Page 37

Cam

The smell of bacon hits me first.

It’s thick, smoky, and sweet, like heaven in a pan.

I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms as I watch Paigelynn move around the kitchen.

She’s wearing an oversized sweater, her hair tied back in a loose braid, and there’s flour smudged on her cheek.

Butter is sprawled on the floor beside her, tail still as he naps, while Winnie watches from a chair, looking like the queen of everything.

“You’re going to burn the bacon,” I say, grinning.

She glances over her shoulder, giving me a mock glare. “I am not,” she says, waving the spatula at me like it’s a weapon. “And if I do, I’ll blame you for distracting me.”

“Fair enough,” I say, walking over and leaning against the counter. “But if you burn the pancakes, we’re going to have a serious problem.”

She rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile tugging at her lips. “For your information, the pancakes are perfect,” she says, flipping one onto a plate with a dramatic flourish. “And I’m not burning the bacon. I like it crispy.”

“Crispy’s good,” I say, reaching for a piece.

She smacks my hand with the spatula, laughing when I pull back. “Not yet! Wait until I’m done.”

I raise my hands in mock surrender and take a seat at the small table by the window. The farm outside is quiet, the fields blanketed with fresh snow. It’s peaceful here. More peaceful than anywhere I’ve ever been.

The air smells clean, and the only sounds are the faint hum of the heater and the occasional whuff from Butter as he dreams.

“Coffee?” Paigelynn asks, setting a steaming mug in front of me.

“You’re spoiling me,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug and letting the warmth seep in. “I could get used to this.”

She sets the plate of pancakes and bacon down, then sits across from me with her own plate. “You’d better get used to it,” she says, pouring syrup over her stack. The syrup glistens, thick and golden, pooling at the edges of the pancakes.

She takes a bite, closing her eyes and letting out a contented sigh. “This is so good. I can see why this was forbidden.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re adorable.”

She opens one eye, fixing me with a playful glare. “I’m not adorable. I’m a pancake artist.”

“You’re something, all right,” I say, grinning as I dig into my own plate. The pancakes are fluffy, the bacon perfectly crispy, and the syrup is so sweet it’s almost sinful.

But the best part is watching Paigelynn eat without hesitation, without counting calories or second-guessing herself. She takes another bite, her face lighting up with pure joy.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

“I could eat this every day,” she says through a mouthful of pancake. “Maple syrup is the best thing ever. Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?”

“Because they were terrible people, depriving you of it,” I say simply. “Now you know.”

She laughs, the sound light and free, and my chest feels tight in the best way. For so long, I worried if she’d ever find this kind of happiness, this kind of peace.

Watching her now, I know we made it.

We’re here.

We’re free.

After breakfast, we clean up together, Winnie trotting around our feet like a tiny supervisor.

Butter follows us to the living room, flopping down in front of the fireplace while Paigelynn grabs a blanket and curls up on the couch.

She’s been obsessed with documentaries lately, soaking up knowledge like a sponge.

Today, it’s something about ancient Egypt, the narrator’s voice calm and soothing as it fills the room.

She pulls the blanket over her legs, her eyes glued to the screen. “Did you know they used to bury servants with pharaohs so they’d have help in the afterlife?” she asks, her tone half horrified, half fascinated.

“I did not,” I say, settling beside her. “But now I know not to sign up for anything involving pyramids.”

She laughs, leaning against me, her head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, holding her close, and we sit like that for a while, letting the warmth of the fire and the hum of the documentary fill the silence.

“I love you,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but sure.

I smile, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I love you too.”

The words come easily now, like breathing. We say them often, casually, but they never lose their meaning. Every time I hear them, they settle deep in my chest, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table, pulling me from the moment. I glance at the screen and see it’s an encrypted message from Debbie. My chest tightens slightly as I read the text.

No place is 100% safe. Niall Donegal sold his shares in the company to a big pharmaceutical conglomerate. Doesn’t mean they’re not still watching. Stay alert.

I let out a slow breath, my thumb hovering over the screen before I lock the phone and set it down. Fuck. If Niall is selling off Synergy900, what's next?

Paigelynn looks up at me, her brow furrowing. “What is it?” she asks.

“Just Debbie,” I say, forcing a smile. “She’s keeping us updated. Niall sold his shares in the company.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and I can see the worry flicker in her eyes. “They’re still out there,” she says quietly.

“Of course. But they’re weaker than ever. And we’ve got each other. That’s what matters.”

She nods, leaning back against me. I can feel the tension in her shoulders. I hold her tighter, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” I say softly. “Not ever.”

Her gaze softens, and she looks up at me with those big, trusting eyes. “I know,” she says. “I trust you.”

The words hit me harder than I expect, and for a moment, I just look at her, my chest tight with everything I feel.

"And I also know it's killing you not to ask Debbie to give you a briefing on our safety," she says with a sad laugh. "Go. Do your secret text thing."

The smell of fresh snow mixes with the wood smoke curling out of the farmhouse chimney as I step out onto the porch, pulling my jacket tighter against the cold. My phone buzzes in my pocket, Debbie’s name lighting up the screen. I glance back inside through the window.

Paigelynn is curled up on the couch, Winnie tucked into the crook of her lap while Butter snoozes by the fire. She’s so focused on the documentary playing—something about ocean life now—that she doesn’t notice me watching her.

Good. I don’t want her to hear this conversation.

I swipe to open the encrypted message thread with Debbie, already knowing this isn’t going to be a casual update. I start typing quickly, my fingers clumsy in the cold.

Me: What’s the current threat level? Any movement from Niall or the cabal?

Her reply comes almost instantly. Debbie’s always fast.

Debbie: Minimal on Niall. He’s lying low. The buyout is keeping him busy. But we’ve found something else.

I frown, my thumb hesitating before I type back.

Me: Found what?

This time, the response takes longer. The ellipsis on the screen blinks for what feels like forever. When her message finally comes through, I feel the cold settle deeper in my chest.

Debbie: We tracked down one of the women with Paigelynn’s genetic profile. She’s still in the cult.

I exhale sharply, the frosty air stinging my lungs. My fingers move faster now.

Me: Where? What’s her situation?

Debbie: She’s in the compound outside of Chicago. High-ranking in their inner circle. She’s been fully indoctrinated.

I mutter a curse under my breath, pacing the length of the porch. I feel the anger rise, hot and sharp, but I push it down. This isn’t the time to lose my head.

Me: Did you talk to her?

Debbie’s response is immediate, and it’s as bad as I feared.

Debbie: We tried. We approached her carefully, explained who we were, what the cabal really is. She didn’t listen. Called the cops on my team and asked for a restraining order. Blew the cover on two great agents.

I stop pacing, my jaw clenching. A restraining order. She doesn’t know who she’s protecting, who she’s really serving. Or maybe she does, and the brainwashing is so deep she can’t see beyond it.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, leaning against the railing. The wood creaks under my weight, but I don’t move. My hands clench the phone so tightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t snap.

Me: What now?

Debbie’s reply comes slower this time, her usual confidence tempered with caution.

Debbie: We don’t push her. Not yet. But we need to start thinking about how to reach the others. Paigelynn might be the key.

The words sit heavy in my chest, like a punch I wasn’t expecting. I glance back through the window, at Paigelynn’s calm face as she absently strokes Winnie’s tiny head.

She looks so peaceful. So happy. I can’t bring this to her.

Not yet.

Not when she’s just starting to heal.

Me: You want her to talk to them? You think she’s ready for that?

Debbie’s response is blunt.

Debbie: That’s not my call. She’s the only one who’s been through it and come out on the other side. If anyone can reach them, it’s her. But only if she’s emotionally prepared. Won't work otherwise.

I stare at the screen, her words sinking in like stones in water. Emotionally prepared. How could she be? She’s spent years clawing her way out of this nightmare, and now they want her to walk back into it?

My jaw tightens, and I shake my head. I don’t care what Debbie thinks.

This isn’t happening.

Me: I don’t know if I can let her do this.

Debbie’s reply is short.

Debbie: It’s not about you. It’s about her. Ask her if she’s ready.

I lock the phone and shove it into my pocket, my frustration boiling just beneath the surface.

Ask her if she’s ready. Like it’s that simple.

Like it won’t tear her apart to even think about going back to that world.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The cold air burns my lungs, but it helps clear my head. Finally, I push off the railing and step back inside.

The warmth of the living room is almost overwhelming after the chill outside. Butter lifts his head lazily, his tail thumping once against the rug before he settles back down.

Paigelynn looks up as I walk in, her face lighting up with a soft smile.

“Everything okay?” she asks, her voice light but curious.

“Yeah,” I lie, sitting down beside her on the couch. Winnie stirs in her lap, letting out a tiny yawn before curling tighter against her. Paigelynn strokes her fur absently, her gaze shifting back to me. She can tell something’s wrong.

“What is it?” she asks, her smile fading slightly.

I hesitate, my jaw tightening. I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want to ruin the peace she’s finally found. Debbie’s words echo in my mind:

Ask her if she’s ready.

"Cam?"

"Mmm?"

"You're hiding something."

I close my eyes. She nudges me.

"No secrets," she insists.

Oh, boy. Here we go.

“We found someone,” I say finally, my voice low.

Her brow furrows. “Someone like me?”

I nod, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees. “She’s still in the cult,” I say. “They tried to talk to her, to explain what’s really going on, but she wouldn’t listen. She called the cops on Debbie’s team. Asked for a restraining order.”

Paigelynn’s hand stills on Winnie’s fur, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “She called the police?” she whispers.

“She’s still brainwashed,” I say. “Still deep in it.”

“How? You ended the cult.”

“No,” I explain, sad at her words. “I wish it were that simple. There are too many women like you. Makiah and Dominic have – had a whole network of cells out there.”

“Cells?”

“Separate little groups designed to support the organ target.”

“That would be... me?”

“Right. We were able to find a group of you, but for the first three women, we figured it out too late. You’re the first one we found and were able to save.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes dropping to her lap. “That could’ve been me,” she says softly. “If you hadn’t found me... that could’ve been me.”

I reach for her hand, covering it with mine. “But it’s not,” I say firmly. “You got out. You’re free.”

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mix of emotions—sadness, anger, determination. “What happens now?” she asks.

I hesitate, my thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Debbie thinks you might be able to help,” I say carefully. “She thinks you’re the only one who can reach them.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and I see the flicker of fear there. “She wants me to talk to them?” she asks, her voice trembling.

I nod, my chest tightening. “Only if you’re ready,” I say quickly. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

She looks away, her gaze distant. I can see the wheels turning in her mind, the way she’s already weighing the idea, considering it. Finally, she turns back to me, her voice quiet but steady. “What do you think?”

I hesitate, my grip tightening on her hand. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t want you to go through that again. I don’t want you to hurt yourself for this.”

She nods slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But if I can help them... if I can stop them from going through what I did...”

I shake my head, my jaw tightening. “It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, Paigelynn,” I say firmly. “You’ve already done so much. You’ve already saved so many.”

Her gaze softens, but the determination is still there. “I’ll think about it,” she says finally. “But if I do this, I need to be sure. For me. Not for them.”

I nod, pulling her into my arms. “For you,” I say softly. “Always for you.”

And as I hold her, I silently promise myself that no matter what she decides, I’ll be there to protect her.

Always.

Because I found her.

I saved her.

And I finally earned her.

:)

THANK YOU so much for reading Cam and Paigelynn’s final book. It’s the longest in the series and involves so many twists and turns.

I’m leaving this world open for more books - will Cam, Paigelynn, and Debbie find more of the Viking Virgins? Will the Donegals regroup and keep doing organ stealing evil?

Stay tuned…

If you enjoyed the Bloodline Trilogy, please leave a review. As you know, they’re so important for spreading the word about a series.