Midnight Sins (50 page)

disappearing as she heard the sounds of something

crashing, yelling, cursing, and the pounding of feet

running through her hall like a stampede of elephants.

“You bastard!” she sobbed, her legs collapsing,

throwing her to the hardwood floor as she braced

herself against the side of the steps. Cami felt her

legs folding beneath her as the blows to her head, the

terror, and the sudden, overwhelming relief stole her

last bit of strength.

With one hand braced around the spindle of the

banister, her fingers locked desperately around the

smooth wooden support as she laid her head against

her arm and screamed out in rage.

Tears filled her eyes, and one even escaped

before she could battle it back. Breathing harshly and

fighting back what could easily turn into desperate,

agonizing cries, she whispered Rafe’s name.

Her dress was ruined. The silk underslip was still

intact; her stockings were probably ruined. And if she

had just told Rafer about that call during the afternoon,

then she wouldn’t have been alone. And no one would

have ever gotten the jump on Rafer as he had on her.

Oh God, where was Rafe?

She was cold and so scared. The entire world

was spinning much too fast, and all she wanted to do

was make the twisting, spinning motions cease

before she began retching all over her pristine

wooden floor.

“Cambria?” She heard Archer’s yell as he rushed

through the opened front door.

She tried to lift her head as he came to a hard,

shocked stop. It wobbled on her shoulders, though,

causing her sight to careen wildly once again,

dragging a moan from her lips. Instantly he was

kneeling in front of her, his hands and his gaze going

over her quickly.

“Are you okay?” He touched her forehead. The

brief touch sent a wave of pain tearing through her,

causing her to flinch and jerk her head back a second

before she began gagging from the revolving room.

She could taste blood in her mouth. The taste of

it added to the sickening, retching sensation gripping

her stomach. If everything would just slow down. If it

would just stop spinning for more than a second or

two, then she could find her balance.

Dizziness rushed over her again, forcing her to

put her head down, to swallow desperately and fight

the sickness threatening to overwhelm her.

“Did you get him?” she finally gasped weakly

when she could lift her head to try to focus on Archer.

He looked like he was wavering, slithering from side

to side like a cobra attempting to mesmerize her.

Rather than mesmerizing her, it only made her

feel sicker, more confused.

Frowning, she knew something was wrong but

was having a hell of a time concentrating on what.

She knew she was ill, that the blows to her head

hadn’t been a good thing.

“How many, Cami?” he was yelling at her, holding

up his hand. Or something. He was holding something

up in front of her face.

She tried to focus, blinking, almost whimpering at

the disorientation and the pain surging through her

head once again.

Oh God, she hated not being able to concentrate,

unable to think or to rationalize.

“How many?” Archer yelled at her again.

How many?

“Two Archers,” she whispered, dazed as she laid

her head against her arm once again, wondering why

she kept seeing two of him when she knew there was

only one. Archer didn’t even have a brother, let alone

a twin.

“Archer, I don’t feel well,” she whispered,

suddenly terribly frightened of the disorientation she

couldn’t seem to shake.

“Ambulance is on its way, Cami.” His hands

clasped her face, forcing her to tilt her head back as

the room swam around her and pure agony raced

through her temples, her eyes, shooting to the back of

her neck.

She tried to swat at his hand, to scream, but all

that came out was a weak whimper. “Rafer.”

“It’s Archer, Cami. Fuck, where is that

ambulance?”

Who was he talking to? Please, not Martin

Eisner. Martin would tell her uncle, and her uncle and

Aunt Ella would rush over.

Ella would fuss over her.

Her mother used to fuss over her.

Uncle Eddy would threaten to kill the bastard, and

he would mean it.

She needed Rafer.

“Archer.” She couldn’t hold her head up, could

barely breathe enough to force out a single word:

“Rafer.”

She could see the darkness edging in on her

vision.

“Did Rafer do this, Cami?” Shock, fury, it all filled

his voice.

Why was he so angry? Rafer had slipped into her

bedroom. She had tried to tell him they couldn’t do

this. They couldn’t slip around, and he didn’t listen to

her any more than her own body did.

She could hear someone else beyond her vision,

yelling about Rafer.

She tried to shake her head.

“Get Rafer,” she whispered. “Have to tell—”

She had to tell Rafer. She had to warn him.

“Cami, answer me, damn you!” Archer was

yelling at her. Archer had never yelled at her. “Cami,

did Rafer do this?”

She needed Rafer. There were too many voices

screaming in her head. Or was that around her head?

The darkness was coming closer, closer. And

she had to warn Rafer.

“Warn Rafer—,” she could barely whisper. It was

a breath of a sound, the last of her energy before she

faced nothingness.

Oh God, was this how Jaymi had felt when she

died? Could Cami feel that complete absence of

being before she left the world? She sobbed, crying

out for the hell her sister must have endured and

terrified of facing it herself. Of being unable to avoid it

and unable to force herself away from it.

That dark, icy nothingness closed over her, like a

freezing, merciless veil of ice. There was nothing

comforting, nothing gentle, about it. It was terribly

frightening, dragging her into it as she fought

helplessly to retain consciousness, to warn Rafer.

Someone needed to warn Rafer.

* * *

Dawn was rolling over the mountains when Rafer

finally gave up the battle to sleep, rose, showered,

and dressed for the day. He was putting on coffee

when Logan and Crowe made their way from their

rooms, their distinctly irritated looks directed straight

at him.

“I didn’t wake you,” he informed them both as he

set out enough cups for the three of them.

“We didn’t say you had,” Logan growled,

definitely testy. He never had cared much for early

mornings.

“Then what are you doing awake?” Rafe poured

the coffee.

“Hell if I know, probably because you’re awake,”

Crowe grunted as he hitched the loose cotton pants

he wore a little closer to his hips and scratched at his

bare, scarred chest.

God, Rafe wished Crowe would wear a shirt. The

sight of those scars on his chest and back was too

much for Rafe to bear to look at. But saying anything

to Crowe, pointing it out, or reminding him of it wasn’t

always a good idea. Though how he could forget

about it Rafe had never understood.

Logan plopped down in the seat across from

Rafe, the gray running shorts he wore riding almost as

low as Crowe’s pants as he yawned and scratched at

the side of his rough jaw. The closely cropped beard,

a shade or two darker than his hair, was never

completely shaved free of his face. Unlike Crowe,

Logan preferred to hide his scars.

The mementos they had from their teenage years

sucked.

Rafer didn’t carry physical scars; he instead

carried the mental scars. None of them had escaped

unscathed from the hatred and merciless need for

revenge that had been exacted on each of them in

one form or another.

“We have two investors coming in day after

tomorrow,” Crowe reminded them both as he sipped

at the coffee. “Do you think we could get a cook out

here or something?” He looked around the kitchen

with a look of hope.

Poor Crowe, he’d gotten used to breakfast the

short time he’d been in Boston with Ryan’s family.

Ryan Calvert, the lost Callahan brother, had been

adopted by a family in Boston while his older brothers

were in the military. He hadn’t found the family forced

to give him up until well after his brothers’ deaths. But

he’d been there in time to save the nephews he hadn’t

known he’d had.

“I doubt it,” Rafe told Crowe, sipping at his coffee

as he rose from the chair again and paced to the

kitchen window.

“What the fuck are you looking for, Rafe?” Logan

finally burst out. “You did that half the night, until we

went to bed, and now you’re starting that shit again.

Are you on speed or something?”

Hell if Rafe knew what was wrong with him.

He kept expecting … something. Someone.

Cami. And the thought of Cami had a chill tearing

up his spine. Son of a bitch, he couldn’t figure out

what the hell was wrong.

Rafe stared down the road again, his brows

drawn into a frown as he tried to put together the

pieces of what was making him so crazy.

Not that the nerve-wracking emotions made

sense, but he’d learned a long time ago not to expect

anything in Corbin County to actually make sense.

Because it wasn’t going to happen.

And nothing concerning Cami ever made sense.

One thing was for sure, though; he had to see

her. Just as fast as he could get there, he suddenly

thought. Back door, front door, slipping through the

basement window, it didn’t fucking matter. He should

have gone last night. He should have turned around

the second this feeling had hit him like a punch in the

gut.

Hell, he should have never returned to the ranch

last night. What he should have done was headed

straight to her house, slipped in, crawled into that big

bed beside her, and fucked her until they were both

exhausted. Maybe then he could have slept. One thing

was for damned certain, he wasn’t sleeping now. And

he wouldn’t sleep until he got to her. Until he assured

himself she was okay.

It was that thought. That feeling that suddenly had

adrenaline surging through him and his body tensing

to rush to dress and leave.

As he started to turn from the window he

glimpsed a flash of black and orange amid the newly

budding trees and paused until the vehicle came into