Page 60 of Haunted By the Storm
"Always," I confirm. "From the moment she wakes up until she crashes at night. It can be exhausting but also... wonderful. She sees the world with such enthusiasm, such joy."
"Like her mother," Storm says, his eyes warm on mine.
I snort, shaking my head. "I'm hardly the poster child for enthusiasm and joy. More like anxiety and over-thinking."
"That's not how I see you," he says seriously. "You've been through hell, Camryn. Survived things that would have broken most people. And yet here you are, still open to life, to love, to new possibilities. That takes a special kind of courage, a special kind of joy."
His words catch me off guard, forcing me to see myself through his eyes. It's a perspective I've never considered, that my willingness to try again, to trust again despite everything, might be a form of courage rather than foolishness.
"Thank you," I say softly, touched by his perception. "For seeing me that way."
He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. "It's not hard to see what's right in front of me."
The moment is interrupted by Emily's return, her burden somewhat reduced but still impressive. "Okay, I picked the most important ones," she declares, dumping an armload of treasures onto the couch.
"That's still a lot, butterfly," Storm observes, eyeing the pile skeptically.
"But they're all my favorites," she insists, looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "I can't leave them behind. They'll be lonely."
I watch with amusement as Storm's resistance crumbles beneath the weight of Emily's puppy-dog eyes. It's a sight I've seen many times before, adults who think themselves immune to manipulation falling victim to my daughter's particular brand of sweet persuasion.
"We'll figure it out," he concedes, and Emily beams triumphantly.
"She's got you wrapped around her little finger," I murmur as Emily begins organizing her treasures for transport.
"Completely," he agrees without hesitation. "And I don't even mind."
His easy admission and lack of defensiveness or embarrassment warms something deep inside me. This man, this tough, dangerous biker who frightens hardened criminals, is putty in the hands of my seven-year-old daughter, and he's not the least bit concerned about it.
It's perhaps the most endearing thing about him yet.
We spend the next hour gathering essentials from the house: clothes, toiletries, and important documents. I make sure to grab my laptop and work materials, knowing I'll need to start transitioning back to my job soon, even if remotely at first.
As we're loading everything into Storm's truck, I notice him scanning the street, his posture alert despite his casual demeanor. The reminder of why we left in the first place, Eric, the threats, the danger, sends a chill through me.
"It's safe," Storm assures me, noticing my unease. "Cantlay's backed off, and Eric..." He trails off, glancing at Emily, who's busy arranging her stuffed animals in the back seat. "He won't be bothering you again."
I nod, not pressing for details I don't really want to know. "Thank you," I say instead. "For everything you've done to keep us safe."
His expression softens. "You don't have to thank me for that. Ever."
We finish loading the truck and lock up the house, a strange sense of finality accompanying the simple action. It doesn't feel like we're leaving temporarily anymore. It feels like we're moving on, stepping into something new and as yet undefined.
"Ready to see my place?" Storm asks as we climb into the truck, Emily securely buckled between her stuffed animal companions in the back seat.
"Ready," I confirm, both excited and nervous about this next step. Seeing Storm's home, the place he's chosen for himself away from the club, feels significant. It’s a glimpse into theprivate life he's kept separate from his brothers, from the violence and chaos of his work.
As we pull away from the curb, I glance back at the house through the side mirror, watching it recede in the distance. I'm not sure when or if we'll return to live there, but I know with growing certainty that wherever we go next, it will be together, Storm, Emily, and me.
A family—unexpected and unconventional, but ours nonetheless.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
storm
Thunder rolls in the distance, a warning of what's to come. Both in the skies and in what I've set in motion.
I stand at the clubhouse chapel table, surrounded by my brothers as we finalize plans for tonight. Maps spread across the surface show Eric's last known locations, the routes in and out, and potential escape paths we need to cover. Every detail must be accounted for. This ends tonight.
