Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) (23 page)

That emotional closeness she yearned to have with a man.

Isn’t that what you want, a ghrá? To belong to a man?

“Cam?” he prompted now. “What are you thinking about?”

“Beck,” she answered, because he’d been the source of the first sigh. “What do you suppose he’s lost?”

“What do you mean?”

“In those months that he can’t remember.” She turned on her cushion, sitting cross-legged to face him. “If he was Walsh, he might have forgotten some awesome invention that would keep soldiers safe. If his brother Reed had been hit in the head, a great book might go unwritten. And me—”

“Let’s not talk about you getting hurt.”

“My greatest song might have slipped away.” She made a face. “It’s sad. I think it’s really sad.”

Eamon’s next grunt sounded slightly different than the previous two.

“You know, your monosyllabic responses are challenging my interpretive skills,” she complained. “Did that mean, ‘Cami, you’re a sentimental sap,’ or ‘Cami, I concur entirely with your thinking’?”

He remained silent a long moment, his gaze trained on the horizon. Then he said, “It means maybe you have it wrong. Maybe it’s a boon. Maybe he’s forgotten something… unpleasant. Like that time he hurt someone or failed them in some way. Or he’s forgotten something that could hurt
him
like…”

Falling in love.

Cami opened her mouth to say Eamon was wrong, that a person should never want that particular memory to be missing, but the words stuck on her tongue. In that moment, a drifting cloud passed over the sun, chilling the morning warmth and chilling her mood.

As if sensing it, Eamon reached over and gave an awkward pat to her knee. “Sweetheart,” he started.

But whatever aggravating and patronizing remark she was sure he was about to say—
You’ll find someone else,
or
You don’t know how you really feel
—was interrupted by his phone ringing. He slipped it from his pocket and, putting the device to his ear, stepped inside the house.

Not long after, he returned to the balcony, more tense than before.

Wary, she looked up at him as he hovered near her chair. “What is it?”

“That was Irish. He’s arranged a meet with the Sons.”

“Okay. And that’s…”

Eamon forked his hand through his hair. “Possibly dangerous. I advocated again for waiting out the time, my plan from the beginning, but he has other ideas.”

“Um…” Cami searched for the correct response.

“‘Trust me,’ he said,” Eamon muttered. “‘Let me take the lead,’ he said.”

Standing, Cami reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze, then let him go.

“Shit.” Turning to her, Eamon cupped her face in both palms and pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t know…”

“I’m with you,” she whispered, because her memory was fully intact, and she had dozens of reasons to have faith in him. “Whatever you decide, I’m with you.”

And his decision, she found out, was to fall in with his father’s proposal.

Step one was their journey to the Unruly Assassins clubhouse.

“You’ll be safe there,” Eamon said as they drove through a dilapidated residential neighborhood. “The sitdown’s at a place we know up in the hills.”

A cold fist closed over her heart “You’re going to it?”

He glanced at her. “Of course. I’ll be fine.”

They’d crossed into an even more dilapidated industrial neighborhood, with few signs of life besides seagulls poking at trash in deserted parking lots and empty soft drink cups rattling down the pockmarked street.

They turned left at the next intersection when suddenly engines roared to life. Confused, Cami gasped as motorcycles converged on Eamon’s car, cutting him off. They were ahead, behind, on each side.

Fury filled the car, overriding her instinctive fear. Eamon stood on the brakes, and the vehicle lurched to a halt. Then one of the bikers was off his ride and banging on Eamon’s side window, his huge, to-the-knuckle rings hitting the glass and sounding to Cami like bones breaking.

The man wore a leather vest that proclaimed him one of the Savage Sons.

“Get out,” he ordered.

Instead, Eamon rolled the window down an inch.

“Really?” he snarled. “A fucking trap? And with my girl in the car?”

The biker’s answer was to point a gun at them. Swallowing her whimper, Cami tried not to move a muscle.

“Get out,” the Son demanded again. “Both of you.”

“Fuck,” Eamon muttered, then reached for his car door. “You come this way, honey. Climb over the console and exit on my side. It’s going to be okay.”

A warm breeze buffeted them as they stood on the asphalt beside Eamon’s sleek, silver SUV, and he took her hand in a steady, firm grip. Cami didn’t move her head—she was pretty much scared motionless—but she took in what she could. There wasn’t much to see besides cyclone fencing around ramshackle structures. Property on its way to ruin before it was inevitably bought on the cheap for a new life.

Clearly not a place law enforcement patrolled often.

Even as she thought that, a huge black truck came prowling from the opposite direction. Her heart leaped. A Good Samaritan to call in their predicament to the police! But as it slowed she noted the man in the driver’s seat.

Black leather. Bandana around his forehead. Short-sleeved T-shirt that showed off skin tatted up with black and red images.

Some of that’s representing blood
, she thought, her breath catching in her lungs.

Eamon’s hand tightened on hers, as if he could sense her building disquiet. But he looked calm and cool, the expression on his handsome face remote, his narrowed gaze glued to the man stepping out of the truck.

“Sorry for the drama,” he said, then flicked his eyes toward the guy with the gun. “Put that away.”

The lethal-looking thing disappeared behind the man’s back. Eamon’s hold on Cami eased a little. Her lungs could finally move.

The man who’d just exited the truck cleared his throat. “Name’s Deuce,” he began.

“I know who you are,” Eamon said. “What I don’t get is why you’re pre-empting the meet we’ve arranged an hour from now, and why
you’re again scaring my woman
.”

At the intense tone in his voice, Cami’s heart fell to the pit of her belly. She glanced over to see a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“About that,” Deuce said. “It’s why I wanted to talk before our presidents got into it.”

“I’m not a member,” Eamon said. “He’s not my president.”

“Yeah, but Irish is your dad, just like Dobbin is mine.”

Okay, so the sons of two rival MCs were now facing off on a deserted street corner. Except one had eight men at his back, and Eamon only had her.

The odds sucked.

“And the thing is,” Deuce continued, “the shit that’s gone down wasn’t sanctioned. We had a handful of young new guys thinking they were doing the club a favor.”

“They shot up my girl’s home and bombed her place of business.” His voice lowered again to that chilling tone that tightened Cami’s nerves to the breaking point. “They damaged
her guitar
.”

“That’s replaceable,” she heard herself interject. “It’s always been my favorite, but probably because Gwendolyn Moon gave it to me. She was like a mother, you see, growing up, so it had some sentimental value. But it’s been good to move on to another instrument. I’ve learned new things with it. Learned to make some new sounds and…”

Her voice drifted off as she realized they were all staring at her.

“Anyway,” she finished lamely. “I just thought I should say.”

She just thought she should say? There’d been no thought involved. It was babble, pure and simple, because her anxiety had completely squashed her common sense. But the hits, they just kept on coming because her mouth opened again.

“So. Um. Thank you. I think.”

A flurry of movement behind Deuce caught Cami’s eye. A small figure emerged from the rear seat of the truck’s cab, to climb into the driver’s seat, then from there slide onto the asphalt.

Deuce turned to look at the tiny girl rushing forward. “Sweet Pea! Damn it, get back in the truck.”

Ignoring him, she ran to Cami.

“Tammy! Tammy!” She held up the stuffed dog she’d had at the motorcycle show. Both she and the toy looked much cleaner than they had appeared that day. “Look, it’s me. It’s Sweet Pea and Spoon!”

She hugged Cami’s legs then looked over her shoulder, arms still wrapped around Cami’s knees. “Daddy, it’s nice Tammy. Tammy what found Sweet Pea and Spoon!”

Eamon lifted an eyebrow. “You brought your kid to this?”

Deuce—who Cami remembered now had been called “Gene” by the woman he’d been with at the show—muttered something about childcare issues.

I guess
, Cami thought,
bikers are like everyone else
.

Sweet Pea’s presence totally changed the tenor of the situation. A moment after her arrival, at a signal from their leader, the bikers roared off. Eamon and Deuce leaned against his car and talked while Cami listened to Sweet Pea’s chatter. When the men shook hands after a short discussion, the last of Cami’s stress abated, and she hugged the little girl before handing her into her father’s care.

The man looked her in the eye.

“That’s my greatest prize,” he said, indicating with his thumb his daughter who was scrambling into the cab. “You found her that day, and I owe you always for that.”

“Just love her like it seems you do,” Cami said, thinking of Bean, who had rarely acknowledged her existence. “That’s payment enough for me.”

“Still, I didn’t thank you then. So I do now. And know that you don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to the Sons.”

“Good to hear,” she said, nodding, and felt Eamon come up behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay?” she asked, glancing back at him.

“Okay.”

Like that, it was over. They climbed into their respective vehicles and headed in separate directions.

“That was weird,” Cami ventured.

Eamon laughed. “My jaw dropped when that little kid came bouncing out of the truck. Sweet Pea and Spoon.”

“She’s adorable. I found her when she was lost at that motorcycle show. I guess she remembered.”

“Well, your good deed smoothed the way for a settlement between the clubs. Deuce called his father, I called Irish, they’re on board.”

“I didn’t see you on your phones.”

“I believe you were singing some nursery rhymes at the time.” He glanced over. “You’ll make a good mom someday.”

Cami lifted a shoulder. “Where are we going now?”

“Party at the clubhouse. The agreement I made with Deuce involves me offering them some free legal advice, and Irish is going to pay me back in beer.”

“So your good lawyer reputation is what saved the day.”

His mouth twitched, then he smiled, a beautiful, carefree smile that stopped her heart then set it racing again. “Or more likely Sweet Pea and Spoon.”

At the MC headquarters, neon beer signs and motorcycle posters as well as candid photos of the club members filled the walls of the common room. A bar took up one corner of the space, and couches and chairs, a pool table, ping pong table, and a big screen TV filled the rest.

Cami nursed her third hops-heavy beer, a homemade microbrew Irish told her he was going to take commercial. She clinked her Solo cup against his. “To beer!”

She was slightly tipsy.

Irish grinned at her, his gold tooth making him more pirate than president. But she saw his son in the angles of his face, and she grinned back.

Okay, maybe more than slightly tipsy.

“Nobody’s going to be shooting up my house or bombing my brother’s business?” she asked, maybe for the fifth or sixth time. That the crisis was over was just sinking in.

“The Sons are sending their miscreants across the country to do some hard labor for an affiliate club.” He leaned close to her. “Dobbins and I would have managed to come to a similar solution, but Deuce…well, those pieces-of-shit that went rogue were men he’d brought into the club, so he wanted to solve the problem himself.”

“But what about Wick and the Feds and the plea agreement on the table…”

“Dobbins knows they took a risk with the smuggling and the distribution. Some in the club might have to pay, but probably not him or Deuce.”

Cami sipped at her beer. She’d sort of hoped it was a big misunderstanding and the Sons weren’t an actual criminal operation, but… “I hope Sweet Pea will turn out okay.”

“Our children survive and thrive even when we parents don’t always get it right.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Eamon was playing pool with Linc. “You love him, don’t you?”

Caught off guard, Cami sputtered a little. “Um, uh…” She smiled weakly. “Pretty obvious, huh?”

“You’ll have your work cut out for you, darlin’,” he said. “But stick with him.”

“Oh.” Oh, God. She shouldn’t be feeding Irish’s obvious hopes. “Um—”

“After what happened with his mother—” He broke off, narrowing his eyes at her. “I suppose he didn’t tell you what happened. Am I right?”

All that she should reply passed through her head.
I’ll wait for Eamon to say, if and when he wants to. It’s none of my business, since we’re not really an item.
Or at the very least,
Excuse me, I have to use the restroom.

But she’d been raised in Hedon Eden, Profligate Paradise, Licentious-landia, where selfishness had been a way of life. So she channeled her inner String Bean Colson and leaned forward.

“No, Eamon hasn’t shared that with me.” Then she took a breath, preparing to learn the key to unlocking the man who’d been her mysterious stranger, sexy lover, and concerned protector.

It was a horror story, actually. At fourteen, Eamon had been home with his mother when a rival MC came to the house looking for Irish to settle a score. At the same moment, some of the Unrulies had arrived on scene, and a shoot-out occurred. Members of the other club had stormed the house, and while Eamon was trying to get his mother out the back door, shots had hit Samantha Rooney, once in the chest and once in the abdomen.

“She survived, but our marriage didn’t,” Irish said, his eyes bereft as he stared into the distance. “And to repay her for her pain and for her scars, I promised I wouldn’t bring our boy into my club.”