men.
It’s the man from Charles’s apartment. The one I saw at the cemetery.
He’s dressed in a neat suit, his graying hair styled around his shoulders just like it has been each time I’ve seen him, but his eyes seem darker, angrier, and my stomach clenches.
If he’s here to hurt me, I’m not going to be able to do anything to stop him. My body is weak, and I can barely move my head without wanting to throw up. I can’t see me being able to fight him off.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he says as he pushes himself up from the seat.
My entire body seizes as he steps closer, but I can’t find any words to say to him. He seems so much more imposing right now, but I think that has a lot to do with the fact I’m wearing a hospital gown while he’s in what I would consider a power suit.
“It’s unfortunate you survived. It seems I underestimated their ability to keep you safe, but I won’t make that mistake again, Camilla.”
“Who are you?” I croak.
He chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough. But in the meantime, I need to get going. They’ll be in here any minute. I’ll be seeing you real soon.”
I don’t get a chance to ask any more questions before he slips out of the door, and I start to wonder if I imagined the entire interaction.
But I know I didn’t. Whoever that man is, he’s responsible for the attempt on my life, but the problem is, I don’t know why.
He’s friends with Charles, sure, but aren’t I more useful to him alive? Doesn’t he need me to walk down the aisle so he has a claim on my territory and organization?
Before I met him at the penthouse, I’d never seen him before, and the fact he doesn’t want to tell me his name makes me think perhaps this isn’t about me. Maybe it’s about something else altogether.
I don’t get a chance to finish considering the possibilities before the door shoves open and three huge bodies fill the tiny space. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that breathes a little easier once I see them, but the fact there’s one missing, that I still don’t know is even alive, sucks up all the relief and leaves dread in its wake.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Bishop breathes as he moves to the edge of the bed. His huge hand engulfs one of mine, and some of the tension releases from his shoulders.
Kovu rounds the other side and leans down, brushing his lips over my forehead. “You gotta stop scaring us like this, Little Lamb.”
Kaos is still in the doorway, his eyes moving over me repeatedly as if he’s assuring himself that I’m okay, but I don’t rush him to come to me.
“Where’s Crew? Is he okay?” I ask, my throat burning under the pressure of the words.
Bishop reaches for the cup of water on the side table and brings the straw to my lips, allowing me to take a few sips before pulling it away again. “He’s in surgery, love. The doctors are optimistic that he’s going to pull through.”
Tears pool in my eyes, and I’m powerless to stop them from falling. I did this to him. It’s my fault he’s hurt, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.
“It’s okay, Little Lamb,” Kovu reassures me. “He’s going to be okay. Crew is a tough son of a bitch, he’s not going to let a little thing like a bullet take him down.”
But his words only seem to make my tears fall harder. Because there’s no way for him to know that. No way for anyone to see if he’s going to pull through.
Kaos finally pushes away from the door and comes around the same side as Bishop, quickly pushing him out of the way. He carefully lifts me from the hard mattress, cautious of all the wires and tubes that are attached to me, and a second later, the bed is groaning as his weight settles on it with me curled up against him.
“The nurse is going to flip her lid when she sees you on that bed.” Kovu chuckles.
“Don’t care,” he murmurs against the top of my head, and truthfully, neither do I. Not when it feels so good to be in his arms.
I allow myself a few moments to fall apart, to let the pain wash over me and the emotional turmoil of the day to set itself free, and Kaos holds me through it all while Bishop and Kovu whisper hushed reassurances and hold onto me in any way they can.
“It’s going to be okay, love. I promise he’s been through much worse than this and came out stronger,” Bishop tells me, his fingers gently wandering up and down my arm.
“But…what…if…he’s…not?” I sob, causing the pain in my head to intensify.
“You gotta have a little faith, Princess,” Kaos says.
“I can’t have anyone else I love die because of me,” I choke.
There’s a moment of silence when I regret the words that have just fallen from between my lips. Bishop and I are the only ones that have exchanged the words so far, and Kaos is barely on board with our relationship. Is he really going to want to hear about my feelings for Crew?
“This isn’t your fault, Camilla,” Bishop tells me. “He chose to go with you this morning. He chose to protect you. And if he was given this time again, he’d make the same choices. You can’t take the blame for this, and you certainly can’t take the blame for your father’s death.”
I swallow heavily, but I don’t bother arguing with him. There are some fights you just can’t win. Even if I know I’m right, I need to pick my battles right now.
My eyes fall closed, and I try to stifle the yawn that threatens to escape, but I’m exhausted, and there’s no masking that.
“Why don’t you get some rest, Princess. We’ll keep you safe.”