Page 61 of He Followed Me First

We wait. The girls huddle behind me, frozen in terror—some sobbing, others panting so heavily I worry they’ll collapse.

Footsteps echo just beyond the door, heavy in the wake of gunfire. A fresh wave of dread crawls up my spine. I pray it’s Cam—not one of the others.

“It’s okay,”

I whisper, more for myself than them, trying to anchor my erratic pulse as the bolt unlatches with a solid, metallic thud.

A figure fills the doorway—tall, broad, masked in black, armour glinting under the flickering overhead light.

I tense—unsure—until that voice rolls in, gravel-soft and familiar.

“It’s okay. We got them all.”

Cam.

My lungs flood with air. The pins and needles in my feet recede and I stumble forward, unsteady from adrenaline and relief, and wrap my arms around his neck.

He smells like cordite and heat—a mix of smoke, sweat, and survival—and I hold on like I might fall apart if I let go.

Like I’ve been waiting years to do it.

“Bloody hell, stalker boy—for a second I thought it wasn’t you.”

His gloved fingers trail along my spine, slow and deliberate, pulling me flush against him. My hip brushes the cold steel of the holstered sidearm strapped to his thigh—the other, heavier one angled downward like it’s waiting for permission to kill.

“You doubted me, trouble?”

he murmurs, voice low like it’s been raked over coals.

“I said I’d handle it.”

God, I want to drown in him—tongue first—but the balaclava steals that possibility. All I get is the intensity behind his eyes, those mismatched irises boring through me like truth serum.

“All clear,”

he says to his comms.

“Extraction can commence. Get all assets to the vehicles.”

I assume he’s talking to someone else—squad leader voice locked in—but he doesn’t confirm. Just presses his earpiece tighter and flashes the smallest wink.

That wink, paired with that armour, is now permanently inked into my memory.

He’s unfair levels of hot.

I should care about the cleanup, the logistics, the bodies cooling behind us. But all I can do is watch the way he moves—the swagger, the taut muscle under tactical gear.

He walks past and I catch myself staring at his ass.

And hell, it’s a work of art.

More of them pour into the room—identical shadows of Cam, masked and tactical, moving like extensions of the same force. They wordlessly begin lifting the women to their feet, each gesture efficient and careful. I nod to them, silent confirmation; this is your rescue.

The girls look wrecked. Gaunt, bruised, some barely conscious. But they’re still breathing—and if they’ve survived this long, they can survive a little more. I’ll see to that. Rebuild them, piece by piece, until Manticore’s ghost has no place left to cling.

Because if one of them doesn’t make it… that’s another win for Manticore. And I don’t plan on losing.

One by one, they’re escorted out—some limping, some too weak to walk at all. But there’s a flicker in their eyes, a spark I recognise from the day he saved me. That moment when you realise you’re actually free. When the world opens up past the pain.

And it’s all because of Cam—my man. My fucking hero.

Once they’re loaded into the van, Cam leans into the cab beside Talia, deep in conversation, no doubt dissecting next steps—the man loves a plan like he loves oxygen.

I stay behind.

I scan the devastation in the foyer; bodies scattered, limbs awkward, blood already drying under flickering overhead lights. Dead eyes stare through me. But I don’t flinch. I don’t feel sick. I feel light.

Because those bastards won’t touch another girl again. Ever.

And I want this feeling again. The rush. The clarity. The satisfaction of knowing we got them out—that we punched a hole in the dark. Until Manticore crumbles from the inside out, this is our mission.

I don’t know how he’s going to clean this mess or protect his cover, and I don’t need to. Cam’s a professional. This part isn’t mine. Mine is the girls.

And maybe, just maybe, saving them is saving me too. A slow healing by proxy. Cam’s carried the weight of it for too long. Now it’s my turn to shoulder it.

“Nell,”

Cam’s voice coils through me, low and grounding and I turn on instinct.

“Talia’s giving you a lift back to the house while I finish up here,”

he says.

“She and the girls will hole up at the safehouse. You’ve got the spare key—get inside and lock the door. I’ll come to you when I’m done.”

A gust slices through the flimsy fabric of my dress, biting at my legs, the false identity of a woman bound to serve stripped away in the wind.

“Here,”

Cam says, shrugging off his combat jacket and draping it over my shoulders, fastening it at the collar like armour. It’s heavier than I imagined.

“Thanks,”

I breathe, looking up at him with everything I can’t say out loud.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,”

he says with a smirk that lifts the corners of his face covering.

“Now get your ass home. Stay put.”

“Yes sir,”

I tease, throwing it back with a grin. His raised brow sends butterflies swarming through me—the good kind. The kind that remind you you’re alive.

Talia seemed warmer on the drive back—actually asked how I was feeling. I tried not to read into it. She was riding high off a successful op. But now, curled up in bed with a steaming cup of tea and Boomerang nestled in my lap, kneading the blanket like it’s the softest thing he’s ever touched, my mind starts spiralling through the night’s events.

And then it settles on him—the way he looked in that goddamn uniform, the way he owned every inch of space he walked through. I don’t know how I landed someone like that, but hell if I’m going to question it.

This pull I have toward him? It’s not fading. Not now, not ever. I’m already plotting our next date—proper downtime once things quiet down. I’ll cook steak, his favourite. I’ll wine and dine the shit out of him.

And later, I’ll show him exactly how things run in my bedroom.

He’ll follow my rules.

And if he doesn’t? Well… the rolling pin tucked safely under my side of the bed still has its charm. Worked once—I can make it work again.

As for Kyla… I’ll handle her. There’s only so long a woman can pine over someone who isn’t hers. She’ll move on. Until then, I’ll smile, nod, and keep my composure. It’s not weakness, it’s restraint. Maturity. She may be older, but I’m the one choosing dignity.

I flick on the TV, letting the white noise buffer my thoughts, and sink deeper into the pillow. My eyelids grow heavy as fatigue drapes over me, and for once, I slip into sleep untainted—no shadows, no flashbacks, no visits from ghosts.

Not even my uncle.

Just silence.

Cam’s voice rouses me, low and gravelled. It feels like I barely slept, but the amber streaks cutting through the curtains suggest otherwise.

I roll into him, dragging the sheets with me, pressing my bare skin to the warmth of his chest. My leg hooks over his hip, thigh grazing against the unmistakable hardness straining beneath his briefs.

He smells clean—showered—that spicy citrus gel he swears he hates but secretly loves. I borrow it sometimes, just to carry him with me when he’s not around.

“Good morning,”

I murmur, fingers tracing lazy paths down the ropework of veins in his arm before sliding between his fingers.

“Morning, trouble,”

he rasps, voice soaked in sleep.

“What time did you get in?”

I ask, rocking my hips into him just enough to let him know I’m awake and aware.

“Late,”

he mumbles, brushing my hair from my face.

“You were dead to the world, I didn’t want to wake you.”

His voice alone is like a drug. I can already feel the ache beginning, heat pooling low in my belly. I never sorted myself out last night—I was far too wired—and now it’s back with a vengeance.

“You should’ve woken me,”

I whisper, pressing closer. His hand slides down to grip the curve of my ass, fingers flexing like he’s remembering the way I moaned for him last time.

“That uniform last night?”

I say, lips brushing his jaw.

“You should wear it more often.”

His laugh rumbles beneath me, teasing my chest where it rests against his. I tip my face up and catch his smirk—tousled hair in his eyes, lips parted just enough to tempt.

“You earned more than just a show after last night,”

he says.

“You’ll be on the next op.”

“Really?”

I blink, heart kicking against my ribs.

“You want me there?”

“Who else can keep the girls grounded? There’s no one I trust more than you.”

I slide my hand beneath the sheet, fingers trailing the edge of his waistband, voice dropping into a smile.

“So, I’m your good girl and your second-in-command?”

He hums against my lips.

“And don’t forget—you follow orders now, trouble.”

“Unless I’m giving them,”

I reply, nipping at his lower lip.

God, I could get used to this.

It’s wild how far we’ve come. From tying him down in my flat with nothing but suspicion and fury, dead set on protecting my best friend from her alleged stalker… to this.

So much has happened since. Too much. But I’m done looking back. What matters now is the road ahead—the fights we still have to face, the shadows we’ll walk through together.

I’ll face every demon head-on. As long as he’s with me, I won’t flinch.

Fucking stalker boy. He’ll be the death of me one day.

But I’ll die with a smile on my face.