Chapter 67
1406words
She's safe.
So many things have become uncertain as of late, especially as my world flipped upside down over and over again. But from the second I jump from my car and wrap my arms around Camila, familiar certainty surrounds me once more.
She is safe.
A part of me knows that she won't be forever, not while Yannick is allowed to run free. But in this moment, it's enough. Cupping the back of her head, I stroke her hair while my eyes search the playground. There's no one here but us. Unable to convince myself, I look again, scouring bushes, trees, and even the distant buildings fringing the area. My ears strain for the sound of Yannick's wretched voice.
But still, nothing.
My hand slows its stroking of Camila's hair. 'He wasn't lying."
'What do you mean?" she asks, turning her face upward at me.
I relax my grip enough for her to shimmy out from it, even though it pains me to do so. 'He sent me a text telling me to come here and get you," I explain. I didn't think it was real.
Somewhere nearby, Mila is stalking the grounds, hunting for any signs of an ambush to ensure that this happy reunion isn't about to become a tragedy in a split second. Two boeviki stand just outside my car, armed to the teeth and ready to intervene in a second.
My phone vibrates. It's Mila.
Mila: None of his men are here. The perimeter is clean.
Mila: Is she really there with you? He just left her?
Mila: What game is he playing??
'This makes no sense," I murmur, 'why would Yannick simply allow me to come retrieve you?"
How is it not a trap?
Camila grips my sleeves. Her eyebrows crinkle with worry. 'Because he still has my mother."
I wince at the news. I'd thought as much—it was actually the best outcome, since otherwise, it meant her mother had met a worse fate. Gingerly, I cup her cheeks. 'It's all right; we?—"
'No!" she snaps, teeth flashing as she rips away from my touch. 'It's not all right! He's going to hurt her! He's been hurting her!"
I'm taken aback by the ferocity she aims at me. This rage should be meant for Yannick. Yet in this moment, I've become her target, and I can't figure out why.
Look at her, you fool. Look and see. She's standing with her feet spread apart, her jacket straining over her shoulders. Instead of a frightened woman seeking reassurance, which I expected, she stands before me—shoulders squared—as if she's ready to fight.
I was foolish to assume Camila would simply rush into my arms, seeking me out as a source of safety. She's always been ferocious in her own right, since the very first time our paths crossed. On occasions, I've seen that ferocity rise to the surface. But here and now, in the flesh, she's reminding me that she isn't a damsel in distress.
Not by a long shot.
As I take in the sight of her, I can see the invisible barbs that have wrapped around her—signs of secret suffering during her time as a captive of Yannick. The woman I love has been damaged and hurt, all because I was stupid enough to let her out of my sight.
Because I trusted that someone else could keep her safe.
I won't make that mistake again.
'What happened?" I growl. 'What did he do to you?"
'Are you not listening at all?" She notices me scanning her and stiffens. 'It's not me that we need to worry about. It's my mother and what he's doing to her! We have to go after him! We have to save her!"
'And we will," I insist flatly.
'Then why are we still here?" Her frown trembles at the corners. She darts her eyes from me to my Escalade. 'Why aren't we chasing after Yannick right now?"
My phone buzzes again. Mila demands my attention, but Camila needs it more. I don't have a satisfying answer for either of them; it's a no-win situation for me.
'Because I need to make sure you're okay first," I tell her. 'And because we don't know where he's gone. Do you?"
'No," she admits hesitantly. 'I tried to pay attention on the drive here, but he intentionally took lots of weird turns and did a lot of backtracking."
That's not surprising. I dip my head in frustrated resignation.
'He's always been cautious." My temples thrum as I stare around us again, scanning for threats that still refuse to materialize. 'Why did he bring you to a playground, of all places?"
Something flashes across Camila's face as she opens her mouth before shutting it quickly. Her expression changes in a split second, but I spot it just as it fades. Guilt. She looks away suddenly, as if she can't bear to look me straight in the eyes.
Suspicion pricks up and dances over my spine. A tiny voice whispers in the back of my mind that Camila is hiding something.
I swoop her hands into mine. 'Camila, you have to trust me." She doesn't pull out of my grip, and I convince myself she doesn't want to. 'I'll do everything in my power to get your mother back. But we can't find her by standing here. And I need to make sure you're okay. Let's go home. All right?"
She turns her eyes to the ground, the combativeness slowly melting away with each tumbling breath in the winter air. 'If you say so."
I'd built up an image of the reunion in my head. In my imagination, it was a glorious moment where both of us crashed together like crashing ocean waves, the force powerful enough to polish stones into jewels.
Yet reality has a way of disappointing.
The only similarity to the ocean here is the chill I feel in my bones.
And a sense that I'm slowly drowning.
Opening the car door, I ease her inside before I slide over to join her. The boeviki in front give us quick glances. 'Drive," I snap. The one at the wheel revs the engine, and the car peels onto the road.
Camila peers at the backs of their heads. She's looking all over the car, but never at me. Her legs clamp together, and her hands are wrapped in a knot on her lap. She looks equal parts vulnerable and wary—like a wolf that has to chew off its own leg to escape a trap.
I sweep her close, pouring my warmth over her as I greedily drink in her scent, her presence, and her sea of clashing emotions. She's here. She's really here.
I've been dying for this moment.
She nudges against my chest, softly at first, and then with increasing insistence. Reluctantly, I let her go, watching in dismay as she slips back until she's sitting as far away from me as possible. Pressed against the window, she turns and glares at me with wide, shining eyes. The moment feels familiar, and it takes me a heartbeat to realize that it's just like the first time I dragged her away from Topher's.
The memory of that first night hangs as clear as a knife in my mind. She acted like I was a wolf, ready to tear her apart. I was equally suspicious of her motives and her reliability. Trust wasn't even a word that existed between us that night. She was a mystery to me, and I a threat to her.
Somewhere along the way, the walls between us came down and we allowed each other a glimpse of our true selves hidden underneath.
But right now, those walls have come back up.
And it pains me to think that this time, those walls might be permanent.
'When we get back home," I say, 'tell me everything that's happened. All of it."
Camila turns from me to look out the tinted window. Her palm presses against it, dragging down until it leaves steamy streaks in its trail. When she speaks, her voice is cold and even.
'I'll tell you whatever will help me get my mom back."
The hair rises on the back of my neck at the way she phrases it.
What the hell did Yannick do to her? What did he tell her? Most importantly … what is she hiding from me?
