57. Nell
No one can accuse me of not giving it my all.
I’ve been dragging this monster for what feels like a lifetime—each sluggish step carving new bruises into my palms and burning through whatever strength I have left. If murdering him wasn’t a full-body workout, this sure as hell is.
The gurgling stopped ages ago.
Now he’s just dead weight—limbs slack, face buried against the moss and underbrush. The moon, high and bold above the trees, throws slanted silver light over everything. It illuminates the trail I’ve made, but even in its glow I can’t tell if his chest is rising.
I pray it’s not.
And if his pain before death wasn’t excruciating, then the world’s done me dirty.
God knows how many girls he’s dragged into the dark like this. The thought stirs something animalistic inside me—anger laced with sorrow and a thirst for justice too long denied. I did this for them. For Lea. For Darcy—because I know somewhere, somehow, they both crossed paths with men just like this.
I’ll hunt them all if I have to.
Torch them down to ash and bone. Call it vengeance or call it service—it’s more than just surviving now. It’s cleansing.
Not that the police would agree. I’m pretty sure this crosses the line of self-defence and lands me somewhere deep in vigilante territory. But what are laws to someone like him?
“Nell!”
Cam’s voice tears through the thicket like a whipcrack, startling me into motion. For the first time, relief floods in—he can help me drag this sack of rot the rest of the way. My arms are jelly, my fingers numb, adrenaline flushed from my system and replaced by dull, aching fatigue.
“Over here!”
I shout, voice hoarse, arm waving weakly toward the glow of two flashlights cutting through the trees.
I wince at their brightness, shielding my face, blinking back spots. And then Cam’s there—his hands gripping my shoulders, fingertips flitting over my skin, inspecting me like I might shatter.
“You okay?”
he breathes, voice cracked with panic.
Talia’s already crouched beside the body, checking for a pulse—pointless, but who am I to tell her what to do.
“I did it, Cam,”
I beam, too high on victory to care about the tremble in my legs.
“I actually did it.”
“Who is this, Nell? Where did he come from?”
The question makes my chest tighten. I’d nearly forgotten the backstory wasn’t clear.
“I don’t know—he attacked me in the woods, but—”
“He attacked you?”
Cam’s whole body locks up, muscles coiled like a spring, fists clenched at his sides.
“Yeah. One of the fuckers who raped me. Said you stole me. Whatever he meant, it doesn’t matter—I killed him. Used some Jackie Chan shit and took him down.”
I expect his rage. What I don’t expect is the way he wraps me in his arms, like he’s terrified he’ll lose me all over again. His heart drums so fast I can feel it through his shirt.
“Fucking hell, Nell.”
“He’s gone,”
Talia says crisply.
“I’ll grab the trailer. Where did it happen?”
“Back there,”
I point to the tangled branches and trampled undergrowth behind me.
Talia’s already analysing it.
“We’ll need to clean up.”
Cam nods grimly.
“But first, I’m getting her inside.”
Talia begins studying blood patterns, boot prints, the path I dragged him along.
“Did he hurt you?”
she asks without looking up.
“Not this time,”
I smirk, fingers curled into Cam’s shirt, body pressed against his warmth.
“Are you proud of me?”
Cam stiffens, his gaze burning into my soul as he cups my face a little too roughly.
“Nell,”
he growls.
“I fucking love you. But don’t ever scare me like that again, do you hear me?”
His voice shakes, laced with emotion he rarely shows. But all I can hold is the fact he said those words—he loves me.
“Why were you even out here?”
“I just needed a walk. Wanted some space.”
A half-truth, but dragging Kyla’s drama into this moment feels wrong.
He holds me tighter, one hand curling through my hair, the other wrapping around my waist as if to tether me to reality.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,”
he whispers.
But I know. Beneath all that fear—he’s proud. Even if he’s too overwhelmed to say it.
He half-carries me inside, strength wrapping me in safety.
Once inside, he pulls the curtains tight and begins checking me thoroughly—lifting my shirt, scanning for bruises, cuts, any sign of damage.
“Cam, I’m okay,”
I assure, but he doesn’t hear me. His jaw’s locked, brows drawn in fierce concentration.
“Cam,”
I say again, taking his hand, pressing my thumb to the back of it.
“I promise. I’m okay.”
Then I kiss him—soft and deliberate—drawing his focus back to me.
His lips part and I taste the heat of us. My stomach flips, legs threatening to give out.
“Cam?”
Her voice slices through the air like broken glass.
Kyla.
Of course she’s here.
Of course she’s ruining it.
He lets go of me instantly, stepping toward her as she looms in the doorway, feigning frailty.
“What’s going on?”
she asks, voice syrupy and sharp all at once.
I say nothing. What good would speaking up do?
“Go back to bed, Kyla. Need another dose?”
Her fingers clutch his arm and she leans into him like a wilted flower. Bitch.
“No. Just walk me back. It’s too dark.”
He nods stiffly but glances at me.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
But the second his back is to me, Kyla’s face warps into something venomous—a smirk that cuts like glass.
And I know.
This is my war now. Not just against predators. But against this woman. This shadow that clings to him.
He loves me.
He said so.
I just have to be patient. She’ll show her true colours soon enough. And if she doesn’t…
Well. That rolling pin of mine might have one more use.