Page 20 of Be Mine Forever

Mac moved faster than a man that big should. He was at the refrigerator before Cam could draw his next shaky breath. Cam didn’t have time to think, only respond. He jabbed the butter knife into the thick wall of fat around Mac’s waist. The knife wasn’t sharp, but it did a little damage. Mac paused, patting his shirt where a small bud of blood blossomed through his white T-shirt.

“You little shit!” Mac looked from the blood on his fingers to the knife Cam still clutched. “I was gonna go easy on you, but not now.”

Cam took off toward the door. The apartment had always seemed no bigger than a matchbox, but that door seemed a hundred feet away right now. His hand was on the knob when Mac’s fist pounded into his temple. The room flashed and strobed like the lights at the skating rink, and the pain in his head made him slump to the ground. Mac grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into the kitchen.

“You gon’ get this now.” One of Mac’s meaty hands pressed Cam’s neck into the rough wood of the rickety kitchen table. The other was at his belt. Cam heard the jangle of the buckle loosening. He strained against that heavy hand, panic making him twitch and squirm like the snails they salted on the playground. Mac slammed Cam’s forehead into the table, and the world went black for a moment. That black felt so good, but it didn’t last long enough. He woke up to pain in that tiny hole he’d only ever used for one thing. So much dirty pain. He screamed for his mama, but she didn’t come. The neighbors didn’t come. He whimpered and he begged, but there was no letting up. Mac laughed and grunted behind him, and Cam just knew that the pain would soon split him in two, but it didn’t. No one busted through the door to save the day like on the cartoons. The bad guywon.

Mac liked little boys. Now Cam understood what the older boys meant, and it was too late.

Cam fled the nightmare, jackknifing in his bed. Terror chased the blood through his veins. He ran shaky hands through his hair, damp and tangled from the hell between his sheets. He patted his arms and chest, hoping the feel of his own strength, of the defined muscle would reassure him. He wasn’t some snot-nosed little kid who couldn’t defend himself against the neighborhood monster. He was a man. He was grown, but fear still wound up his legs and weakened his knees. There was only one thing that ever evened the ragged breath in his chest and slowed his heartbeat.

He reached under his bed and felt nothing but empty space. He fumbled to untangle himself from the sweat-drenched sheets, kneeling by the bed and running his hand over the hardwood floor until he knocked against the cold, hard comfort his hands always frantically sought beneath the bed.

Aaaahh.

His breathing slowed, going from gasps to a steadied stream of air slipping past his lips. Relief slowly oozed through the tightness in his chest, loosening his body cell by cell until he was solvent. Liquid and loose, the only thing solid was the cold, sleek metal at rest in his hand.

Chapter Seven

Jo glanced at the time displayed in the corner of the iPad in its docking station. Only a few tiny stacks of paper dared to clutter her glass-topped desk, with pictures of her family sprinkled in between. Images of Daddy, Aunt Kris, Walsh and Kerris, and now the beautiful babies, Brooklin and Harlim, filled the frames. The girls had about another month before they could come home, but Walsh, Meredith, and Mama Jess kept the pictures coming from the hospital. Jo made a note to ask her assistant Shaundra to clear her schedule so she could go back. She had made three brief visits since Kerris delivered a month ago, but it still didn’t feel like enough. Thank God Mama Jess was staying up there to help Kerris for as long as she needed. Kerris had reunited with her former foster mother while she’d been pregnant with Amalie, and Mama Jess helped Kerris through the hard times after the baby died. And now she was there for Kerris again.

Maybe she should add pictures of Mama Jess and Meredith. The two women had come to feel like family. She’d made one exception for the family-only rule, but she could make another. Jo’s eyes drifted to her one exception. The picture of Cam at the river one summer. The Walsh Foundation T-shirt strained across his strong chest while he hoisted two strings of fish he had caught. The wide, white smile against his tan would dazzle a susceptible female, but Jo no longer considered herself susceptible. She turned the photo facedown, tired of submitting herself to the torture of that smile.

Jo pressed the intercom on the phone just within reach.

“Shaundra, Cam Mitchell flies in tonight, right?”

“Yes, he flies in from New York, I believe. We’re meeting later this week to discuss his exhibit.”

Jo didn’t respond, too focused on the arrhythmic slam of her heart. She hadn’t seen Cam since that morning in New York, leaving the preliminary exhibit discussions to Shaundra. He hadn’t called Jo. She hadn’t called him. She’d finally gotten the message, and when she saw him, there would be none of the heart-fluttering, mouth-watering-then-drying-out, palm-moistening, breath-hitching behavior that usually accompanied an encounter with Cam.

Ruthless.

That’s what Jo had to be with her feelings. Like a weed in her garden that needed to be tugged and sprayed until its roots were pulled free of the ground and its body poisoned to nothing.

“Jo, did you hear me?” Shaundra stood at the open office door, her greenish-gray eyes narrowed in concern. “I said he’ll be here tonight.”

“I heard you.” Jo scanned her spotless desk for something to toss out or straighten.

“You didn’t answer.”

“I got distracted.”

Shaundra stepped farther into the room and settled into the sea-foam-green leather seat across from Jo’s desk. Calming colors for a passionate nature. That’s what Shaundra had said when she decorated the spare, elegant office where Jo got so much work done.

“Seems like you’ve been distracted all morning.” Shaundra toyed with the end of one golden brown dreadlock spilling over her shoulder.

“There’s a lot going on.” Jo pulled up an email on her iPad, her fingers zipping across the wireless keyboard. She knew it was rude, but she didn’t want to talk about why she seemed distracted.

“Shaundra, could you give me a few minutes to catch up before my next meeting?” Jo shifted her glance away from the iPad screen long enough to crinkle her eyes in an almost-smile but didn’t give her assistant time to respond. “Thanks.”

Shaundra unfolded her softly rounded figure from the seat and made her way to the door.

“Jo, if you need—”

“I will, Shaundra.” Jo trained her eyes on the cursor flashing its impatience, waiting for her to type the next line.

“You need coffee or…anything?”

---