18. Chapter Eighteen Lakey
Chapter Eighteen: Lakey
I jolted awake to the sound of a cat being strangled.
No, wait. That was just Cam singing. My eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the sunlight streaming through the blinds.
Holy shit, did we fall asleep and were out the entire day?
Honestly, it made sense given how much we did yesterday.
As the fog of sleep lifted, I realized two things: one, it was my real birthday day, and two, Cam was attempting to serenade me with what I think was supposed to be "Happy Birthday. "
"Jesus Christ, are you trying to wake the dead?" I groaned, burying my face in the pillow to muffle my laughter.
Cam's off-key warbling cut off abruptly. "Good morning, sunshine," he sang. "Ready for your birthday surprise?"
I peeked out from behind the pillow, taking in his devilish grin. "If the surprise is you shutting up, I'll take it."
He clutched his chest in mock hurt. "You wound me, darling. And after I slaved away all morning..."
The smell hit me—bacon, coffee, and something sweet. My stomach growled traitorously. Curiosity piqued, I swung my legs out of bed, padding towards the kitchen.
"Holy shit," I breathed, taking in the chaotic scene before me.
Every surface was covered in flour, eggshells littered the counter, and what looked like pancake batter dripped steadily onto the floor.
In the center of it all stood Cam, his hair dusted white, proudly holding a plate of slightly burnt toast.
"Ta-da!" he exclaimed, gesturing grandly at the mess. "Breakfast fit for a queen."
I bit my lip, torn between amusement and exasperation. Only Cam could make a disaster zone look charming. "You do realize we have a prisoner chained up in the bathroom, right?" I asked, eyeing a precariously balanced tower of pans. "What if he smells this and goes feral? What then, sir?"
Cam's grin turned predatory. "Oh, I made sure our guest had breakfast. I burned some toast in my first run through. Wouldn't want him to starve to death, would we?"
I couldn't help but smile at his twisted thoughtfulness. As I surveyed the carnage that used to be our kitchen, a warmth bloomed in my chest. It was utterly ridiculous, completely impractical, and so perfectly us. Most women would be pissed, wanting more, feeling they deserved more. But not me. Cam’s version of love was certainly not everyone’s cup of tea but seeing him like this bit at my heart.
Domestic God for the woman he loves. What’s not to appreciate?
"Well," I said, snatching a piece of bacon from a nearby plate, "I suppose we'd better eat before it gets cold. Wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste."
Cam's dark eyes roamed over me before he shook his head, trying to concentrate on what I said. "Oh, don't worry, sweetheart. The day's just getting started."
I sauntered over to the table, dodging eggshells and flour handprints. The spread was a chaotic masterpiece - burnt toast, runny eggs, and what I hoped was just very crispy bacon. I picked up a fork, poking at something vaguely pancake shaped.
"So, Chef Axley, what's this supposed to be? A new form of torture?"
Cam leaned against the counter, his imposing frame somehow graceful amid the mess. "Now, now, darling. You know I save my best work for you."
I stabbed the maybe-pancake, bringing it to my mouth with exaggerated caution. To my surprise, it wasn't half bad. "Well, well. Looks like you might have a future in the culinary arts after all. You know, if the whole 'charming psychopath' thing doesn't work out."
"Only the best for my girl. Speaking of which..."
Cam disappeared into the pantry, emerging with a small, slightly lopsided cake. A single candle flickered atop it, casting dancing shadows across his face. For a moment, the boy he used to be surfaced, a vulnerable look spread over his face, disappearing just as quickly as I’d noticed it.
"Happy birthday, Lakey," he said softly, setting the cake on the table before standing behind me, massaging my shoulders.
My throat tightened. He’d made me a cake.
So simple, so small, but it meant the world.
I stared at the flame, memories of past birthdays flashing through my mind - some filled with pain, others with the savage joy of revenge.
But none ever had a cake. Not until we’d moved in together and even then, all my cakes had been storebought.
Never had anyone fucking make me a cake.
"Make a wish," Cam whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
I closed my eyes, wishing for the only things I'd ever truly wanted—for us to stay together, come hell or high water.
For us to… be happy.
For a baby.
I opened my eyes to find Cam grinning at me. Before I could react, he swiped his finger through the frosting and smeared it across my nose.
"Oh, it's on," I laughed, grabbing a fistful of cake and smashing it into his face.
Cam's eyes widened in mock outrage. "You'll pay for that, birthday girl," he growled playfully, scooping up more cake.
We descended into chaos, hurling frosting and cake crumbs at each other like deranged children. I ducked as a glob of icing flew past my head, splattering against the fridge. The kitchen became our battlefield.
This was the best part about being an adult. Not only could I eat fucking cake for breakfast, but I could have a food fight and not a single motherfucker could tell me I couldn’t.
"Surrender!" I cackled, cornering Cam against the counter with a particularly large chunk.
He raised his hands in defeat, but I noticed the mischief in his eyes too late. In one fluid motion, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me close, smearing the cake across both our faces as he kissed me. I tasted sugar and blood. He must have cut his lip in our frenzy.
As we broke apart, breathless and laughing, I caught a glimpse of us in the microwave's reflective surface. Covered in cake and grinning like maniacs, we looked like the world's most deranged birthday clowns. It was perfect.
"Well," Cam said, surveying the disaster zone that was once our kitchen, "I think we might have overdone it a bit."
I snorted, wiping frosting from my eye. "You think? This place looks like a bakery exploded."
Without a word, we fell into our usual rhythm, working side by side to clean up the mess we'd made.
As I scrubbed frosting off the cabinets, I giggled. From murderous demons to domestic gods, we really could do it all. "You missed a spot," I teased, flicking some soapy water at Cam.
He rolled his eyes, but I caught the smile he tried to hide. "I’m surprised you noticed, Miss Leave The Crime Scene A Mess."
I laughed. How many murder scenes had we meticulously scrubbed clean together? More than I could count, though, usually Cam did the scrubbing because I was too heated to calm down. Once, I mixed bleach and rubbing alcohol because I thought it would clean faster, and I almost gassed us out.
He didn’t let me live that down for weeks.
"Hey," Cam said, pulling me from my thoughts. He cupped my face in his hands, his touch gentle as he tilted my head upward. "Happy birthday, Lakey."
I leaned into his touch, savoring the moment. "Thanks, baby. Breakfast was good." It wasn’t, but I didn’t need to say that. He did more for me than anyone ever had, and I loved that he tried.
As I wiped the last smear of frosting from the counter, Cam leaned against the fridge. The playfulness evaporated. Our little birthday bubble had popped.
"Time to get back to business?"
His lips curved into that dangerous smile. "You read my mind, sweetheart. Let's go see if our friend is feeling more talkative today."
We moved in perfect sync, discarding our cleaning rags and heading for the bathroom. With each step, there was a shift in my bones, from carefree birthday girl to the ruthless killer I truly was. Cam's energy changed too, back to protector.
"Think he pissed himself again?"
Cam snorted. "Probably. Guys got a weak bladder. Among other things."
As we approached the bathroom door, I thought about how I could torture information out of him without actually killing him.
"After you, birthday girl," Cam said, gesturing to the door with mock chivalry.
I grinned, my hand on the knob. "Let's make some music, shall we?"
I pushed open the door, letting a singsong lilt creep into my voice. "Oh, Skeeter! Did you miss us?"
The pathetic lump chained to the bathtub whimpered. His fear was beautiful, like the sweetest perfume. His face was covered in burnt crumbs, the crusts flung to the side. Guess he used to have mommy cut the crusts off his sandwiches, how cute.
"Aw, don't be shy," I cooed, crouching down to his level. "We just want to have a little chat. You remember our chats, don't you? I just want you to know that it’s my birthday today. I turned 25. As such, I expect you to be an obedient little pet and give me something we can use."
I reached out, letting my fingertips graze his cheek.
He flinched like I'd burned him, and I had to bite back a laugh. The piece of skin Cam cut off was crusted and turning black, and Skeeter had definitely shit himself given the stench that rolled off of him in waves. Pulling my finger back, I frowned. Fuck, I hope I don’t get some disease now.
Gritting my teeth to refocus, I leaned back.
"Now, Skeeter," I continued, "we were having such a lovely conversation the other day. Why don't we pick up where we left off?"
Skeeter's eyes darted between Cam and me, wide with terror. I could practically hear his heart racing. It was adorable, really, how he thought silence would save him.
I glanced back at Cam, catching his eye as I shrugged. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and a surge of affection hit me. My partner in crime, my twisted other half. His permission was hypnotic, and I lived for it. I thrived on it.
Turning back to Skeeter, I let my smile widen, showing too many teeth. "Come on, darling. Don't make me ask twice. You wouldn't want to ruin my birthday, would you?"
"Let's talk about those nuns, shall we? I'm dying to know what's been going on in that cozy little lab of theirs."
Skeeter's breath came in ragged gasps. "I—I don't know anything else. I told you where they were, that’s all I know, I swear!" he stammered, his voice rose a few octaves before breaking.
I clicked my tongue, shaking my head in mock disappointment. "Now, now. Lying isn't very nice. Especially on this sacred day of my birth." I leaned in close. "Tell me about the lab underneath the building."
His eyes widened, and I'd struck gold.
"Please," he whimpered. "They'll kill me if I talk."
I laughed, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. "Oh, sweetie. I think you should be more worried about what we'll do if you don't."
Behind me, I heard Cam shift his weight, clicking his tongue. I didn't need to look to know his dark eyes were boring into Skeeter.
The man in front of me swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling. "I—I don't know much. Just... there's more of them. More than you think. They’re all over. The… the foster system is a feeder for it."
Finally, a lead. What were they doing and why? Why were they experimenting on these girls? On me?
Cam cleared his throat before he spoke. "More of them, you say. How intriguing." He stepped closer, his massive body cast a shadow over Skeeter. "I bet you know exactly how many, don't you?"
I suppressed a grin, admiring how effortlessly Cam could make a simple question sound like a death threat.
Skeeter's eyes darted between us, sweat beading on his forehead. "I—I'm not sure... maybe a dozen? Two dozen? Please, I really don't know specifics."
"Oh, come on now," I bounced on my tip toes eagerly. We were so close to having a more complete picture. "A smart boy like you must have overheard something. A name, perhaps? Or a location?" My voice was gentle, but my eyes promised violence.
Cam leaned against the wall on the left of me, flicking his butterfly knife in and out.
"You know, Skeeter, Lakey here has quite the imagination when it comes to extracting information.
And since it's her birthday, I'm inclined to let her indulge.
Unless, of course, you'd like to spare yourself the trouble and just tell us what we want to know. "
God, I loved when he played along. The fear in Skeeter's eyes intensified, and I could practically taste his desperation. The smell of piss flooded the bathroom. This little bastard actually pissed himself. What a fucking loser.
"Please," he choked out, "I don't — I can't —"
I sighed dramatically, reaching for the toolbox under the sink. "Well, if you insist on being difficult..."
Skeeter's eyes widened as I rummaged through the toolbox, my fingers dancing over various instruments. I hummed a cheery birthday tune, relishing the tremor in his voice as he spoke again.
"Wait! Wait... I... I know something," he stammered.
I paused, arching an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell, sweetie. It better be good. I'd hate for you to be disappointing. Well, anymore disappointing than you already are."
Cam sighed. "Tick tock, pal. My girl's patience isn't endless, and neither is mine."
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "There's... there's another lab. Underground. Beneath the old St. Mary's Cathedral. They hid the entrance; I don’t know where it is."
"Another lab location, huh? How delightfully clandestine. And what exactly goes on in this lab, hmm?"
"I don't know everything, I swear," Skeeter said, words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "But they're... they're doing experiments. On people. Trying to create something... or someone. Something to do with babies. I don’t know, Lakey, I swear to fuck, I don’t know! All I know is what I’ve heard."
Cam and I exchanged a look. Just as I figured. It was so much bigger than we’d initially thought. This might pose a problem if we didn’t get to the source.
"Who's 'they,' Skeeter?" Cam pressed; his tone deceptively calm.
Skeeter hesitated; terror etched across his face. "If I tell you... you have to promise to keep me safe. Please. Cam? I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of this. I was just a low mutt in cells, and they found me. I swear to God, please, Cam."
"Sweetheart, Cam is not your savior, but I can be persuaded not to be your executioner if you give me something I can use. And then use your computer skills to find it."
He shuddered, then whispered a single word that made my blood run cold:
"Chimera."