Page 45 of Wicked Nightmare

Cam's eyes were fixed on me, watching every move. "You sure you wanna see what they did to you?" he asked, his voice gruff but laced with a concern only I ever got to hear.

I shot him a look that could've melted silver. "You know me better than that, Axley. I've bathed in the blood of the innocent. Well, innocent-ISH. I wanna know everything."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Cam's face. "Atta girl.”

I handed him Lydia’s envelope, his hand coming to rest on mine for a brief moment. A silent understanding passed between us, years of shared darkness and twisted loyalty condensed into a single look.

My throat worked as I tried to swallow around the lump that seemed to have grown there. I glanced around the dimly lit room, my gaze finally resting on the second envelope. My name glared back at me in small black letters.

"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

Cam took a step back and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Let's see what they carved out of you. Whatever it is, we can figure out something fun for them, repay the kindness, like his holy Saint would do and all that."

I snorted. "Yeah, by leaving a trail of body parts, a cute little limb trail to where we will be waiting."

He smirked, licking his teeth in a savage display. "Is there any other way?"

I reached for my envelope, my fingers trembling slightly. It felt like a fucking anvil in my hands. Whatever was inside, it was gonna mess me up, but I had to know. Had to face whatever sick, twisted things they'd done.

This envelope had my name on it. Not Lakey, Bed 1. My full name. Someone had written it carefully, in neat handwriting, like they were labeling a file they expected to revisit. Like I was someone special.

The thought made my blood run cold and hot at the same time. Cold because of what it meant. Hot because of what I was going to do about it.

"Here goes nothing," I said, turning the envelope over to expose the seal. "Let's see what kind of fucked up surprises these psychos left for me."

Cam couldn't stand still as I stared, unable to make the first move to open it, coming to sit on the office chair just to the left of the desk. He watched me, eyes narrowed as I turned the envelope around in my hands.

Once. Twice. Three times.

I grunted. "Fuck, this is harder than I thought it'd be."

It shouldn't be. I'd killed twenty-eight people. I'd slit throats and watched light leave eyes and dumped bodies off cliffs and slept soundly afterward. But opening an envelope with my name on it in a basement where they'd carved a baby out of my friend was somehow the hardest thing I'd ever done.

Because the bodies I left behind were strangers.

This one was mine.

"C'mere, baby girl, let me help you."

Chapter Fifteen: Cam

I pulled Lakey onto my lap, her small frame fitting perfectly against my chest. The worn leather of the chair creaked as I shifted. Nuzzling into her hair, I breathed deeply. Sure, she smelled like the death that permeated the air, but she also had her usual musk. It soothed me. Always had.

"Well, sweetheart, think about it like a party favor," I drawled, eyeing the envelope clutched in her hands.

Lakey's light blue eyes met mine, a hint of mischief dancing behind the fear. "This one’s addressed to me. Oh, still my beating heart, I simply cannot wait to open it. Maybe it’ll come with a deed to this here beautiful property. Wouldn’t that be grand, my darl?" She’d forced her voice to sound like a southern belle, squirming in my lap as she bowed to the otherwise empty room.

I chuckled, tightening my arms around her. Fuck, I loved this woman—scars, psychopathy, and all. My little golden retriever. Their vicious black cat. She never failed to show the strength behind her trauma, even if that strength sometimes came at the cost of someone else’s life.

"Open it," I bit her neck hard, trying to keep her in that same, strong frame of mind. "Let's see what skeletons are rattling around in there." She always calmed in my arms, and hopefully, it proved to be the same in a few minutes.

Lakey's nimble fingers carefully tore open the envelope. Her breath hitched as she pulled out the first photograph. My body went rigid, something dark bubbling up inside me as I took in the image.

There was my girl, sprawled out on a cold metal gurney. Vulnerable. Exposed.

Used.

"Well, that's certainly not my best angle," Lakey quipped, but I heard the tremor in her voice. “God, it looks like I have 4 chins. Why wouldn’t they pose me better? You think they actually wanked to this? Gross.”