“You touch her again and I will fucking murder you!” I continue my assault while he curls up in the fetal position, covering his face.
“Okay, Cam. Ease up. You made your point.” Porter and another guy grab my arms, struggling to pull me off him.
When Derek stands, he wobbles, blood dripping from his face onto his shirt. God, he deserves so much worse.
“Don’t call her. Don’t go see her. You forget she even exists, do you understand me?” I shout, wiggling to get free so I can go after him again. The guys grip my arms tighter, keeping me in place.
“Get the fuck off the boat, Derek,” Porter yells. “You’re fired.”
His head rocks back. “Why? Because of what this dipshit said?” He points at me.
“This dipshit owns the marina, you fucking asshole,” I respond. “Go find somewhere else to work.”
“He’s right. They own the marina, but regardless, we don’t let men who hit women on this boat. You got off easy, because if it was one of my daughters you hit, you’d be fish food.” Porter points at the exit. “Now get off my fucking boat.”
Derek shakes his head. “This whole town is a shithole. Good luck finding anyone else who would wanna live here and work for you.” He walks over to the exit and gets off the boat.
“Boys, go get his stuff. I don’t want any reason to have him coming back,” Porter says.
A couple guys walk into the opening to the barracks. They return with a garbage bag and toss it onto the dock where Derek stands.
We all watch in silence as he leaves the marina. Once he’s gone, I pull out my phone.
Cam: Drop Chevelle off at home tonight. Don’t let her leave by herself.
Nikki: Okkkaaayyyy
I can tell she doesn’t know why, but she doesn’t ask any questions. Maybe she hasn’t seen Chevelle’s face yet. Regardless, I know for sure if Derek is waiting on Chevelle’s doorstep tonight, Logan will deal with him appropriately.
I apologize to Porter for the disruption, then head to my parents’ yacht to clean up.
A banging sound wakes me. “Cam!”
I open my eyes and blink a few times, trying to figure out where I am. My parents’ yacht, right. Fisher stands on the other side of the glass door wearing his sheriff’s uniform. I struggle to get up off the couch I crashed on. I might’ve won the fight with Derek, but he got in a few good shots too.
Fisher signals for me to open the sliding glass door.
“No shit,” I mumble and flick the lock, opening the glass and heading back to the couch.
“What the fuck, man? How could you do this to me?” His hands rest on his hips and he looks at me with a scowl.
I scowl back. “Do what to you?”
He pulls his handcuffs from the back of his belt. “Cameron Baker, you’re under arrest for the assault of Derek Latrell.”
“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” I push up off the couch. “Fish, man. You know I had to do it.”
“Save it for the interrogation. I’m so pissed that you put me in the position of having to come seek you out on an arrest warrant.” He takes my arms around to my back and handcuffs my wrists together.
“You know what he did to deserve it.”
Fisher isn’t listening. He gets on the radio to Johnson, telling him he found me and he’s bringing me to the station.
He lets me slide on my shoes, but I have no shirt.
“You can at least let me get dressed,” I say.
“I have to treat you like everyone else. I can’t give you special treatment because you’re my best friend.” He leads me out the sliding doors and off the yacht, which is tricky as hell in handcuffs.
After he gets me onto the pier, we walk toward the parking lot. He holds my arm as if I’m going to try to escape.
“I get you’re a tough-ass cop, but it’s me, Fish. Is this a joke? You of all people should understand why I’d go after him.”
“Okay, let’s hear it then.”
I open my mouth to respond, but my dad is stalking down the pier and stops in front of us. “What is this about now?” He blows out a breath, looking incredulous.
“Cam’s being arrested for assault,” Fisher says.
My dad runs his hand down the back of his neck and, if possible, his cheeks get even redder. “Don’t use your one call on me.”
“You don’t get it—”
He inches closer, lowering his voice since a crowd is forming. “What I don’t get is why you can’t put your nose down and just do your job. Learn the business and take it over. Now you’re going to have a record. I’m done with it all, Cam. This is the last straw.”
“But—”
“It’s over. I’m taking back your apartment and your trust fund. Find your own place to live. I’m done babying you.”
“Dad, you don’t—”
My dad points his finger in my face. “Time to man up, son. You’re on your own.”
He walks by me, and Fisher sighs, shaking his head.
“Let’s go.” Fisher tugs on my arm and pulls me forward.
We walk up the ramp to the parking lot. He puts me in the back seat of the sheriff’s truck while all the business owners in the downtown circle come out to figure out what all the commotion is about.
How am I the only one who knows Derek hit Chevelle? Didn’t she tell her family after I left? Surely if Fisher knew the situation, he wouldn’t be this pissed at me.
He buckles me in with a scathing look on his face, then he slams the door and rounds the truck to get in the driver’s side. A few people ask him questions, but he doesn’t answer, starting the ignition and pulling away toward the sheriff’s station. I stare out the window, thankful he hasn’t put on the sirens and caused more of a spectacle.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the interrogation room, but not with Fisher. He said that since his little sister’s boyfriend was involved, he had to recuse himself, so he left me with Mato. At least my hands are free of the cuffs now.
“Can I please get a shirt?”
Mato rocks back in his chair, notepad in front of him. “Yeah, I’ll get you one. But tell me why you attacked Derek.”
“If Fisher would’ve let me explain, I would’ve told him. Derek hit Chevelle.”
The two front legs of Mato’s chair hit the floor and he stares at me for a beat. “Seriously?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Do I go around town hitting people? No.”
“You can’t deny the bar fights you get into sometimes.”
“It’s been almost a decade, Mato.”
“Some reputations are hard to get rid of.” He stands and straightens his belt. “I’ll be back.”
I watch him through the window as he goes over to where Fisher’s standing in the hallway. I know the minute he tells him because Fisher glances in my direction. I shake my head in disappointment that he, of all people, didn’t let me explain. Fish and his damn temper.
He stomps down the hallway, opens the door of the room I’m in, and slams it shut. “Seriously?”
I hold up my hand. “Swear to God.”