Page 63 of Haunted By the Storm
She nods, accepting these terms. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," I warn her. "Tonight won't be pretty."
"I know," she says simply. "But it needs to happen."
The certainty in her voice, the absence of judgment for what I'm about to do, hits me harder than any condemnation could have. She sees me, all of me, the protector and the enforcer, the gentleness and the violence, and she's still here.
As if on cue, thunder rumbles in the distance, the storm moving closer. Camryn tenses automatically, then consciously relaxes, a small victory in her ongoing battle with fear.
"When do we leave?" she asks.
"After Emily's settled with Tavia. Around ten."
She nods again, resolute. "I'll be ready."
I pull her into my arms, needing to feel her, to remind myself of what I'm fighting for. She comes willingly, her body fitting against mine like it was designed for that purpose.
"I've got you," I murmur against her hair. "Both of you. Always."
"I know," she whispers back. "That's why I can do this. Because I'm not alone anymore."
The simple truth of her words settles something in me. For years, I've been the storm, unpredictable, dangerous, frightening, but for Camryn, I've become something else as well: shelter.
The warehouse sits dark and isolated three miles from the nearest residential neighborhood. Rain pounds against the metal roof, creating a constant drumbeat overhead. Lightning illuminates the cavernous space in brief, electric flashes, followed by thunder that shakes the very foundation.
Camryn stands beside me, tense but composed. She's dressed simply in jeans and a dark sweater, her hair pulled back, her face determined. Despite the storm raging outside, the kind that would normally have her huddled in a closet, she stands straight-backed and resolute.
"You okay?" I ask quietly, my hand at the small of her back.
She nods, though I can feel the fine tremors running through her body. "I will be. Once this is over."
We're not alone. Digger and Mayhem flank the main entrance while Shadow and Ace cover the back. Cruz is positioned outside in case Eric manages to slip past us somehow, an unlikely scenario, but we leave nothing to chance.
My burner phone vibrates in my pocket. I check the message from Cruz:
Target approaching. ETA 3 minutes.
"He's coming," I tell Camryn, feeling her stiffen beside me. "Last chance to change your mind."
She shakes her head. "I'm staying."
"Then remember what we agreed. You stay behind me, don't engage unless I say it's okay, and if things go south?—"
"I get out," she finishes. "I remember."
I position her behind a stack of crates, where she can see and hear what happens but remain partially concealed. Not hidden, as she insisted on being visible to Eric, but protected.
The minutes tick by, marked by the relentless rhythm of rain and thunder. Then the side door slides open, and Eric is shoved inside by Digger, stumbling to his knees on the concrete floor.
He's soaked from the rain, his expression wild with fear as he takes in the warehouse and the men surrounding him. When his gaze lands on me, recognition flickers in his eyes. He remembers me from our first encounter behind the bar.
"What the fuck is this?" he demands, trying for bravado but his voice shaking. "You can't just grab people off the street!"
"We just did," I reply coolly, stepping forward into the pool of dim light. "We have unfinished business, Eric."
"I told you already, I don't have Cantlay's money! You can't squeeze blood from a stone, man."
"This isn't about Cantlay," I say. "This is about Camryn Fletcher and her daughter."
