28. Chapter Twenty-Eight Lakey
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lakey
The kitchen was my stage, and I was the star of this here cooking lesson.
I twirled between the counter and stove, tossing pancake batter with a flair that would've made the great G-Ram shit himself.
All the while, I could feel Rose's eyes on me, tracking my every move.
Poor thing thought she was being subtle, but subtlety ain't exactly her strong suit.
I glanced over my shoulder, catching her stare for a split second before she ducked her head. Damn, she was jumpy. Made me wonder what kind of hell she'd crawled out of to make our cozy little den of sin look like a safe haven.
"Hungry, sweetheart?" I asked. "Don't worry, I promise I won't bite... much."
Rose's shoulders tensed, but she managed a tiny nod. Progress, I suppose. At least she wasn't pissing herself anymore. That was gross as fuck.
As I poured the batter onto the sizzling pan, I looked over at the living room where Cam was hunched over his makeshift desk like some broody gargoyle.
Papers were strewn everywhere, and his laptop screen flickered with God-knows-what research he was doing.
"Connecting the dots" as he called it. I dunno, I just wanted him to point me in someone's direction and let me at 'em. All this puzzle solving was exhausting.
My man, always so focused. It was sexy as hell, watching those big hands of his shuffle through documents, his concentration locked in tight. But what really got me going was the way he'd occasionally glance up at Rose, his gaze sharp and calculating.
Oh, Cam. Always so cautious, so guarded.
"How's the digging going, babe?" I called out, flipping a pancake with unnecessary force. "Find any juicy tidbits about our little friend's former digs?"
Cam grunted, barely looking up. "Nothing concrete yet, but there's something off about the church. The numbers don't add up. If it's headquarters, their finances should reflect that, but it seems most, if not all, of their funding does come from donations. So... just trying to track the money."
I nodded, pretending I gave two shits about the financial records of the church. What I really cared about was the way Rose flinched at the mention of it all. There was a story there, alright. And I was gonna pry it out of her, one way or another.
As I slid the first batch of pancakes onto a plate, I felt a twisted sense of domesticity. Here we were, playing house with our new little pet. It was almost cute, in a seriously fucked-up way. I didn't even burn the pancakes this time. I was improving.
I sauntered over to Rose, balancing a plate stacked high with pancakes dripping with syrup. "Here you go. Eat up. You look like you could use some meat on those bones."
Rose looked between me and the plate, her fingers twitching slightly. Poor thing looked like she expected me to yank it away or worse. It was almost endearing, in a sad sort of way.
"So, Rosie," I sang, sliding into the seat next to her. "Tell me, what was life like before you joined our little family? Any fond memories of your nunnery days?"
I watched her face carefully, drinking in every change.
The way her brow furrowed, the slight tremble of her lower lip.
It was like watching a wounded creature, cornered and desperate.
Once, a little mouse had gotten stuck in a glue trap back at one of the homes we were at.
I spent hours prying the little fella free, washing him and letting him go in the woods.
Reminded me a lot of that little mouse. Funny that I'm the one diagnosed as a psychopath, and not the dumb fuck who set out that trap intending to hurt an innocent creature.
Go fucking figure.
She shook her head, a tear falling down her cheek.
This brokenness would have been my fate.
This weakness that Rose has, that overt display of emotion.
If I wasn't what I was. What they'd turned me into.
Maybe what they'd bred me for. I was grateful, at least, that I was nothing if not mentally strong because watching those tears both disgusted and intrigued me.
I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. "Come on, Rosie. Let's get you out of those rags."
Rose looked at me, uncertainty written all over her face. I could practically hear her heart racing.
"Don't worry, buttercup. I've got some clothes that'll fit you just fine," I said, gesturing for her to follow me. "Not gonna hurt you. I'd have done it already. I don't really play with my food. Ask Cam."
He snorted and rolled his eyes, earning himself a glare before I grinned and winked at him, relishing in the way he watched me walk away, putting a little extra pep in my step just for him.
As we walked to the closet, she hugged the walls, like she was trying to disappear into them. Her eyes never left me, watching my every move. Smart girl. At least she had survival instincts. Those will come in handy.
I flung open the closet door with a flourish. "Ta-da! Pick your poison."
Rose hesitated, her gaze fixed on the array of clothes. She was taller than me, but about the same size. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, and I caught a glimpse of angry red scars peeking out from under her sleeve.
"Aw, come on now," I coaxed. "No need to be shy. We're all friends here."
I reached out, gently tugging at her arm. She tensed, and for a second, I thought she might bolt. But then something in her shifted. It wasn't trust, I'm not that fucking delusional, but maybe a flicker of resignation.
As she slowly lowered her arms, the full extent of her scars was visible. They crisscrossed her skin like a roadmap of pain. For a moment, just a split second really, I felt bad for her.
"Hey," I said, my voice softer than I intended. "We've all got our battle scars, yeah? Nothing to be ashamed of."
Rose's eyes met mine, searching for... fuck knows what. Empathy? Good luck with that, honey.
Christ, was I going soft? I was. I noticed it a little more every day and it had everything to fucking do with the little girl waiting for me somewhere. Somewhere that I couldn't get to.
Yet. Anyway.
"Look," I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
"Pick whatever you want. No judgment here.
Hell, we could be twins if you wanted. Matching outfits and all that cutesy shit.
I got some stripper clothes in there, but I don't think walking around in nipple tassels is a great idea. Kind of draws attention, ya know?"
The corner of Rose's mouth twitched.
Cam's gaze was on us before I saw him. That prickle on the back of my neck, the one I'd learned to trust years ago. I glanced over my shoulder, catching his eye from across the room.
Fuck. His face was doing that thing, that barely-there softness that made my stomach twist. It wasn't the look he gave me when he wanted to fuck or kill. This was different. Protective, almost.
I turned back to Rose, fighting the urge to bare my teeth. "Come on, little one. Let's get you dressed and presentable. Can't have you looking like a hot mess in our humble abode, can we?"
Rose nodded, her movements still hesitant as she picked through the clothes.
I kept my tone light, but inside, my thoughts were a fucking tornado.
Was Cam getting attached? To her? The idea made me want to laugh and stab something simultaneously.
No. Not my Cam. He's just following my lead.
No need to be jealous over a little mouse.
He lived for me. Breathed for me. He'd never even side-eye another girl unless I told him I wanted him to. And I didn't.
Once Rose was dressed, looking less like a hostage and more like an actual human, I led her to the living room. "There we go. Much better, right? You clean up nice, kid."
I flopped onto the couch, patting the spot next to me. Rose perched on the edge, as if sitting next to me would put her in immediate danger of dying.
"So," I said, flashing my most disarming smile. "Tell me, Rose. What's your favorite way to unwind after a long day of... whatever the fuck it is you do when you're not being tortured by our Father?"
Her whole face opened up.
I leaned in, conspiratorial. "Me? I like a good bubble bath. Scented candles, glass of wine, maybe some light stabbing. You know, the classics."
A strangled sound escaped Rose's throat. It took me a second to realize it was a laugh, or at least, an attempt at one.
Well, shit. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
I kept chattering away, watching her rigid posture slowly start to unwind.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Cam's gaze flicking our way.
He went back to his papers, but I could tell his focus was split.
He wanted to join us but knew better than to intervene on girl's time.
After all, Rose was my first bona fide friend.
"So, anyway," I said, leaning back and stretching my legs out. "You're quite the mystery, aren't you? Chained in the basement. Part of the big nun thing, too, eh?"
Fear flickered across her face. Hmmm, hit a nerve there. She must have spent some time at the nunnery judging by the expression she wore.
"Hey, no judgment here," I said, waving a hand. "We've all got our trauma. At least that's what google tells me."
Rose's lips parted, like she might say something, but then she clamped them shut again. Damn. So close.
I heard Cam's chair scrape against the floor as he stood up. "Lakey," he said, his tone a warning.
I flashed him my sweetest smile. "What? Just making conversation."
He rolled his eyes, but there was curiosity burning behind them. Oh, he wanted to know just as badly as I did.
"You know what?" I said, clapping my hands together. "I think it's time we all sat down for a nice, family dinner. What do you say, Rose? How does tonight sound?"
Rose looked between Cam and me, gauging if I was being serious or not. After a long moment, she gave a tiny nod.
"Great!" Clapping my hands together, a giggle escaped. "Now, let's go get on with the day and I'll whip us up something later tonight, yeah?"