Page 70 of Haunted By the Storm
Emily Fletcher-Nelson. My daughter, in every way that matters now.
She's in her room, wrapping secret presents with more tape than paper, humming Christmas songs to herself. The sound drifts down the hallway, mingling with the soft music playing from the kitchen where Camryn works.
This peaceful domesticity feels surreal after the darkness of the past two weeks.
I check my phone again, reading another text from Ace confirming the funeral arrangements. Cruz will be laid to rest tomorrow, with full club honors. The thought sits like lead in my stomach. We've lost brothers before, but never like this. Never so close to Christmas. Never from a sniper's bullet that came out of nowhere during what should have been a celebration. It was Thanksgiving at the clubhouse, the kids running everywhere, Cruz joking around as usual. Then the window shattered, Cruz dropped like a stone, blood bloomed’ across his chest. The panic, the screams, Mayhem's hand pressed against the wound while the women got the kids to safety.
But it was already too late. Cruz never made it to the hospital. He died in the back of Ace's truck, his last words a joke about being the center of attention. Classic Cruz, making us laugh even as he left us.
And the card, that goddamn playing card left on the window ledge outside. A bloodied Ace of Hearts. A signature. A taunt.
When Ace called Makenna Gallagher, the call confirmed our worst fears. The Irish had dealt with the same shooter three months ago; Makenna's bodyguard taking a bullet meant for her, the same calling card left behind. Then Pyro in Dublin reported losing a prospect the same way.
Someone is hunting us, methodically, across continents. Someone with patience, skill, and knowledge of our weakest moments.
I push the thought away, refusing to let it contaminate this space, this moment. We've increased security, moved most ofthe families to safe houses temporarily. But Camryn refused to leave our home.
"We can't stop living our lives because of fear," she argued. "That's not the lesson I want Emily to learn."
My fierce, brave woman is still teaching me about courage, about facing down storms rather than running from them.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Camryn's voice pulls me back to the present. She stands in the doorway, flour dusting her cheek, hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing the ridiculous Christmas apron Emily picked out, complete with blinking lights sewn into the fabric.
"Just thinking about tomorrow," I admit, setting my phone aside. No point hiding it, she knows me too well now.
She crosses the room to settle beside me on the couch, fitting perfectly under my arm. "I still can't believe he's gone," she says softly. "Every time I see something funny, I think 'I need to tell Cruz about that.' Then I remember."
I tighten my arm around her shoulders. Cruz had taken to Camryn immediately, treating her like a little sister from day one. His absence leaves a hole in all our lives, but especially in the tight-knit family of the club.
"He would hate how somber everyone's been," I say, remembering how Cruz lived his life: full volume, max speed, all jokes. "Tomorrow at the service, I bet someone tells that story about the time he replaced all of Digger's gear oil with maple syrup."
Camryn laughs, the sound slightly watery. "Or the time he convinced the prospects that Ace had a secret pet iguana they needed to feed daily."
"Poor Blaze spent a week leaving lettuce in Ace's office," I recall, smiling despite the grief.
The mention of her brother brings fresh warmth to Camryn's expression. "He's coming over later with Seri and Shadow. They've got wedding stuff to go over."
Two weeks from now, she'll be my wife. Camryn Nelson. The thought still feels like a miracle, especially now, with death so fresh in our minds. A reminder to seize life while we can.
I run my thumb over her engagement ring, a simple solitaire diamond on a platinum band. Nothing flashy but perfectly her. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of her face when I proposed three weeks ago, standing in our backyard under the first snow of the season.
"Mom! Storm!" Emily's voice rings out from down the hall. "I need help! The tape is stuck to everything!"
Camryn laughs, the sound chasing away the darker thoughts that have been plaguing me. "Duty calls. I'll handle the tape emergency if you keep an eye on the cookies?"
"Deal," I agree, stealing a quick kiss before she rises.
As she walks away, I allow myself a moment to simply watch her, the way she moves, the quiet confidence she's developed over the past weeks. She's healed so much, though I know some scars remain. We all have them.
I head to the kitchen, checking the timer on the oven. Five minutes left on this batch. The counters are covered with cooling racks and cookies in various states of decoration. Emily's contributions are obvious, heavy on the sprinkles, light on symmetry.
Through the window, I notice a car slowing as it passes our house. I tense automatically, hand moving toward the gun I keep in the small of my back. Old habits. The car continues on, just a neighbor, perhaps, admiring our Christmas lights.
Still, I make a mental note to have Shadow drive by later. An extra set of eyes never hurts. Not with a killer still out there, one who knows how to find us when we're vulnerable.
The front door opens, and I tense again, until I hear familiar voices as Blaze and Shadow stamp snow from their boots.
"Honey, we're home!" Blaze calls out jokingly, before spotting me in the kitchen doorway. "Oh, hey. We brought wedding stuff from Seri. Where is she?"
