Camden (The Henchmen MC 18)

I did, one-hundred-percent, want to kill him.

Because he had killed me.

Little by little over the years, steadily shaving bits away, taking more and more and more from me. Safety, security, a life, a future.

Somehow, I had convinced myself that he deserved to die because of that.

Some time a few weeks after arriving, on a chilly early October day, I was walking through the house, feeling my belly drop as something passed in my peripheral.

I was so sure it was a stranger.

And, as it turned out, in a way, it was.

It was me, reflection caught in the mirror on the wall across from the dining room table.

Except, I barely recognized myself anymore.

There was a hollow, vacant look to my eyes, lined in deep pockets and purple smudges from my lack of sleep. My hair was lackluster, greasy at the roots, carelessly swept up into a bun at the top of my head. My arms looked almost skeletal, my cheeks a bit sunken.

Whoever this woman was, it wasn't who I was supposed to be. It wasn't who my mother had raised.

She would burst into tears if she saw me.

If she knew the ugly places my mind had been.

If she realized how I had let the darkness win.

That had never been what she wanted.

Even on her worst days, she found a way to radiate light, joy. She made sure I never settled too long in one attitude, reminding me how much there was to be joyous about, to be grateful for.

This woman who had her eyes and her chin, but a brain and body made unsightly by the swirling, vile thoughts she had nurtured in her heart, in her soul, she was not someone my mother would have been proud of.

That realization was like a healing rain suddenly opening up over my head, washing away the hatred, the murderous thoughts, everything that had never been a part of who I was before, everything I vowed to never let myself become again.

No matter what he stole from me.

I refused to give him that.

On that thought, I turned around, turning on the hot water for a shower, believing very little in the world worked to make you feel renewed so much as a hot shower, some good soap, and a slathering of lotion.

I had just pulled off my lumpy, oversized sweatshirt, leaving me in an ugly gray ribbed tank top, when there was a knock at the door.

There was a second of expected fear, trepidation. I had gotten too used to never hearing anyone at the door over all these years. But as things turned out, there was a set of elderly neighbors to the right who really liked having a new neighbor around and stopped by often to drop off leftovers or tell me the weather forecast, just chat.

So the fear slipped away as I headed toward the door, already calling out to Allen.

"It sure looks like rain today, doesn't it? I can only talk for a minute," I added, reaching for the locks. "I have the water trying to get ho..."

The door swung open.

It wasn't Allen. Nor his wife, Mary.

It wasn't even Thomas.

No.

It was the last person in the entire world I expected to see there.

It was Cam.SIXCamdenIt was straight out of a cheesy fucking movie.

The misunderstanding, the explanation, the invite, the meal and movie, the discussion, getting called away, then the kiss.

I was still fucking shocked that music hadn't played while it happened. That was how perfect the whole damn thing was.

I couldn't even be mad that the club called me away since that was likely what had led to the kiss in the first place. If the night had gone on, maybe she'd have gotten awkward, or I would have chickened out.

It felt right to leave with us both wanting more.

I figured I would do my guard shift, catch some sleep at the club, then head back home in the early afternoon. She had a regular guitar student, so it would give me a chance to shower, get my mind together, then I could go back over.

It seemed like a mistake, but I had left the laptop on purpose. It gave me an excuse to show up at her door once again.

Then, yeah, we were going to pick up where we left off.

I actually had trouble sleeping in anticipation. Like some starry-eyed fucking virgin.

Eventually, I managed, waking up ready to get moving.

Only to be derailed by Liv and Astrid barging in, trays of coffee and a two dozen boxes of donuts in hand.

"We figured we would try to even out the breakfast run thing," Astrid told me. "One down. About three-thousand left to go."

My brows must have been furrowed, finding them there, together, no kids around, no Roderick, because Liv gave me a small smile.

"You'll never guess who I ran into while running early morning errands today," she said, finding my coffee, holding it out to me.