“How is Soul?” Cami asked.
Jewel’s daughter looked like a child designed to melt hearts, with her cream-and-roses complexion, big brown eyes, and dark halo of curls.
“Growing up way too fast.” The other woman sighed. “I miss her already.”
“Jewel,” said an admonishing voice from across the table. “No long faces allowed—especially over Soul who will have her mommy back by her side before she’s barely gone to sleep. This is Girls’ Night.”
Emergency Girls’ Night, Cami remembered, as Jewel mock-saluted.
They’d arranged this for her, she realized, while a server went about setting down baskets of hot tortilla chips and clay bowls of salsa and guacamole. Tonight they intended for her to forget her troubles.
The least she could do was oblige them, she thought, then lifted her hand to catch the server’s attention. “A round of tequila shots as well, please. For all eight of us.”
Cilla groaned. “Cam—”
“And a second for her,” she said, pointing at her sister-in-law-to-be. “To start.”
Thanks to the liquor and the luscious food, the mood at the table continued to elevate as the evening wore on. The women shared stories about work, men, sex, and weddings. With Cilla’s in the offing, it only took a nudge for the youngest Rock Royalty princess to go starry-eyed over her plans with Ren, Cami’s big brother.
Cami’s gaze circled the group, taking in their smiling and flushed faces, and a great affection welled up inside her. She got to her feet, swaying a little on the strappy sandals with their thin heels, accustomed as she was to her more comfortable leather boots. With a fork, she tapped the side of a glass.
The puny sound didn’t come close to interrupting the cacophony created by seven chattering females. She snorted out a laugh.
Whoops. Might be a little drunk.
But that was okay if it kept her troubles at bay.
This time, she rapped her knuckles on the table, loud enough to cause seven pairs of eyes to swivel her way. She grinned at her posse, the girls—women—who had gathered together when one of their own was down.
“All my life,” she said, “I…I was apart. From the crazy Lemons parties—okay, I admit that was a good thing—from my brothers, from the rest of the Rock Royalty. Even from Cilla, who was as locked away as me, but in her tower across the compound.”
The younger woman’s blue eyes went even brighter from unshed tears. “Oh, Cam.”
She smiled at her, well-being rising so high in her chest it pushed her heart toward her throat so that she had to clear it. “Don’t cry. Because now I have all of you wonderful people gathered around me. Wonderful friends. Thank you,” she said, lifting her glass to one side of the table then the other. “Thank you.”
Cilla wiped her cheeks, the others clapped and cheered, and Cami sank back into her seat—just as that happy wave reached its peak…and crashed over her, leaving her flung, starfish-style, on the sand.
Their chattering voices rose around the table again, but Cami sat, breathless and helpless, as a second wave rose from the dregs of first. This time its power crushed her—flooding her with a freezing, drenching loneliness.
Trying to breathe through the pain of it, she glanced at Rose, who had launched into some story about taking uber-macho Payne down a peg or two, and then at Honey, who was laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach. Pre-Walsh’s love, his admin had been a shy mouse who used to hide in corners. Now she bloomed in the sunshine of his feelings for her.
Engaged in a side conversation, Alexa and Cleo focused on a drawing Lex had made on a napkin. Probably a wedding dress design. Lex’s family ran a bridal salon business, and both women were knee-deep in details and anticipation over their upcoming nuptials to their devoted Rock Royalty princes.
Ashlynn, still new to the tribe, sat quietly at the other end of the table, but there was a serenity about her that told of the security she’d found in the shelter of Brody’s embrace.
The women were Cami’s friends, that was sure, and she was thrilled for them and their bright futures. But it didn’t get past her that despite their warm companionship tonight, they had something she did not. Each had another, more intimate partner who made them whole, or stronger, or whatever it was that happened to a couple when they made a lasting commitment. Perhaps just…less feeling alone?
Cami wasn’t certain exactly. She only knew that even as a welcomed part of this tribe, of this family, she continued to be the one on the outside because the kind of love they’d found continued to elude her. Not all that long ago she’d told Cilla, who’d been sporting a brand-new tattoo that was the other half of one that Ren bore, that she hoped she’d never fall in love.
Now, she hadn’t changed her mind.
It hadn’t made her happy, had it? Not a jot less alone.
“Cami?”
A cool hand touched her wrist, startling her. Her head turned to see Jewel gazing on her with concern. “I…um, yes?”
“Are you okay?”
With effort, Cami pinned on a small smile. “Sure. Overwhelmed, I guess.”
Jewel laughed. “I know what you mean. I’m sure I’ve never heard so much discussion about wedding cakes and bridal veils and seating charts at one place and at one time.”
Cami leaned close. “I’ve learned to block out most of it.”
“Good thinking.” Jewel patted her arm again.
Cami picked up her current margarita, tossed it back, then eyed the woman next to her. She was a single mom with no man in sight, as far as Cami knew.
“Does it…” But even half-drunk, she couldn’t pry. Perhaps Jewel had chosen to visit a sperm bank and conceive without the risk of falling for some guy. “Never mind.”
“Does it make me feel a little forlorn that I haven’t found my mate?”
Cami shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe that’s not on your agenda. You have Soul, after all—”
“I was in love with her daddy,” Jewel admitted. “Pretty good high, then…”
“A no-good low,” Cami guessed.
The place she wallowed in right now, and if she didn’t get up from this table in the next thirty seconds, the emergency Girls’ Night was going to be ruined when she laid down her head, and then all her troubles, on the table.
Taking another look at the cheery faces around her, Cami knew what she had to do.
With another smile tacked on her face, she popped to her feet. “Peeps,” she called out. “Sisters.”
Their heads turned her way.
“I’ve got an early, uh, appointment in the morning, so I’m going to have to say goodnight.”
Frowns overtook more than one face.
“What?” protested Cilla.
Rose’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t think you should be driving.”
“There’s an app for that one tap away,” Cami said, hand going into her purse for her phone. “Now you guys have a great rest of your night.”
And she scuttled off, her spirits lifting as she made it out the door before anyone could voice another objection. Outside, she found a driver for a popular car service just dropping off a passenger. The man behind the steering wheel obligingly agreed to take her home and her mood lightened more.
A phrase from an old song floated through her mind. Judy Garland singing about chasing your cares away in order to get happy. She hummed it to herself on the short ride, and even while she exited the car and waved it off. Her footsteps might have been a trifle unsteady on the walkway—how many tequila shots had she downed?—and she blinked at her door as she approached.
It looked funny. Odd. The light coming through the panes of the upper half of the Dutch door had a different quality. Perplexed, she approached the entry, trying to understand what she was seeing. Broken glass? That couldn’t be. Peering into the dimly lit foyer, she noted her favorite guitar braced against the wall where she’d left it—and it was peppered with holes!
Her gasp sounded loud in her own ears,
maybe even like a choked shriek, and without thinking she reached toward her precious instrument, her hand passing through jagged, broken shards that tore into her flesh.
Now she emitted a true shriek and yanked her hand back, causing more cuts. Shocked, she stared at the welling redness that ran in drips down her hand. Her head spun. Stupid tequila, she thought hazily. Stupid troubles, stupid heart.
Stupid…blood.
Blood? As she stood there trying to make sense of things, heavy footsteps sounded.
Her head whipped up, and she saw two men rushing in her direction. As she lurched back, her shoulders hit the door and more glass fell with a tinkling sound. Her heart pounded against her chest.
“What—” she started, holding up her hand. More blood dripped. “Stay away.”
One of the men—gray-haired, sturdy—halted, leaving six feet between them. He half-turned his head but kept his gaze on Cami and spoke to the younger man over his shoulder. “Call Eamon.”
Eamon? Her mouth moved. “I don’t want—”
The interruption sounded somewhere between a growl and a death threat. “Call Eamon. Now.”
Chapter 4
Eamon parked two blocks away from Cami’s cottage on a short, narrow side street and prowled in the direction of her house, keeping to the shadows, all of his senses on alert. It was just midnight and the neighborhood homes were quiet and the roads deserted.
His chest felt tight, and he was panting as he neared her home. Pausing far from a streetlight, he forced his breathing under control.
Be cool, he admonished himself. Keep your emotions locked down.
Steady again, he continued toward his destination.
Cami’s porch light was off, the front curtains drawn. That would have been Bart’s doing, Eamon thought, though he couldn’t see the man’s truck anywhere nearby. The Unruly member had been providing regular updates in the forty minutes it had taken Eamon to travel from the compound to Santa Monica. During that time, the police had been called, a report had been given, the officer had departed.
But Bart promised that he and Si wouldn’t leave Cami alone. They waited with her inside, the lights dimmed to make them less of a target.
Target. His heart seized at the thought, and his footsteps faltered. He drew in a sharp breath and tried calming his frantic thoughts. She was all right. She was okay.
Get. Fucking. Control.
He turned onto her walkway, head swiveling as he surveyed the area. More quiet. His anxiety easing, he reached the front door where his gaze snagged on the dark droplets scattered on the porch.
Blood.
The smell of it paralyzed him.
…Gunshots echoed in his ears, followed by a scream, shouts, rubber peeling off tires as cars sped away. He wanted to crouch into a ball and put his arms over his head, but he couldn’t. He had to do something. He had to save someone…
Cami.
Cami. A voice in his head repeated the name, yanking him out of the old memory. He wasn’t fourteen years old like he’d been then. You are here to help Cami.
“Yes,” he whispered and inhaled a deep breath. “Yes.” As he reached for the doorknob, it turned.
Bart stood in the entry and Eamon pushed past him. “Where is she?”
“Kitchen.”
Eamon wanted to run to her, so instead he ignored the urgent thrum of his pulse and stopped in the hall.
“Cops?” He glanced over his shoulder at the older man.
“Like I said on the phone,” Bart rumbled in his low voice. “Took a report. They guess it was teenagers going wild with a pellet gun—and it could be. Some street signs in the neighborhood were damaged, a fence, a rubber trash can left out on the curb.”
“But this was the only house targeted.” That fucking word again.
“If it was targeted,” Bart said. “And not just random kid mischief.”
Eamon wanted to believe that. He so wanted to believe that. With a nod, he continued on, only to have his feet fail him as he reached the entry to the kitchen and caught sight of Cami. His hand grasped the doorjamb, knuckles going white.
She sat slumped on a chair, her head down, her tangled hair covering her face. A blanket thrown over her shoulders concealed her arms, hands and torso but revealed the hem of a skirt that hit at mid-thigh. A deep mossy green, it was edged with a delicate line of silver embroidery that matched the silver sandals on her small feet.
He’d never seen her wearing a dress, let alone high heels.
Fairy.
Movement over her shoulder caught his attention, and Eamon saw that Si was dumping a dustpan filled with shards of glass into the garbage. He met his gaze.
“Thanks,” he mouthed.
The younger man shrugged. “No problem,” he said, his voice low. “I’m gonna find some cardboard. Me ′n′ Bart will make a temp fix to the broken panes.”
As he walked out, his eyes flicked to Cami who looked as if she might be sleeping, then back to Eamon. He nodded.
As the other man passed, Eamon pried his cramped fingers from the doorjamb and stepped into the kitchen to crouch at Cami’s feet.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Hey there.”
Her whole body jerked, the blanket sliding from her shoulders, and her head shot up. She blinked at him, her eyes the same green as her dress, looking like a startled kitten.
He smiled at her, then felt it die as she lifted one bandaged hand to push her hair from her face. The gauze was stained red.
Blood. Gunshots. Screams. Shouts.
Before that memory could take hold again, Eamon shot to his feet. “Bart!”
The older man hustled into view. “Yeah?”
Eamon gestured toward Cami. Bandages. Blood. His heart slammed against his breastbone. “Do we need a hospital? A doctor?”
“You could ask me,” she piped up. “I’m right here.”
His gaze bore into the grizzled man’s.
“I took care of it myself,” Bart said. “Nothing serious.”
“Okay.” Eamon shook out the tension in his arms. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Hello?” Cami said again, and her voice held a peevish edge. “Right here.”
“Yeah.” He sucked in another long breath and turned back to her. Control. “How are you doing?”
“Fine.” She brushed her hair with her hand again, and he steeled himself at the sight of the wrapped layers of cotton covering her injured flesh. “It’s all kind of bizarre, though.”
“How about if I make you some tea?” he offered, already turning toward the cupboard where she kept her dishes. “And you can tell me about tonight. What have you been up to?”
“I went out to dinner and drinks with the girls. Cilla, Rose, a bunch of others.”
He carefully a filled a mug from the tap. “Not a date?”
“You mean with a man?”
His gaze flicked to her face, but he found her expression unreadable. Keeping his own impassive, he crossed to the microwave. “Yeah.”
“No. Like I said, it was a girls’ thing tonight.”
The microwave dinged, and he dumped the teabag he’d found into the hot water and crossed the floor to put it near her elbow on the small kitchen table. “But you didn’t drive yourself home.”
“Tequila shots.” She made a face.
He grinned. Not only was she a lightweight, but that particular distilled beverage was her nemesis. “So you were having a little too much fun.”
“Sure.” But she didn’t meet his gaze and instead focused on her tea, bringing the mug to her mouth so she could blow across the surface of the hot water.
He focused on her lips, pursed in the position of a kiss, and remembered them dropping dozens on his chest as they lay naked in bed, in lazy, blissful afterglow. His fingers had sifted through the glorious colors of her hair, and then she’d made her way lower, so that her mouth found his cock. He’d gone hard again as she rained kisses there, too.
“I took a car service home,” Cami continued
, interrupting that sweet memory. She sipped at the tea. “And when I neared my front door, I saw…”
“Someone?” he offered, keeping his voice casual, even as he felt himself tense. “You saw a car or some strangers?”
“What?” She looked up. “No. The light coming through the glass looked weird because, well, because the glass was broken. I guess my, uh, impairment made me not notice that right off.”
“Okay.” Could it be that it was merely a random piece of bad luck? The thought should make him easy, but the uncertainty still had fire ants crawling over his skin.
“And then your friends showed up.” Cami said, tilting her head. “What a coincidence.”
He ignored that last word. “I trust them. They’re good men.”
“Yes. They’ve been very nice.”
“I’m glad you let them stay.”
A little smile played over her pretty mouth. “Did I have a choice? Mr. Simpson seemed very adamant about remaining here until you arrived.”
“Mr. Simpson?” He smiled. “Bart.”
“I thought he said his name was Bruce Simpson.”
“It is. But we call him Bart.”
“Ah. Si calls you A-Man.”
“He does.” Eamon decided a change of subject was necessary. “They’re going to tack some cardboard over the broken glass and then they’ll be on their way.”
“I appreciate it.” Setting down the tea, she drew the blanket around her shoulders again. “I’ll get one of my brothers to replace the panes for me tomorrow. Or Bing or Brody will do it. They’ll have the right tools.”
Eamon opened his mouth to volunteer his services, then closed it sharply. His agenda hadn’t changed. Especially when it looked as if the incident wasn’t anything to do with him and his situation with the Sons, but was just a chance happening caused by some dumb kids on an ill-conceived lark.
The more he thought about it, it didn’t seem plausible that the other MC would go so far as to obscure their intent by taking shots at other shit in the neighborhood that night as well—what had Bart said? Signs, fences, a trash can. They’d want to make certain Eamon got the point.
Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Page 6
