Chapter Twenty-Seven
Noa
Caymen’s dramatic entrance wasn’t what caught me completely off guard.
Nope.
That would be my father coming in directly after with a gun in his hand and two more in holsters.
Caymen… went to my father?
I couldn’t decide if I was more shocked, happy, or horrified about that.
My dad watched as Caymen slammed his fist into Lance’s face over and over, nodded, then made a beeline for me.
“Hey, baby girl,” he greeted me in that gruff tone of his. But I could hear the thickness of emotion behind it. “I met your fella.” He reached out, gently peeling back the bandage on my arm to check out the wound.
“I, um, see that. How?”
“He tracked me down when nothing else was working. We geared up and headed back to Miami. When he showed me the sketch of your attacker.”
“You knew it was him, huh?” I asked as he prodded around my wound.
“Might be older now, but he looks roughly the same.”
“How’d you find us?”
“Have a tracker on his car.”
“You… what? Wait, you’ve known his whereabouts?”
“Since the day I kicked him out, yeah.”
“But why?”
“Because I didn’t want him near you. I didn’t know you had been targeted, or I might have thought to check the tracking history sooner. Once I did, it brought us right here.”
“He said he’s been stalking me.”
“I should have paid closer attention. Now. And back then.”
“Hey, let’s not. I just went down memory lane with Lance. I don’t want to do it again.”
“Get that,” he agreed as the sounds of fists hitting flesh and grunts of pain filled the room. “This needs to be looked at.” He reached up, grabbing my chin, then turning my head side to side. “That’s not too bad.”
“No, he knew exactly how to make me pass out without leaving too much damage.”
His face darkened at that, since we both knew where he learned that skill.
“Your wrists and ankles might need some saline too. How’re your feet?”
“Sore.”
“Ankle?”
“Even worse.”
It was impressive how well your body could compartmentalize pain when you needed it to. It wasn’t until I knew that I was safe that it started to throb, swell, and scream again.
“You gonna let your old man carry you out of here?”
I’d prefer Caymen do it, but he was occupied.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Then he scooped me up like I remembered occasionally when I was young and hurt.
“Hey, get your licks in, but remember what we talked about,” he called to Caymen as we moved past the fight that was still going strong. If by ‘strong’ you meant that Caymen was basically beating Lance’s face in.
“What did you talk about?” I asked as we moved through the door.
“Not killing him,” my father admitted as we walked into a narrow hallway, then through a door to the outside.
It was muggy and hot, but it felt so good to be outside after not being sure I ever would again, that I didn’t even mind.
“Noa!” Caymen called, his voice just this side of desperate.
My father paused, turned, and waited for Caymen to catch up.
“Noa…” Caymen said, looking wrecked.
“Here,” my father said, gently transferring me into Caymen’s arms. He pulled me tighter, almost to the point of pain, but it felt so good to be held by him again that I didn’t even mind.
“You’re going to crush her,” my father objected for me.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Caymen assured me, pressing the side of his face to my forehead.
“Can I trust you to take care of our girl?” my father asked, getting a nod from Caymen as my heart expanded in my chest at his words. “Good. I got some shit to do. I’ll check in soon,” he said, reaching out, touching the side of my head for a second, then walking off.
“I think he likes me,” Caymen said.
“I think you’re right.”
“I’m gonna go get you to Ama again,” he said as he started to walk away from the building.
“On your bike?” I asked, dubious.
“No, Dixon and Che are here with Che’s car.”
It wasn’t just Dixon and Che. Almost the whole club had arrived—each of them lined up and waiting. It seemed like their shoulders relaxed one by one when they looked at me.
“Are you hurt anywhere else? Anywhere new?”
“My ribs and hip hurt a little, but nothing serious.”
“He dropped you on your side.”
“That explains it. I’m okay. We were mostly just… talking.”
He grunted at that as we got to Che’s car—not one of the fancy sports cars he was known for, but a family-appropriate midsize SUV.
“Hey, Noa,” Dixon greeted me as he opened the door.
“Hey, Dixon.”
“Planning on getting a snack?” It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize I still had the plastic fork shoved in the waistband of my pants.
“Eye-gouger,” I explained.
“Of course,” he agreed, smiling.
Caymen slipped me into the seat and let me scoot over to make room for him, then reached for me and pulled my legs over his.
“You okay?”
“I’ve had better nights.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, sighing. “Never been that worried in my entire fucking life.”
“Enough to go find my dad when he didn’t even know about you yet.”
“He shot his gun off in the air when he saw me.”
“It’s his way of saying hello.”
“I like him. We should have dinner when you’re all healed up. Do it right.”
“Yeah?” I asked, that swelling feeling in my chest starting up again.
“Yeah. But not at his place. That rope bridge is a fucking nightmare.”
“I know. It gets easier over time, but I won’t be moving across it in my boot. Oh, my boot…”
“Pretty sure Daniyal brought the boat back to shore. I can send someone over to pick it up.”
“Oh, good. Anything else I need to know about?”
“We found the guns.”
“What? How?” I asked, straightening.
With everything going on, it was probably not super healthy that I was able to think past the events of the night and focus on work, but, well, that’s just who I was.
“Arty found the camper. In the suburbs. We went over there, still thinking this might have been linked to them.”
“And?”
“And they were all high as fuck in the living room. The guns were still in the camper in the back.”
“They didn’t sell them?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Frog God.”
“I’m sorry… what?”
“Frog God told them that guns were bad, so they stole them back.”
A sound that was half sigh, half laugh escaped me.
“They’re too much.”
“Yeah. Zayn took the guns. The job, on our end, is done now. So that’s one thing off all our plates.”
“Which means we both get to take some time off to relax.”
“Six weeks at least,” he agreed. “In bed as much of that time as possible.”
“I have no objections to that plan.”
“Maybe we spend half of it at the clubhouse while we get your place fixed up.”
“I get to enjoy Eddie’s cooking then.”
“Good food is a big part of healing,” Caymen agreed. “Scared the fucking shit out of me,” he admitted, voice just for the two of us.
“You had good timing. I really didn’t want to have to fight Lance with a bum ankle.”
“Happy to do the face-bashing for you.”
“It was kinda hot,” I admitted. “I’ve never had someone fight for me before.”
“You got me anytime you need me now.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, relaxing into him. “I do.”
Before either of us could say anything else, we were pulling into the lot where the clinic was located.
Caymen lifted me into his arms and walked us inside where Ama was waiting.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said with a soft smile.
“Sorry to interrupt your sleep again.”
“Oh, what’s sleep?” she asked, waving it off. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and take another X-ray of that ankle.”
“We need to get someone to go get the boot,” Caymen told her.
“Oh, no. Zayn’s associate dropped it off.”
“Daniyal?” Caymen asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’m starting to think Zayn implanted us with listening chips or something,” Caymen mumbled.
“I texted him,” Dixon said with a chuckle.
“You’ve had a stressful night,” I said, patting his arm. “It’s okay if your brain isn’t working right.”
“Pretty sure I’m the one who should be comforting you right now,” he said as he set me on the table.
“I think we can comfort each other,” I said, patting the table beside me.
With that, Ama came in to fuss over my arm and feet as Caymen ran his hand up and down my back.
I got another X-ray, was told that things looked about how they were supposed to, was warned to stay in my boot any time I was on my feet, and a brace at all other times, then was released to leave.
“You good with coming back to the clubhouse with me?”
“I’m curious to see your room.”
“Christ, don’t get your hopes up. I don’t know shit about decorating. It’s pretty much the same as it was when I moved into it.”
“So long as it’s not like Arty’s place, I won’t complain.”
“No biohazards in my room. Sheets were even washed the last time I slept in them.”
“You know, I have my boot back; I can walk,” I said as he carried me all the way out to the car.
“You can. But just give me this,” he said, arms tightening around me. “Almost lost you. Feels good to be holding on.”
“I’m not complaining,” I said as we got in the backseat together again.
“What do you think your old man is doing with Lance?” he asked when we were almost halfway back to the clubhouse.
“My father can and will kill if he needs to, but he doesn’t usually want to. And I think a part of him feels guilty for how Lance turned out. Since he had no idea what was going on right under his nose.”
“He… filled me in,” Caymen said. “Once he saw the sketch I had Jade draw up, he explained everything that went down back then. But it doesn’t make sense that he feels guilty about anything except what happened to you.”
“If I’m guessing where his head is at, he thinks that if he’d known about the small things, he could have corrected it. And then Lance would have grown into a different man.”
“What do you think? Could he be turned around?”
“There were a few moments where I saw humanity and regret tease through the years of anger, resentment, and jealousy. I think if anyone can turn him around, it’s my father.”
“Yeah, but how would you feel about that?”
“I mean, I don’t know if I’d be willing to have Thanksgiving dinner with Lance or anything, but I think if there’s any chance to help a man on the fence of being truly bad become better, then it’s worth the effort.
Lance had a hard life and was a messed-up kid.
Then he cradled all that to his chest into adulthood.
I don’t necessarily think that means he is doomed to be a terrible human being. ”
“You’re more generous than I am.”
“I’ve had a lot of years to move past everything that happened back then. Though, I’m unsettled that he’s been watching me for so long and I haven’t been aware.”
“If it helps, your old man has been watching him too. Just wasn’t watching closely around the time Lance came down to Miami.”
“Any idea where he was before?”
“All over. Seems like he has a career in extraction work.”
“Well, that makes sense how he pulled off that boat kidnapping so easily. How did he find us there?”
“Tracker in your purse.”
“My purse? How did…”
But then it hit me.
Just a few weeks before, I’d been in a rush to get my ice cream in the apartment and I’d forgotten my bag in the car. It was hours until I realized. Plenty of time for Lance to sneak in, hide a tag, and get back out again.
“I need better security,” I grumbled.
“I know somebody who could help with that.”
“The guy with the B name…” I said, trying to dig through the memories of our previous conversations.
“Booker. Booker runs a private security team. He could think of vulnerabilities you never considered before.”
“Okay. Mental note made. For later. No more brain thinking things now. Only rest, sleep, food, and you,” I settled on, too aware of the guys in the front seat listening.
“You got me,” he whispered, lips near my ear. “How often and any way you want.”
Despite everything, my body warmed at the idea of being with him again.
But as soon as we walked into the clubhouse and I smelled Eddie’s cooking, I decided that had to move down on the priority list.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Eddie greeted. He stood there in an apron covered in little multi-colored handprints with names scrawled beneath.
The club kids, I assumed. “I don’t know your favorite foods yet, so I’m making a little bit of everything.
We got tacos going, baked ziti in the oven, and burgers.
Figured there’s gotta be a favorite in there.
But I do know you got a sweet tooth, so once all this is done, I got brownies and cupcakes ready to bake. ”
“You are a god among men, Eddie,” I told him. “And literally all of those foods are my favorites.”
“Daniyal dropped by to bring all the shit from the boat,” Coast said.
“He’s been busy today,” I said. “We should send him something. What do you send super-secret men with unknown skills and no fingertips?” I asked.
“I really like the wearable blanket Shy got me for Christmas,” Eddie said.
“You live in fucking Florida ,” York said. “How do you need a wearable blanket?”
“I get a chill sometimes,” Eddie said, shrugging.
I barely knew the guy.
But Eddie needed to be protected at all costs.
And if he was single, he needed a woman at home that he could share his love language (cooking) with while she took care of him in whatever way he needed.
“Why don’t I give you a lift upstairs to clean up?” Caymen asked, turning his back to me and lowering down. “By the time you’re done, food will be done.”
“I’ll take you up on that,” I agreed, wrapping my arms and legs around him and letting him piggyback me up the narrow stairs to the second floor.
“This is me,” he said as he pushed open a door to, well, a very plain room.
There was a queen-sized wooden bed that was neatly-made, with a charcoal comforter (that was covered in the bags of gifts from Zayn), two nightstands, and a tall dresser with a TV hung over it. He didn’t even have lamps, just the lights in the ceiling fan.
Still, he had a headboard. It was tidy. The clothes were in the hamper. All around, I’d seen much worse.
“I don’t have one of the rooms with a private bathroom,” he explained as he lowered me down. “But it’s right across the hall. Just no showers yet. Let your arm and feet sit with the antibiotic cream for a while.”
“Yeah, I just want to do a quick whore’s bath and get changed. How are you doing? Your face? Feet? Hands?”
“Well, I broke the knuckles open again on your sort-of cousin. I’ll clean them up myself. Zayn did my feet again. My face is nothing.”
“It’s pretty bruised and swollen.”
“It’ll heal.”
Yeah, it would.
And so would my injuries.
Until then, I was more than happy to hunker down in bed with him.
And tacos.
Baked ziti.
Burgers.
Brownies.
And cupcakes.