Page 32 of Haunted By the Storm
Her eyes search mine, looking for something, reassurance, maybe, or sincerity. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her because she nods slightly.
"Goodnight, Storm," she says softly.
"Goodnight, Camryn," I reply, forcing myself to turn and leave before I can talk myself into staying.
Back in my room, I sit on the edge of my bed, replaying the events of the day in my mind. The confrontation with Eric. The storm. The kiss. It's the confrontation I keep circling back to; the rage I felt when I finally came face to face with the man who hurt Camryn, who threatened her and her daughter.
My hands clench into fists at the memory...
Shadow, Digger and I sit on our bikes across the street from The Red Door, watching the entrance. It’s a shabby bar, with blacked-out windows and a neon sign that flickers even in daylight.
"You sure he's working today?" Digger asks, checking his watch.
"Cruz confirmed it," I reply, eyes never leaving the door. "Said he starts at noon."
It’s just past eleven, giving us time to scope out the location before making our move. The bar is in a rough neighborhood, the kind where people mind their own business and security cameras mysteriously malfunction with regularity. Perfect for what we have planned.
"Remember," Shadow says, "we need information before anything else. Who he owes, how much, and what kind of deadline he's facing."
I nod, already knowing the plan: get Eric alone, extract information, and make sure he understands the consequences of going near Camryn or Emily again. Simple.
Except there is nothing simple about the rage simmering in my veins or the need to make this man pay for what he's done to Camryn. She was sixteen, a fucking child, when he attacked her, then left her pregnant and terrified. And now he’s back, threatening to take Emily, watching their house, making Camryn look over her shoulder with every step.
The thought of it makes my vision blur with fury.
"There he is," Digger says suddenly, nodding toward a figure approaching the bar.
Eric is younger than I expected, maybe thirty, with generic good looks that have probably served him well with women. He’s of average height and has dark hair, and he’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket despite the warm day. There’s nothing particularly threatening about his appearance, which makes him all the more dangerous. The worst predators never look the part.
"Let him get settled inside," I say, tamping down the urge to confront him immediately. "We want privacy for this conversation."
We give him fifteen minutes then cross the street. The bar is nearly empty, just a couple of daytime drinkers nursing beers at the far end. Eric is behind the counter, wiping down glasses, his back to the door as we enter.
The three of us spread out, Shadow moving to block the exit while Digger takes position near the other patrons. I approach the bar and slide onto a stool directly in Eric's line of sight, just as he turns around.
"What can I get you?" he asks automatically, then freezes when he sees my cut, the Fury Vipers patch prominent on the leather.
"Just a conversation," I say, keeping my voice casual despite the rage building in my chest. "About Camryn Fletcher and her daughter."
His face pales then flushes with anger. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I smile, and I know the expression isn’t conveying amusement. "Sure you do. You've been watching her house. Following her to the grocery store. Threatening to take her daughter. Ring any bells?"
His eyes dart toward the exit, where Shadow is standing like a stone wall, arms crossed over his massive chest; then to the other customers, who are now being encouraged by Digger to finish their drinks elsewhere.
"Look, man, I don't know who you are?—"
"I'm the guy who's going to make you regret ever looking at Camryn again if you don't start talking," I cut him off, my voice dropping to a dangerous register. "And I'm in a real hurry today, so let's skip the part where you pretend not to know what I'm talking about."
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I have rights. She's my?—"
"She's not your anything," I growl, leaning forward. "And the only right you have is to live through this conversation, if you tell me what I want to know."
The bar is empty now, just the four of us. Eric's eyes flick between us as he calculates odds that are getting worse for him by the second.
"I need a cigarette," he finally says.
"Outside," I agree, nodding to Shadow to follow us.
