Camden

by Xio Axelrod

  "Prove me wrong."

  "I am not going over there. Shit, can't a man just enjoy his second pint in peace?"

  Cam smiled. Zim could be smooth when he wanted to be. "Was that your way of asking for another?"

  He gave him a short, sharp nod, his mouth curved into a grin.

  "It was."

  Cam pulled another perfect pint.

  As the hours passed, the pub filled up. He cranked up the music and kept an eye on Zim, who had gotten caught up in conversation with a local hockey fan.

  "I'm just saying," the guy sputtered around the lip of his pint glass. "New Orleans got lucky in the conference final. No one expected Phoenix to play as shitty as they did."

  "You don't think it's because people underestimated the Rage?"

  "Fuck, no," the guy shot back. "Bunch of overrated pussies, except for that guy Donnelly. He's fast as fuck. The defense is pretty solid too."

  Cam caught Zim's eye and grinned. "Yeah, Subzero is a beast."

  The sports fan nodded, his eyes widening. "Oh yeah! Dude, we need to get him to Philly. He deserves to play for a real team."

  Amused, Camden watched the exchange, itching to let the Philly fan in on a little secret. That he was talking to "the beast" himself.

  But Zim shook his head, a warning in his mirth-filled eyes. It looked like he was about to reveal his secret identity himself when something by the door seemed to capture his attention.

  Cam turned to look.

  Ah.

  It was the beautiful JoAnna Lindley and her friend Lovie, along with some friends. The girls strolled through the door like a choreographed pop group. Blonde, redhead, and a couple of brunettes. All stunning.

  Zim seemed riveted.

  "Someone's got your attention."

  Zim managed to pry his gaze away from the women. "You know them?"

  Cam nodded.

  "Who is the one in the white?"

  Cam took a look. That would be Lovie Grant. Adorable girl. The first night she'd come into the pub, he'd had half a mind to ask for her number. Then he learned she wasn't really on the market. Hung up on another Scot, it seemed. Just his luck. Pity. She was something special.

  "Ohhhh no. You best be turning your thoughts elsewhere, Red is spoken for."

  Zim frowned. "Not her, the brunette."

  Cam looked again just as Jo waved over to him. Next to her stood a petite brunette with copper skin and a figure to kill for.

  "I don't know her but, if she's a friend of Jo's, you're about to meet her."

  Zim grabbed Camden's arm. "Don't say anything about who I am."

  Cam frowned. "What?"

  "Don't mention who I am or what I do. In fact, don't even call me Zim. Call me...Con."

  "Con?"

  "Yeah, just roll with it."

  Cam snorted. "Whatever you say, Con."

  What a character.

  "Cam!" Jo stretched over the bar and threw her arms up, wrapping them around his neck. "How are you, babe?"

  "Better, now that you're here, lass." He grinned, earning a wink. Jo was a fun-loving girl. Too bad she'd deemed him, a lowly bartender, out of her league. Jo only set her sights on guys with deep pockets. Nicest gold-digger Cam had ever met, but he wasn't about to tell her the true size of his portfolio.

  "What'll it be?" Cam grabbed a clean glass for Jo, knowing she'd want a pint.

  "We're celebrating my friend's new apartment," Jo exclaimed. "Gimme something really special."

  "New digs, eh?" Cam set four coasters down on the bar. "First round's on me, then."

  "Aww, thanks, Cam! You're a gem." Jo climbed into the stool next to Lovie's. Together, the four women painted a lovely picture.

  It was nights like this that Cam truly enjoyed his new occupation. This was so much more pleasant than sucking up to powerful assholes and helping them to look less like assholes in the public eye, or playing bodyguard to an oil tycoon on a bender in Vegas.

  But like the chewing gum you step in on a hot summer's day, Cam couldn't seem to scrape Skin from his heel.

  At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. Cam had spent so much time staring at photos of Yara Bujold, devouring any scrap of information he could find on her, he felt like he knew her. So when she walked into Skinners, clad in a hoodie, loose jeans, and dark sunglasses, presumably to conceal her identity, he'd only been a little surprised.

  She'd been missing, presumed dead, but he'd known she wasn't. Had believed it in his gut. And though no one else in the room seemed to recognize her, Cam would have known her anywhere.

  There was something in the way she carried herself. A regal air about her, though she hunched her shoulders as if to hide in plain sight. Her signature long, dark hair was twisted up and hidden partially by a snapback that was pulled down over a bright purple bandanna.

  Yara made her way to the back of the bar, settling in a corner with full view of the space.

  Kris wound his way over to her and Cam watched as she placed her order without a glance at the menu. Probably not much money in her pocket, if she'd been on the run all that time.

  Cam snagged Kris on his way to the kitchen.

  "Boss?"

  "The lady in the back, what did she order?"

  "Coffee and curry fries."

  "Have Rocco make her a grilled cheese too." In his research, Cam had learned it was her favorite. Along with peanut butter, Coke, and cheesy snacks. Strange, the minutiae that had stuck with him.

  Kris cocked his head. "Oh, okay. Sure. On you?"

  "Everything is on me. Take her the food and leave her be. I have a feeling she's going to be here for a while."

  Kris nodded and went on his way.

  Cam went back to tending the bar, keeping a close eye on Yara Bujold throughout the evening. She’d ravaged the sandwich when it arrived. Had questioned Kris about it.

  "What did she say," Cam asked when the kid passed by again.

  This time, Kris eyed him, eyes full of suspicion.

  "She tried to refuse it. I told her there was a mix up in the kitchen, and that it would all be on the house. I'm getting her fries now."

  "Good man."

  Kris squinted in the girl's direction. "She an Ex or something? She looks familiar."

  Cam caught Kris's gaze. "No. Just...keep an eye on her. Give her anything she wants."

  The blond quirked his eyebrow. "On the house?"

  "Yes, on the house."

  Kris smirked. "Not an ex. Sure."

  Cam scowled, watching the kid walk all the way to the kitchen where he disappeared through the swinging door. Let him think whatever he liked.

  Surprisingly, no one approached Yara. Could be because she'd kept her head down, hunched over her phone as if she were engaged with something. Cam knew she wasn't. Judging by the lack of light on the screen, the phone wasn't even on.

  It couldn't have been a coincidence, her being there. Which meant she knew who he was. What he'd done. To her.

  Shit.

  He didn't have time to be worried about that, though. He was too fucking relieved to see her alive and well and fucking breathing.

  Cam figured she'd need help to get her life back. No one pulled a disappearing act without good reason, especially not someone who had the world in the palm of their hand.

  Besides, he owed her.

  Hell, even if he hadn't, he would give her anything she needed. Anything.

  Five

  Either that was the best grilled-cheese sandwich in the history of man or Yara was just that hungry.

  After living off of gas station hot dogs and bags of Doritos, anything made by hand might taste like manna from heaven, but why grilled cheese? Her favorite food ever.

  Coincidence. Had to have been. Or it could have been Camden Skinner playing games. He'd probably recognized her as soon as she stepped foot in the place.

  Shit.

  Yara thought about leaving, her hand curling around the handle of her bag before she relaxed it. She took a deep
breath. Beneath the table, her leg bounced nervously. A quick glance at her phone told her it was nearing two in the morning. Closing-time. And the thinning crowd confirmed it.

  She wondered how long it would be before Skinner acknowledged her. Yara was pretty sure he knew who she was. Fairly certain he was waiting for her to make the first move.

  The small backpack that contained what was left of her life lay heavy against her leg. She brushed a hand over the top of it for reassurance and studied the man behind the bar.

  He was different from what she had pictured. Tall and broad. Dark hair and piercing eyes. An easy smile, which surprised the hell out of her. He was handsome in a wild, bad boy, I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-my-looks kind of way., and seemed to have his patrons eating out of the palm of his hand.

  She thought he'd be cold. Guessed you had to be ice cold to stay in his line of work. Be a bastard to screw with people's lives for money, to work for people like Marcus Kaine.

  The waiter - Chris? - had largely left her alone for the night, no doubt at Skinner's instruction. Now he was back, cleaning around her and making no attempt to get her to leave.

  Right. So...Skinner was waiting for them to be alone. Yara was too. She didn't want to get the young waiter involved, and couldn't risk him recognizing her.

  "Goodnight, Cam!" The kid waved as he finally left. Skinner - Cam, apparently - followed behind him, locking the door.

  Yara's pulse ticked up. What had she been thinking, coming alone to confront someone this dangerous? Hadn't she learned that lesson already?

  He turned to her, and her heart leaped into her throat, but she steeled her nerves.

  Opening the rucksack, she reached down inside until her fingers met cool metal. She gripped the little gun tight and drew it up, placing it on the table.

  She'd scoffed when her father had placed it in her hands before she moved to Miami, and had stuck it in a shoe box at the back of her closet. Now, she was eternally grateful for it.

  Skinner's eyebrow arched a millimeter, but he remained otherwise still.

  "Okay," he said, calm as you like. "Okay. Anything you want, it's yours."

  "You know who I am?"

  He nodded.

  "You know why I'm here, then."

  "I can guess."

  "Guess, then."

  Skinner moved to the bar, and Yara turned the gun, keeping the barrel pointed in his direction. She'd only need to lift it, and she was quick. Quicker than he thought, surely.

  He sat on a stool and rubbed his hands up and down his muscular thighs. It was distracting, and not only because he was so nonplussed by her appearance. He certainly wasn't intimidated by the gun. If anything, he seemed almost amused.

  "You obviously know who I am, or you wouldn't be here."

  "Obviously."

  "And you want," he studied her for a breath. "You want some sort of revenge?"

  "Revenge?" Yara spat the word. "I want what you took from me, you and Kaine. I want my goddamn life back!"

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, but she refused. She fucking refused.

  Skinner looked...sympathetic.

  "I'm sorry."

  "I don't need your pity or your apologies, I need you to give me everything you have on me, on Kaine, all of it. Now."

  Her breathing had become erratic, and a sob escaped her throat. Yara tightened her hand on the gun and closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

  "Yara..." Skinner's voice was too intimate for the situation.

  She blinked her eyes open to find him staring at her. He looked wrecked, but why?

  Slowly, he stood and walked over, his hands out to his sides. "I won't hurt you, I just..."

  "Won't hurt me?" Bile rose in her throat as the sandwich threatened to repeat on her. "Won't hurt me. That's...that's rich, coming from you. All of this is because of you and Kaine. First, he ruined my life, made it impossible to do anything without his stamp of approval. And then you and your agency - what a joke, agency - you ruined my reputation to keep me tethered to him. And then he..."

  She stopped, swallowing hard and taking a moment before she looked at him again.

  "Did you ever stop to think of why I wanted so badly to get away from him? Did you even stop to think that there was a person behind all of those insipid rumors and fake news leaks?"

  He stopped about a foot in front of her.

  "I can't tell you how sorry I am," he said in a voice much quieter than she could fathom.

  Yara nodded and pointed to the chair across the table.

  "Save your sorries for someone else."

  He nodded, his moss green eyes trained on her. "Fair enough. How was the sandwich?"

  Skinner settled in the chair, right in front of the barrel of the gun. It should have been a challenge, but it wasn't. It was trust. He was trusting her not to pull the trigger, and Yara wanted to know why.

  He looked at her expectantly, and she was about to ask why when his question sank in.

  "It was fine. Good. Thanks." She eyed him carefully. "How did you know I liked grilled cheese?"

  He opened his mouth to speak.

  "You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know."

  Something like a smile had ghosted over his lips before it fell away.

  "I'd hoped they were wrong, that you weren't..." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Gone."

  "Why?"

  Yara had to ask. Nothing about this meeting had gone to plan so far, and Skinner was nothing like she thought he'd be.

  "Wouldn't it be easier if I were dead? It's certainly been easier for Kaine."

  Skinner's jaw clenched. When he spoke, his voice was almost a hiss. "What did he do to you?"

  The question took her aback. "What?"

  "You didn't fake your disappearance over a record contract." He leveled her with a piercing gaze. "What did he do to you?"

  It was as if a cloud had passed overhead and stolen all the light from Skinner's face. His features darkened, revealing all his sharp edges.

  Yara's skin went cold. Just...cold. It wasn't fear, not for herself anyway. She feared for anyone on the receiving end of all that malice. Because if she hadn't suspected it before, she was certain of it now.

  Camden Skinner was a dangerous man.

  She eyed the gun, its presence not much of a reassurance. She was little red riding hood sitting across from the big, bad wolf.

  His gaze flicked down to the weapon and back to hers. “Cock it if you feel the need."

  Yara hated that Skinner was able to read her so well. She lifted the gun, the metal cool against her warm, sweaty palm. She didn't aim it, only clutched it to her chest like a pet.

  Skinner's eyes bulged. "What the fuck are you doing?"

  Yara nearly jumped out of her skin until she realized what it must have looked like.

  She waved the gun in front of her. "It's not loaded."

  His jaw dropped open before his mouth curved into a maniacal grin. The sight chased away some of the chill in Yara's bones.

  "You threatened me with an unloaded gun?"

  "I never threatened you," she countered. Grateful, at least, that her voice was strong.

  He arched one dark eyebrow. "It was implied, was it not?"

  Her lips were sealed.

  Skinner huffed out a laugh and crossed his arms. His biceps were huge, massive, and Yara felt like she was seeing him for the first time.

  He was, well...he was gorgeous. And that wasn't a thought she should have about the man that helped to destroy her.

  Skinner was studying her too, though. To his credit, he kept his gaze on her face.

  "What happened on the boat?"

  "You tell me."

  He frowned. "You think we had something to do with that?"

  "I don't know what to think."

  "Tell me what happened,” he all but commanded.

  Yara sighed. Then shivered. It was like having someone else's memories. Or the scenes from some poorly written murder mystery stuck in her he
ad.

  She took a deep breath. "Marcus wanted us to do a night shoot for my new single. He chartered a boat, or it was a friend's. I don't know. Minimal crew and me."

  She hugged herself, suddenly cold.

  "Tell me," Skinner insisted. Getting up and heading to the bar.

  "He made me wear this string bikini thing."

  "Made you?" Skinner ground out the words as he poured hot water into a mug.

  "He has...had...creative control on my videos, wardrobe, promo appearances, etc. All of it. All of us, the girls he signs to his management company. The label.“

  Skinner paused, a teabag dangling from his thick fingers. He nodded. "Go on."

  "Marcus insisted that we get shots in the water. The sunset would be beautiful, he'd said."

  "Who else was there?" Skinner returned to his chair with the mug in his hands. He set it on the table and slid it toward her, nodding as if to say drink.

  She took the cup in hand, finding the warmth immediately soothing.

  "A camera guy, a grip, a lighting guy, a wardrobe girl. I didn't know them."

  "You got in the water, and then what?"

  "I started to, yeah. And then I think maybe I slipped on the ladder. I hit my head. The next thing I knew, I was on the shore, and some guy was standing over me. He didn't speak much English, but I think he saved my life. I wasn't sure, though. I'm not sure of anything. As soon as I could get my bearings, I ran."

  Skinner's jaw clenched. "Where was Kaine?"

  "I don't know, I'd only spoken to him on the phone that day, but when I stopped in a bodega to ask for help, they had the news on the TV. They were talking about me, about how I'd disappeared while partying with friends. They said I was drinking and popping pills or whatever and had gotten so wasted that I'd probably drowned. It couldn't have been more than an hour after I went overboard, and they were already interviewing people who said they were there that hadn't been. People that I had never seen before in my life saying they were my friends."

  "Kaine."

  Yara nodded. "It had to have been him."

  Skinner sniffed and ran a hand over his face. "It was. He probably used some of the, uh...some of the actors he used in your case, the one he handed over to us."

  "My case." Yara met his gaze, hid none of her anger. She vibrated with it. Let it buoy her. “The one where you painted me like a gold-digging, talentless, wannabe? That case?"