28. Cam
“We wait for the signal,”
Robby says, tone flat, arms crossed like he’s bracing for something incoming.
“If we go early we’ll blow the whole op.”
“We can’t wait,”
another snaps back, hands on his hips, tension coiled in his stance.
“When they strike, we move. No hesitation.”
“It’s always the same pattern,”
someone else mutters, pacing near the table.
“They hit hard, fast, clean. Stick to the rhythm. Just make sure the girl doesn’t botch it like last time.”
The room’s thick with friction—gear clinking, boots scuffing against tile. They talk in clipped sentences, eyes sharp, scanning maps and data streams the way we always do at briefings.
Final checks. Final breath. No room for doubt now.
Talia cuts in—again—reiterating the plan like we haven’t all memorised it by now.
“It’s a waiting game,”
she says, voice cool and clipped.
“Word is, they’ll make a move within the next forty-eight hours. We’re just holding for final confirmation from the last whistleblower.”
While she drills through protocol one more time, I flick open my laptop, eyes scanning the perimeter feeds on another routine sweep. Motion trackers, thermal scans, camera loops… all clear.
Until something blinks into frame.
And suddenly, this becomes something that definitely is not a standard sweep.
Are you kidding me? In the middle of the day? With a house full of people two rooms over?
I blink twice, just to be sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. Yep. No mistake.
I’d almost feel bad for how badly she’s bottling that frustration—if she hadn’t absolutely brought it on herself.
Some people weaponise silence. She’s out here weaponising denial.
I glance around—quick and practiced with a poker face I’m very proud of—making sure no one else can see what’s unfolding on the screen. The way her body moves around that soft black toy, how she arches into pleasure like she’s starving for it.
That’s for my eyes only.
Not that she knows. Christ, if she ever found out… I don’t even want to imagine what she’d say. What she’d think.
But I can’t look away.
I’m locked in—mesmerised—as she writhes, bliss pulling at every muscle in her body. She’s intoxicating. A little demon in silk skin, here to undo me cell by cell.
I shift the laptop farther onto my lap, concealing the evidence of exactly what she’s doing to me without even trying.
Out of all the goddamn times to do this, now?
Unreal.
But I’m not turning it off. Not a chance. She’s got me. Front-row seat with no escape.
Talia’s voice drones on in the background, strategy and risks and recon codes—but it’s all static to me now. I’m too far gone.
This breaks every rule I set for myself.
And yet here I am.
Watching. Wanting.
Falling harder for the one girl I swore I wouldn’t touch.
I zoom in, detail by detail—her body framed like a masterpiece I’ve got no right to study, each movement burning deeper into me. This is punishment. A lesson in denial I keep forcing on myself like I deserve the ache.
The things I want to do to her… they border on sacrilegious. Twisted cravings I haven’t felt in years—buried urges clawing their way back up with her at the centre of all of it.
And the worst part?
She might not even run.
She watched what I did to Adam. To his little sidekick. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t fold. Just stared like she understood me. Maybe she wouldn’t run from the things I’d do to her.
Maybe she’d beg for them.
“Cam?”
Talia’s voice slices through my thought path, sharp and unwelcome. I jerk upright, clear my throat, slam the laptop shut harder than necessary. Not because I’m ashamed—because if anyone saw what was on that feed, what she’s doing right now… I’d burn for it.
Right now. As in two doors down, she’s falling apart under her own hand. And I’m here.
Waiting.
Grinding my teeth against every rule I swore I wouldn’t break for her.
“Yes, that sounds good to me.”
I hope. Truth is, I have no idea what she asked me, let alone the answer.
Between keeping Nell safe and digging up the truth about her uncle, my brain’s already running hot. The rest of it? Let the team handle it. That’s what they’re here for, after all—trained, armed, and extremely competent.
By the time the house empties out and I reclaim the kitchen, I make sure I get there before Nell can set another appliance on fire. Last time, she nearly turned the toaster into an improvised explosive device. Not again.
The stove hums, the potatoes roll in a steady boil, and for the first time all day, there’s something resembling calm.
It’s not peace. But I’ll take it.
The cat’s a problem.
Still weaving between my legs like we’re old buddies, tail high, purring like he’s earned it. I don’t get it—I haven’t so much as scratched behind his ears once. Haven’t even looked at him with affection. But he’s latched on like I’m his personal saviour.
And he won’t leave me the hell alone.
I have to remind myself—I’m doing this for Nell. Only for Nell.
Because if it weren’t for her, this walking allergy would be back in that flat where I found him, shedding fur like confetti and hacking up hairballs like it’s a party trick.
A thunderous bang rips through the silence, and I’m awake before I’ve even registered the noise—pure instinct dragging me out of sleep, heart already slamming against my ribs.
There’s no time to think. I reach for the dart gun on the nightstand, flicking the safety off with muscle memory alone. I’m already moving—barefoot, adrenaline flooding my system like wildfire.
First priority—Nell.
I sweep into the hallway like a ghost, eyes adjusting to the dark. Her door’s wide open. And she’s not inside.
Panic spikes sharp in my gut. No. No, no, no. Not here. Not now.
Another bang—closer this time.
My head whips around toward the far end of the hall. To the last door on the left. Cold sweat beads down my spine.
I move.
Fast, low, controlled.
Every instinct screams at me to be ready for a fight as I edge against the wall, weapon raised, pulse a drumbeat in my ears.
The door is cracked, just enough to see.
I press my shoulder to the frame and strain to hear over the thudding in my chest. Something shuffles inside. Heavy. Uneven.
I count to three.
Then I move.
I slam the door open and sweep the room—gun first, body tight behind the frame. The shadows jump. There’s a crash as something—or someone—topples a chair trying to move.
“Don’t move!”
I bark, voice low but lethal.
There’s a pause. A breath.
And then Nell steps into a sliver of light. Half-asleep, hair a mess, one of my shirts hanging off her shoulder. Confused. Frozen.
She doesn’t register me, she’s lost deep in sleep, but her face is knotted with pain. Silent tears streak her flushed cheeks, and she cradles herself as she paces the room in slow, shuffling loops. Muttering nonsense.
“Nell?”
My voice cuts softly through the space. But there’s no response—just more broken fragments of words, scattered like static.
She’s having a night terror. I’m almost certain of it. And if I remember rightly, waking her could make it worse.
Still, I watch her like she’s glass ready to splinter.
Is it Adam? Some echo of what he did, buried too deep to die quietly? I want to know. I want to tear it all apart until I understand every shadow living in her head.
But I don’t have time to wonder.
She spins, moving to the drawers. Starts yanking them open in a desperate frenzy. There’s no logic in her movements, just raw panic as she tears through them like she’s searching for something stolen.
The tall unit rocks under her weight—unbalanced, top-heavy. Teetering on the edge of crushing her flat.
I lunge forward before it can tip.
“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”
She’s a hazard wide awake—unconscious, she’s twice as dangerous. But she doesn’t fight me, she just lets me guide her like muscle memory’s all she’s running on.
Getting her there is one thing. Getting her to stay there? That’s another.
I barely make it back to my own room before I hear her again—shuffling footsteps, dragging blankets, that lost-somewhere-else muttering that twists something inside me tight. She’s heading for the same damn room. Like whatever she’s reliving is pulling her there on a leash.
So, I give up.
I return her to bed for the final time and sit beside her. She’s sobbing now, low and broken, still caught in whatever memory won’t let go. Boomerang watches from the corner like this is all just part of the evening routine—another night, another haunting.
And maybe it is.
I haven’t shared a bed with anyone since Kyla. The thought alone knocks something loose inside me—something rusted over and cold. Loneliness. Real and sharp. The kind that doesn’t need noise to scream.
I lie back and pull Nell between my legs, into my chest, careful but certain. Tuck the blanket around us both like I can protect her from whatever follows her down into sleep. The headboard is unforgiving against my back, but I’ll take the discomfort if it means she falls back into a soundless sleep.
She’s fragile. That much is obvious. But something about being held—about being seen even without waking—softens her. Her breathing evens out. The shaking slows.
She still twitches. Still fights some invisible war behind her eyes.
But she’s not crying anymore.
And that feels like a win.