43. Forty-Three Cam
Forty-Three: Cam
T he door slammed behind me, the walls shaking from the force. I’d been sitting outside with Lakey and the next second my vision went white as a new flashback played out. Kyle's words echoed in my head, mixing with flashes of blood and screams from that damn hunting trip. I paced the room like a caged animal, my fists clenching and unclenching as I tried to push the memories away.
Me, watching Lakey as they had her fighting against two grown men with just her karambits to protect her. The feral grin splitting over her face as they circled her. A fist connecting with her jaw just as she sliced downwards, cutting his face open.
"Fuck!" I growled, running my hands through my hair. The room felt too small, closing in on me. My muscles were coiled tight, ready to snap at any moment.
My fist pounded on my temple, trying to force the picture away — the way she jumped on his back as the other rained fists on her spine. But all she did was smile, bringing her knives down and up in an X, killing one before she jumped, rolled and turned to face the other. I couldn’t protect her, even if she didn’t need it. They made me watch as my other half was thrown into hell, again and again. No . I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge the thoughts.
My breath came in ragged gasps as I stalked back and forth. Four steps one way, turn, four steps back. Over and over. But it wasn't enough to quiet my mind.
"You're losing it, Axley," I muttered to myself. "Fucking man up."
But I couldn't. The memories kept flooding in, threatening to drown me. I needed an outlet, something to anchor me before I completely lost control. Where the hell was Lakey ? She always knew how to pull me back from the edge.
As if on cue, the door creaked open. I whirled around, ready to lash out at whoever dared interrupt me. But it was her. My dark angel. My salvation and my damnation all wrapped up in one beautiful, deadly package.
Her eyes met mine, and in that moment, I saw my own darkness reflected back at me. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to. Lakey had always been able to read me like a book.
I stalked towards her; my intentions clear in every line of my body. She stood her ground, chin raised in that defiant way of hers. Daring me. Challenging me.
"I need you," I growled, my voice low and dangerous. It wasn't a request. It was a demand.
A small smile played at the corners of her lips. "Then take me," she replied simply.
And I had every intention to do just that.
I gripped her arms, pulling her roughly against me. Her body molded to mine, familiar and grounding. But even as I crushed my lips to hers, tasting the metallic tang of blood as our teeth clashed, I couldn't escape the terror that haunted me.
The clinical atmosphere of the facility flashed behind my eyelids. The sharp scent of bleach burned my nostrils, mixing with Lakey's pheromones in a dizzying cocktail. I could hear the cold, unphased voices of the researchers, their words echoing in my skull.
"Patient Y, proceed with the test."
I growled, biting down hard on Lakey's lower lip. She gasped, her nails digging into my back, almost enough to ground me in the present. But it wasn't enough to banish the ghosts of my past.
I needed more. More pain. More fury. More righteous indignation.
I saw myself, small and terrified, strapped to a cold metal table. Electrodes attached to my temples, my chest, my arms. The fear was paralyzing, but I knew better than to cry out. Crying only made things worse.
"Fuck," I hissed, breaking away from Lakey's kiss. My hands shook as I fumbled with the hem of her shirt, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Then I pulled back. No. I was dangerous right now. Unpredictable. I needed a minute. "I can't... I can't stop seeing it."
Lakey's eyes met mine, understanding and hunger warring in their depths. "Then don't stop," she whispered. "Show me. Make me feel it."
I hesitated for a moment, torn between the urge to protect her and the desperate need to purge these memories from my system. But Lakey had always been stronger than she looked. She could take my pain. She wanted to see it.
So, I let go.
I roared, the sound tearing from my throat as raw and jagged as the pain flooding my mind. My fist connected with the wall, plaster crumbling under the impact. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough to silence the screams echoing in my head.
I grabbed the nearest object - a lamp - and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the opposite wall, raining glass and ceramic shards onto the floor. The destruction felt good, cathartic. I needed more.
The nightstand went next, drawers spilling their contents as it crashed to the ground. I kicked at the scattered debris, my vision blurred by a red haze of rage and remembered terror.
"You fuckers," I snarled, tearing at the bedsheets. "You goddamn monsters!"
She let me get it all out, knowing once the storm was over, she’d take my violence in measures of love. She didn't speak, didn't try to stop me. She just sat, watching me with those unnervingly calm blue eyes.
Part of me wanted to lash out at her, to make her feel a fraction of the pain tearing me apart. But even in my frenzy, I couldn't bring myself to hurt her. Not Lakey. Never Lakey.
Instead, I slumped to the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of our room. "Why?" I choked out. "Why the fuck are you just sitting there? How are you not raging? How are you not breaking?"
I felt broken. Torn apart. This gaping mess of a hole that hadn’t existed before this. I hated it. I wanted to shove it all back, to push the demons back in their cage, but it was too late. Their hands were clawing at me, pulling me down into the depths with them.
Her silence was deafening, her steady gaze an anchor in the storm of my emotions. I wanted to shake her, to provoke a reaction, anything to distract me, to hurt me. I couldn't look away from her eyes. Those big, round eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now held a depth I rarely saw. Her calmness won out and my breathing slowed, my chest heaving as I tried to regain some semblance of balance. It was like staring into a calm ocean, one that could drown you if you weren't careful.
"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. My fingers were shaking. "I really made a mess, didn't I?"
Lakey's lips quirked into a small smile. She didn't say a word, but her hand reached out, fingers brushing against my cheek. The touch was electric, pulling me back to myself in a way nothing else could.
I leaned into her hand, closing my eyes. The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it wasn't consuming me anymore. "You always know, don't you?" I said softly. "You always know what I need."
When I opened my eyes again, Lakey's gaze had changed. There was understanding there, and something darker. Something needy. She shifted on the bed, her body language an open invitation.
"Lakey," I growled, a warning and a plea all at once. "You don't have to do this."
But her eyes never wavered. They bore into me, challenging and comforting all at once. Take what you need, they seemed to say . I'm here. I can take it.
My hands clenched into fists. "You sure about this, sweetheart? 'Cause I'm not feeling too gentle right now."
Her only response was to lean back on the bed, a silent offering. And God help me, I couldn't resist.
I lunged forward, pinning Lakey to the bed with bruising force. My mouth crashed against hers, all teeth and tongue, sucking on the blood that had collected on her bottom lip. She gasped, arching into me, her nails scoring down my back.
"Fuck," I growled, tearing at her clothes. "I need—"
"I know," she breathed, her voice a soothing balm even as her actions stoked the fire within me. "Take it, Cam. Take what you need."
I didn't need to be told twice. My hands were everywhere, rough and demanding, leaving marks that would bloom into bruises come morning. Lakey met my aggression with equal fervor, her body molding to mine as if we were two pieces of a bloody puzzle.
As I entered her with brutal force, those memories still playing out in front of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they kept coming.
"Look at me," Lakey commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos in my head.
I obeyed, my gaze locking with hers as I continued to move. Her eyes were clear, unflinching, filled with a twisted sort of love that matched my own.
My hand found her throat, fingers tightening instinctively. I squeezed before releasing.
Lakey's lips curled into a serene smile, even as her breath hitched. "Give me more," she whispered.
I increased the pressure, watching as her eyes fluttered but never lost their focus. My perfect little psycho. In that moment, with my hand around her throat, squeezing the life out of her, and her unwavering trust in her eyes, I felt anchored. The memories receded, replaced by the here and now — Lakey beneath me, taking everything I had to give and asking for more.
I felt the rage and pain start to ebb, my grip on her throat loosening. Her presence beneath me became a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of that dark abyss in my mind.
"I've got you," she murmured, her fingers tracing the scars on my back.
I shuddered, burying my face in her neck. "Fuck, Lakes," I breathed, my movements becoming less frantic, more deliberate. “I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t,” she arched into me, a soft moan escaping her lips. "That's it, baby. Let it all out."
I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. Those light blue eyes that could go from innocent to murderous in a heartbeat were now filled with nothing but warmth and understanding. It was a look reserved only for me.
"You're too good to me," I muttered, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to her lips.
Lakey snorted, nipping at my lower lip. "I'm not good at all, Cam. You know that better than anyone."
I couldn't help but chuckle, even as I felt the familiar tension building in my core. "Guess that makes us perfect for each other, huh?"
Her answer was cut off by a gasp as I hit just the right spot. I could feel her tightening around me, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Fuck, I'm close," I growled, picking up the pace again.
Lakey's eyes locked with mine, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Then let go, baby. Give it to me. I've got you."
Those words, coupled with the sight of her beneath me, pushed me over the edge. I came with a shout, my entire body shuddering as waves of pleasure washed over me. Through the haze, I felt Lakey follow, her body arching off the bed as she cried out my name.
I collapsed onto her, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The chaos in my mind had quieted to a dull whisper, leaving behind an eerie calm. We lay there, tangled in each other, as the minutes ticked by. The silence wasn't uncomfortable — it never was with us. It was like a security blanket, wrapping us up in our own little world.
I traced lazy patterns on her skin, connecting the scars that marred her body. Each one told a story, a testament to the journey that brought us here. My fingers lingered on the tattoo on her wrist, surrounded by those cheesy little hearts — my tattoo.
"You ever regret this?" I murmured, tapping the ink.
Lakey's laugh was soft but sharp. "What, permanently marking myself as property of Cam Axley? Not for a second, baby."
I snorted, burying my face in her hair. "You're fucking insane, you know that?"
"Says the guy who just tried to fuck his demons away," she retorted, but there was no bite to it. Her fingers went through my hair as she gently scratched.
Truth is, Lakey knew me better than anyone else ever did. She knew the monsters I fought, and she never once flinched. Maybe that's what fucking terrified me the most. That one day she’d hate what she saw and walk away from me.
It terrified me to know that I’d never let her.
"I love you, you know," I finally said.
Lakey smiled, her eyes taking on that soft glow that came only when she heard those words fall from my lips. "I know, dumbass. And I love you too."
We lay there for a while longer, just enjoying each other's company, until the real world came knocking at our door again. Grudgingly, we disentangled ourselves from each other and started getting dressed. Kyle was probably freaking out wondering if I’d killed her in my rage.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on my shirt as I watched Lakey fix her hair in the mirror. For some reason, I felt this burning need to apologize. A need I’d never felt before. She was everything and if I lost her…
"Lakey," I said, hesitant. "About everything that happened..."
She turned around, light blue eyes boring into mine. "Cam. You don't ever need to apologize for who you are. I've seen it all and I'm still here."
I rubbed the back of my neck, uncomfortable with her intensity. "Even when I'm an asshole?"
Her smile was gentle, full of life. "Especially then. Besides, I’m arguably worse than you and I make no apologies. Neither should you, so how about we don’t do that again. It’s weird and it makes me feel weird."
I chuckled and came up behind her to wrap my arms around her waist as she finished with her hair. "Come on, Lakes. We've got some shit to do."