Chapter Eleven Cam #2
She didn't deny it, just shot me a look that was exasperation and affection.
Eventually she got bored and jumped up. She sauntered across the room and down the hall, her hips swaying with each step.
Turning into our bedroom, drawers were pulled out as she rummaged around for fresh clothes.
Within a couple of minutes, she walked back out, tossing me some pants and a black tee.
I was mesmerized as she slipped into a black spaghetti strap top, her scars silver the dim light.
No bra, of course. My girl knew how to keep me on edge.
As I tugged the black V-neck over my head, my mind wandered to the first time I'd seen Lakey.
We were just kids then, scared and angry in that shithole foster home.
But even then, there was something in her eyes that matched mine.
Not the color. The temperature. Cold and watchful and already done with a world that had done nothing but hurt us.
She'd stabbed me with a fork over a box of cereal, and I'd laughed and that was it.
That was the whole story. Everything after was just the continuation of a sentence that started with blood and breakfast.
Twenty years later and we were still at it.
Still drawing blood. Still eating breakfast. Still the only two people in the world who could look at each other and see something worth keeping instead of something that needed fixing.
Every therapist, social worker, and judge who'd ever evaluated us had concluded that we were damaged, dangerous, and codependent to a degree that was "clinically concerning.
" They weren't wrong. They just said it like it was a bad thing.
I grabbed Marie off the counter and slid her into my back pocket.
Checked the knife sheath on my ankle. Rolled my shoulders until the tension cracked loose.
We were about to walk into a building connected to the people who'd hurt Lakey in ways she couldn't remember, and I needed to be ready for whatever we found.
Including the possibility that what we found would break her open in ways I might not be able to put back together.
That was the risk. That was always the risk with this. Digging into the past meant pulling up roots that had grown around bones, and sometimes the bones came with them.
"What's going on in that twisted mind of yours?" Lakey asked, sidling up to me.
I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Just thinking about how far we've come, sweetheart. From those fucked-up kids to... well, these fucked-up adults."
She laughed. "Wouldn't have it any other way, Cam. You and me against the world, remember?"
I nodded, feeling a rare moment of something close to tenderness. "Always, baby. Now, let's go raise some hell."
I flicked off the lights, plunging the room into darkness as we headed out.
"You got the keys?" I asked, patting my pockets.
Lakey dangled them in front of me, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "What would you do without me, baby?"
I snatched them from her hand, letting my fingers linger on hers. "Probably be a lot less homicidal, for starters."
She laughed, that sound that always got under my skin in the best way. "Oh please, you were plenty fucked up before you met me."
"True," I conceded, leading the way down the stairs. "But you certainly helped perfect the art."
Down in the parking garage, the cool night air hit us hard. Our bikes were beautiful under the fluorescent lights, but tonight we were only taking one.
"I wanna ride with you tonight." She said, waiting for me to pat the seat.
Lakey climbed on behind me, adjusting her helmet, her body molding against my back. Her arms snaked around my waist, hands splaying across my abs. "Ready when you are, big guy," she whispered in my ear.
I revved the engine, feeling her grip tighten. "Hold on tight, darl’."
We tore off into the night, the wind whipping past us. There was no one here to stop us. No one to tell us what to do, or how to feel. No one to inflict pain on us. Just the road and the freedom to exact revenge however we saw fit.
The streets were empty this time of night. The city had gone to bed like a good little citizen, and here we were, cutting through it on a motorcycle with blood drying under our fingernails and a hit list in our kitchen and a man zip-tied to our bathtub. Normal Tuesday.
Lakey's hands were warm against my stomach.
Her thumbs moved in small circles on my abs, the way they always did when she was thinking.
She did it unconsciously. I'd asked her about it once and she'd denied it, then done it again thirty seconds later.
Her ADHD brain needed something for her hands to do even when the rest of her body was still, and apparently my stomach was her fidget toy.
I didn't mind. I'd be her fidget toy, her punching bag, her pillow, her weapon.
Whatever she needed me to be on any given night.
Tonight, I was her driver.
"You think they'll be ready for us?" she shouted over the wind.
I laughed. "Oh, baby girl, nobody's ever ready for us."
The old mill appeared ahead, a hulking shape against the sky, with a road that wound further down and then up a hill.
My pulse quickened, that rush of adrenaline flooding through me.
The building looked like it had been abandoned for decades.
Windows boarded, roof sagging on one side, weeds growing through cracks in the parking lot.
A chain-link fence surrounded the property, but the gate was open.
Not broken open. Open. Unlocked. Which meant someone came here regularly enough to leave it accessible.
Father Christopher. Or someone who worked for him.
I cut the engine, letting us coast silently into the shadows.
The quiet that followed was the kind you feel in your chest. No traffic.
No city noise. Just crickets and the distant sound of water, probably the river that used to power the mill back when this place had a purpose that didn't involve priests with black SUVs and secrets worth ten thousand dollars.
I kept driving up the hidden road, and kept going over the road that was once paved and was now full of pot holes and tree roots.
There, at the top, was a building. This must have been the back entrance for staff. None of it looked familiar, nothing except the eerie feeling of dread.
I scanned the gravel lot. No cars. No tire tracks fresh enough to worry about.
But there was a light on somewhere inside, a faint glow through one of the boarded windows on the second floor.
Could be a timer. Could be someone home.
Either way, we needed to be smart about this.
We weren't here to kill anyone tonight. We were here to find information, and information required patience, which was my department because Lakey's idea of patience was waiting three seconds before stabbing someone instead of two.
Lakey slid off the bike as I parked, her eyes twinkling with that manic focus I knew all too well.
"Ready to raise some hell, baby?"
I grinned, feeling the monster stir in my chest. "Always."
With one last look, we moved towards the building. Whatever was in there, whatever we were about to find, we'd face it the way we faced everything.
Together. Armed. And completely fucking unhinged.