Something Right (Exile Ink Book 2)

by Skylar Hill

She followed him into the loft, her fingers worrying the tie on her dress as he led her into the living room and she sat down on the couch.

  “Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I…” she patted the cushion next to hers. “Can you come sit here next to me?”

  He did as she asked, and she took a deep breath. “I owe you a big apology,” she said. “I should have trusted you when you said you hadn’t paid the medical bills. You’ve never given me any reason not to trust you, James. And it was wrong of me not to listen to you. Instead of figuring out how this got all mixed up, I was angry and I just… reacted. I know that’s not an excuse.”

  “I understand now why you were so sure I had,” James replied. “Dr. Young feels terrible, by the way. He sent us a bottle of wine.”

  “I feel awful that I just bulldozed over you like that,” Cam told him. “Everything you said is valid.”

  She looked at him, this man whose life she’d fallen into. He fit so well into her life—and she into his—that sometimes she forgot that it had been only a handful of months. He’d given her so much—respect, confidence, a place to not just be safe, but to be herself: no shame, no reservations, no worry.

  But she hadn’t given him as much. She hadn’t given him all of herself. She had been holding back. Holding onto this. This pain. This secret. This terrible, horrible spiral of moments that had ended in death and loss and had defined her life, defined her.

  She took a deep breath. Now was the time, much as she dreaded it.

  “I… I have been holding onto a lot of things from the past that I haven’t told you about yet,” she said. “And we can’t move forward unless I do tell you.” She looked up at him, I want to move forward, James. Finding you is the best thing that’s happened to me in a really long time. I don’t want to lose you because I wasn’t able to be open with you.”

  “I don’t want you to feel like I pushed you into telling me something you aren’t ready to tell, though,” he said earnestly, and she loved him even more for that.

  But Evie was right. If she wanted the two of them to have a future, she had to let James into her past.

  She scooted closer to him, so their thighs were touching.

  “I’m ready to tell you,” she said. “But I need you to understand, this is really hard for me. It’s… it’s a lot.”

  He rested his hand on her thigh. “I understand,” he said.

  “I’ve told you before, my mom died just a few weeks after my eighteenth birthday,” Cam began, slowly, unsure where to start. She’d shared her past with so few people, even Lydia didn’t know the entire story. She’d tried to leave it behind when they left California. But now…

  Now she had to face it.

  “What I didn’t tell you is that my mother was murdered,” she continued. James’s eyes widened, his hand taking hers.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize. Did they catch who did it?”

  “Yes,” Cam said. “I…” She bit her lip, trying to breath around the suffocating feeling in her chest. She stared at the coffee table—made out of some sort of curving glass that made it look more like art than furniture—trying to figure out how to continue. “I think I started in the wrong place,” she said finally.

  “It’s okay,” James assured her. “Anywhere you decide to start is the right place.”

  “Okay,” she said, trying to gather her thoughts. “It… it started before my mom was killed. Way before. It started with my father.” She spit the word out. He didn’t even deserve that title, he wasn’t worthy of it, but she didn’t know what else to call him.

  “My father, Keith, is… not a good person,” she continued, choosing her words carefully. “He had a temper that would just explode, leaving damage wherever he went. Living with that… it was awful. He also was a cop. A corrupt one. He was as dirty as they got, and he collected blackmail material on everyone—the good cops, the bad ones, the city council, everyone important. We lived in a small town, in a rural county. He held the power, and everyone knew it. Which meant that the first time my mother went to the doctor with a broken arm and obvious bruising around her neck, no one reported it. They didn’t report it when she returned the next year with the other arm broken. Or when I broke four of my ribs “falling down the stairs,” or when Evie somehow split her forehead open riding her bike while wearing a helmet.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “The first time he hit me, I was seven, and it was because I put myself between his fists and my unconscious mother,” she said, unable to look at James, knowing if she did, she’d burst into tears. She focused on her hands instead, on his fingers entwined with hers. The warmth of his skin gave her the strength to continue. “There was no way out,” she whispered. “My mom had no job, other than the little sketches she did for people for pocket money. There was nowhere to go where he wouldn’t find us. None of the cops would listen to us. Even the good ones were scared of him, so they looked the other way.”

  “He beat all of you?” James asked, and she didn’t have to look up to see the horror in his face; she could hear it in his voice, too.

  “I started making a plan when I was thirteen,” Cam said, remembering that night, all too well. The night she had to cover Evie’s ears with pillows to block out their mother screaming. “I did odd jobs, I babysat, I drew, I did anything I could for money. I buried it in a box in the woods, because that was the only way I knew for sure he couldn’t find it. I saved for five years. I was about to graduate high school. I had a plan.” Her voice broke and tears coursed down her cheeks. “I was going to get us out,” she said, her words so small and pitiful now. “All of us. I had a plan.”

  Gentle fingers brushed her tears away, and she finally raised her eyes to meet James’s. But there was no pity there, no judgment.

  There was just pride. Love. Understanding.

  “I really thought it would work,” she said. “I just had one more month of school, and then I could get us out. But then…” Her fingers curled into fists as she remembered that horrible day. “I was supposed to be babysitting, but the family I worked for all had the stomach flu, so they’d cancelled their plans. So I came home early.”

  She fell silent, staring at her fisted hands. For a moment, all she could hear was the crunch of broken glass under her feet as she made her way from the hallway to the living room in her memory. As she turned the corner and found the horror waiting for her. “Keith and my mom had had a fight,” she said. “Later, Evie said it was about the six-pack of beer that had been in the fridge. He was accusing her of hiding it, forgetting he’d drunk it all the night before. Evie came home from school in the middle of it, and she was… she was very different back then, James,” Cam said, meeting his eyes solemnly. “She was quiet and scared all the time, and she was terrified of him. She would hide when he started yelling. So she hid. And that pissed him off even more. My mom tried to calm him down, and I guess she thought she had. Because she’d gone back into the kitchen and she was doing the dishes. But he hadn’t calmed down. He’d gone upstairs, got his gun, and he came downstairs and shot my mother in the back, like the disgusting cowardly piece of shit that he is,” her voice shook, tears trickling down her cheeks, splashing onto her hands and his.

  “Cam,” James whispered, taking both of her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the back of both of them. “Sweetheart.” He cupped her face and she sniffed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “There’s more,” Cam said, half-choked and desperate. “I… Evie came out of where she was hiding, when she heard the gunshots. She went downstairs. And she… she found her…” She couldn’t speak again for almost a full minute, she just breathed, James stroking her shoulder in slow circles, waiting with her in quiet safety. “He was still standing over her, and I think… I think when Evie started screaming, he realized what he’d done. He realized he couldn’t get away with this. There was no blackmail in the world that would keep him o
ut of prison for murder.”

  “Did he… what did he do?” James asked.

  “He was going to kill her,” Cam said. “I think he was going to kill Evie and then himself, but I came home early.”

  “Oh, my God,” James said, squeezing her hands gently.

  “I walk into my house and my mother is dead in the kitchen and my father is holding a gun to my little sister’s head,” Cam said, her hands shaking so hard even James couldn’t still them. “He was crying, sobbing about how he had to do it.” The disgust—both hers and James—was palpable in the room, thick like smoke. “I knew he would. I could see…” she pressed her lips together tight, trying to gather her composure. “From the hallway, I could see my mom out of the corner of my eye,” she finally continued. “I knew he’d kill Evie. And then he’d kill me. He might kill himself, but he’d probably chicken out at the end, the cowardly bastard.”

  “I can’t believe you and Evie made it through that,” James murmured.

  “I had no choice,” Cam said. She needed him to understand that, when she told him the next part. She had no choice. “I did the only thing I could to make him stop: I got my grandfather’s pistol from the top of the laundry cabinet and I leveled it at him. I told him he had to let her go, or I’d shoot.” She looked at James, dread churning in her stomach. “He didn’t let her go,” she said. “So I shot him.”

  “Fuck,” James said, pulling her into his arms. She went willingly, letting him settle her in his lap, her head tucked against his shoulder. She felt safe and warm, the feeling enveloping her like his embrace.

  “I wanted to kill him,” she confessed in a hushed voice. “I was trying to kill him. I was just a crap shot and got him in the shoulder instead of the head.”

  “Oh, honey,” James said, pressing a fervent kiss to her temple. “I would’ve tried to kill him, too,” he said. “You did what it took to get him to let go of Evie. And you succeeded. That’s all that matters. It’s all over now. I’m never going to let anything happen to you or Evie. You’re safe now, baby.”

  She tensed in his arms at his words and he frowned. “What?” he asked.

  “There’s a reason I’m telling you this now,” she explained. “He was sentenced to a twenty-year minimum sentence. But he must’ve used his connections somehow, because I got a letter in the mail, saying he’s up for parole.”

  “No fucking way,” James said vehemently, his gray eyes darkening at the thought.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Cam said. “I haven’t told Evie that he might get out on parole yet. James, I’m so scared to tell her. I’m so scared of what might happen. Evie… it took her years to stop jumping at loud noises or angry voices. She was so different back then. She still doesn’t date. She’s never dated. I try not to push her on it, but I worry that what we survived has fundamentally damaged her trust in men. I have to tell her soon. We have to start making a plan. My friend Russ Weston, he owns a security firm downtown, he wants to meet with both of us and put together a security plan.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” James said. “This is a good guy? He knows his stuff?”

  Cam nodded.

  “Then we’ll make an appointment,” James said. “Have you talked to a lawyer yet?”

  Cam shook her head. “I was going to call someone tomorrow.”

  “If you’re okay with it, I’ll bring our family lawyers in. They’re the best. They can see if there’s a way to block his parole or contest it or something.”

  Relief flooded her. She was dreading finding someone to trust. “I would like that.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you and Evie,” James said, promise in his deep rumble of a voice. “I won’t let it.”

  She breathed in his scent, his arms tightening around her. She felt like she’d just tore her heart out and laid it for him to examine, but instead of wanting to run, she wanted to stay with him. For good. Forever.

  “You’re even stronger than I thought,” James said, stroking back her wayward curls. “You’re an amazing woman, Cam. I understand, now. How hard it’s been. I get why you didn’t want to let me in.”

  “I’m sorry—“ she started to say, but he shook his head.

  “I get it,” he said. “You had to go through all of that alone. God,” he yanked a hand through his hair, looking deeply troubled. “It’s so fucking unfair, what you lost, what you had to endure. I’m not going to let this monster get away with it. He’s not just gonna get out more than a decade early because he cut some sort of deal. You’re not alone anymore, Cam. We’ll get through this. Together.”

  This time, she let herself trust every word, because she knew the truth in them, how much he meant it. His word was his vow, and James wasn’t one to break those.

  She drew back, so their faces were close, their noses brushing, her arms looped around his neck.

  “I have one more thing to tell you,” she said softly.

  She leaned forward, her “I love you,” brushing over his lips before her mouth did the same.

  Chapter Thirteen

  James

  James didn’t even know how to feel in that moment. A myriad of emotions rose in him as Cam’s words fell across his skin, just seconds before her lips claimed his. He was in awe of her strength, furious and horrified at the nightmare she had endured, and so proud of the woman she had become—not despite it or even because of the abuse, but simply because she was Cam. She had done everything on her own terms. Her own talent, her own hard work, her own woman.

  His woman, who held his heart in her hands.

  He loved her even more now that he understood her and her past, understood what she’d overcome and endured to make a better life for Evie and her. The feeling took over him, their kisses surging from full of wonder and newly confessed love to hot, heavy intensity in a single breath. Her palms skated under his shirt, over the ridge of his abs, up to touch his chest, tracing the redwoods she’d inked on his chest. He discarded his shirt in a quick movement, needing to feel her skin, pressing his own hand over hers. For a moment that seemed to stretch out forever, they breathed in unison, their foreheads pressed together, their hands overlapped over his heart, his other hand holding her tight and hot against him.

  “I love you so fucking much,” he whispered, his mouth covering hers. He gently bit down on her lower lip, a playful little nip that made her twist and arch in his arms, gasping.

  “I didn’t know it could be like this,” she said, a breathy little confession that went straight to his cock. He tugged her dress off, grateful it didn’t have zippers or buttons. With it out of the way, she was all smooth skin and black lace, pressed against him like she never wanted to be more than an inch apart.

  He wanted so much, he didn’t even know where to start. He wanted to tell her everything, everything about being in love and not knowing what it meant until her, and how much he fucking admired her, this incredible woman who had fought for everything she’d had and for some reason had chosen to love him. He wanted to tell her he was the luckiest man in the world, that he got to slide his hands under the black lace of her panties and slick his fingers through her wet heat.

  She gasped, hitching her hips forward, clearly wanting more, and every fucking thought slid out of his brain at the look on her face, all pink heat and wanting.

  He wanted to give her everything she wanted. Urgency surged through him, and it took just seconds to take off her panties and bra, then his pants, and then he was rolling the condom on. He slid into her with one thrust, and she arched into him, an exquisite curve of soft skin and bouncing flesh. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her beautiful smile going from desperate to ecstatic.

  Her eyes, which had fluttered shut, finally opened and met his. It was an electric moment, charged with desire and new bonds forged deeper than ever. She wound her arms and legs around him, pulling him even deeper inside her. Her lips trailed along the strong curve of his jaw, making him groan and gather her closer. She got wetter every time h
e pulled out achingly slow, almost all the way, and then thrust fully into her. It was like the drag of his cock against her G-spot was just too good, sending sensations through her that made Goosebumps break out across her skin. It drove him crazy, it made him want to keep fucking her until they were both drenched with her.

  What had started out as hot and urgent turned slow, every movement drawn out, every touch savored. He thrust into her, his hands gripping her ass, holding her in place so he could angle even deeper into her. When she clenched down on his cock, moaning helplessly, he knew he’d hit the right spot.

  “Ohmygod,” it came out in a blurred rush of words that made him smile, his fingers trailing down to graze over one of her nipples. She was so sensitive, when the warmth of his skin hit the pebbled flesh, she took a little heaving breath, unconsciously pressing her breast into the cup of his palm. He loved how curvy she was, the weight of her breasts in his palms or pressed against his arms when she brushed past him. He could lose himself for minutes thinking about the curve of her ass in those pencil skirts she favored.

  “So fucking sweet,” he whispered, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue flicking her nipple. Cam’s mouth dropped open, her eyes closing as her ankles locked around his waist as she ground down on his cock, her hips making urgent little circles. He sucked harder on her nipple, his fingers digging into the gorgeous flesh of her ass as he felt her pussy tightening around his cock. She made no sound as her orgasm rushed through her, her entire body tightening like a bow and then, delicious shudder by delicious shudder, relaxing, loose and languid, into his arms. For a moment, he just sat back and took in the sight of her spread across the couch. Her curls were frizzed adorably, her eyes wide and wanting, waiting for him to make his move, her skin still flushed and pink from the orgasm that had rocked through her body.

  She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

  And she was all his.

  He pulled out almost all the way, the ridged head of his cock pressing against the opening of her pussy. She wriggled in his arms, trying to push down onto him, but he held her there, rubbing teasingly against her opening. She moaned, a long, low sound that sent white-hot heat shooting down his spine. Her moans only increased as he finally thrust back into her. The tight clench of her around his cock, the glorious heat the surrounded him… the sensation consumed him as everything else fell away until it was just the two of them, her palms pressing against his shoulders, his hips rocking against hers as she whispered words, begging him not to stop, harder, please, baby, harder.