“Then what?”
He turned to me. “In life or in business?”
“It is all the same to you, no? That is why it is so... messy.” I spoke with humour, but it was strained. For some reason, English was difficult to find. The words slipped away when I needed them most.
“I want you to be with me... in church, I mean. I don’t want to tell your story for you.”
“It is that important?”
“In my world? Yeah, Lexi, it is. I know you ripped yourself open to do what you did for us. And I know why, even if you can’t say it to my goddamn face yet, but I don’t know who you are or where you came from, and my brothers need that, man. They need to know it was real and the shit that went down here ain’t gonna happen again.”
“It won’t.” The growl in my voice made me sound like him. “Sambini knows what will happen if he breaks the agreement.”
“I get that, but why? Who the fuck are you?”
“I thought I would never have to tell you. Even after I knew my heart would belong to you forever, I thought I would help you give yours to Saint, and then I would leave.”
Cam swallowed. He was in a lot of pain, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in his dark gaze. “I felt that—that you wanted me and him to be something, but I never figured out why. There was so much going on, it was enough for me that you’d seen him... like, really seen him, you know? Not many people do.”
“I see him.”
“You’re gonna have to explain that to me sometime.”
“Explain what?”
“The bit I’m missing in this fucking shitshow.”
I squeezed his fingers, a reflex that warmed my soul. “You think what you have shared with us is a shitshow?”
“No. I’m just confused as hell at how easy two awkward-as-fuck people can be around each other when they’ve only met twice.”
“We were naked for one of those. That helps with inhibitions, no?”
“Didn’t know you had any, mate.”
I laughed, a quiet sound that seemed to belong to a man I did not know yet. “I will come to your church if it makes you happy. Then maybe you will let me take you home?”
“I want Saint to come.”
“So do I.”
Cam took a breath, but he was interrupted by approaching boots. The bustle in the yard had thinned out since he’d spoken, leaving his closest brothers behind. They stood before him now, all of them, save the injured chaplain.
It was time.
I did not help Cam to his feet.
No one did—he didn’t give them the chance. He rose as if he hadn’t been shot through the shoulder less than twenty-four hours ago and waved his soldiers inside.
Then he looked to me. “Are you coming?”
I hesitated only a moment before I shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
“I wantyou.”
Cam turned and stomped inside.
I followed him through the bar where he’d slept all day and into the space he called the chapel—a room with an ornate table and a collection of decrepit office chairs.
