Page 79 of Wicked Nightmare

I blinked, forcing myself to meet his gaze. Right. Escape. Priority number fucking one. I nodded.

"Okay," I said, taking a shaky breath. "Okay, let's bounce."

Cam was already moving, striding into the kitchen with purpose. "Time to light this fucker up," he said, his long fingers twisting the knobs on the gas stove.

The hiss of escaping gas filled the air. My mind wouldn't shut the fuck up, screaming at me, drowning out all sense of thought.

"Matches?" I croaked, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Cam produced a book of matches from his pocket. "Always prepared, baby. Well, except the gloves, I guess."

As he struck the match, the small flame dancing in the dark, I couldn't help but think of Lillianna. My... no, I couldn't say it. Not out loud. We were about to burn down her home. It made me feel some kind of way. Like I shouldn't. Even if Janine was a horrific person, this was the place where she raised my girl.

Except that mom was Janine. And Janine was Chimera. And the curtains were gone and the girl was gone and the whole thing had been a set piece in a play I'd been watching from the wrong side of the glass, just like I'd feared.

"Cam," I whispered, uncertainty creeping into my voice. "Are we sure about this?"

His eyes locked onto mine. "It's us or them, Lakey. Always has been."

The match fell, and we ran just as all hell broke loose. Men streamed into the front of the house, shouting at each other, but I didn't take time to stop and look.

We ran into someone's back yard, over some bushes, slamming through a gate. I was on autopilot, following Cam's large frame as he led the way, looping this way and that while I clutched those damn records to my chest. My legs burned. My lungs burned. The cold air bit at my face and I could hear the shouts behind us, getting fainter but not gone. Not yet.

Cam cut through an alley between two houses, then across a darkened park, then through a parking lot behind a closed hardware store. He moved with the confidence of someone who'd mapped every escape route in a three-mile radius, which he probably had. That's what Cam did. While I danced and obsessed and killed impulsively, he mapped exits. He counted cameras. He memorized license plates. He was the reason we were still alive and I was the reason we had something to fight for.

Someone to fight for.

Almost back at our bikes, we finally slowed to a brisk walk, the air sucking into my lungs in a rush. I was paralyzed, unable to think.

"Let's go. Lakey, you need to move. I think we lost them. For now, anyway. Baby, come on, please. You need to help me out here," Cam said, finally stopping in front of our bikes. His eyes never left the road as he sat me on mine, slipping on my helmet before getting on his and doing the same.

I started my bike and shot off, watching our shitty neighborhood come into view.

We pulled up to our crappy apartment complex and headed down to parking, the reality of what we'd just done started to sink in. My hands were shaking, and not in the fun way they usually did after a job.

"Fuck," I said, fumbling with my helmet. Cam's hand shot out, steadying mine.

"Hey. We’re okay. You're okay."

I met his gaze, those dark eyes that had seen me through hell and back. "Am I?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. "Cam, if that little girl is... if she’s..."

He cut me off with a sharp look. "Don't go there, Lakey. Not yet. We need more intel."

I nodded, swallowing hard.

We made our way up to our place in silence. As soon as the door closed behind us, I headed straight for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. Cam didn't stop me.

"So," I said, after taking a long pull that burned all the way down. "What now?"

Cam ran a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than I'd seen him in years. "Jesus, Lakey, just..." Something must have been in my eyes because he sighed. "We find Janine, I guess. I'm sure Skeeter's laptop has more information. I've barely scratched the surface. Make her talk."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And if she won't?"

His eyes met mine. "Then we make her scream."

Blood. Pain. Torture. This, at least, I understood. This, I could handle. This was the language I spoke, the only one that never let me down.

"Sounds like a party," I said, raising my glass. "To family reunions."