33. Chapter Thirty-Three Cam
Chapter Thirty-Three: Cam
I towered over the zip-tied bastard, his phone a dead weight in my hand. He'd been uncooperative since we started. Every piece of useful information so far had come from Rose, not him. He just sat there bleeding and smirking with what was left of his mouth.
"Password," I said, swiping at the locked screen. Nothing.
Beaver just laughed, a wheezy chuckle that set my teeth on edge. I tried his limp finger on the sensor. Still nothing.
"You think this is funny, asshole?" I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. "Let's see how much you're laughing with a few less teeth."
My fist connected with a satisfying crunch. Blood spattered, painting his chin a new color. He grunted and spat out a couple of teeth. They bounced off the floor and rolled under the table. Satisfaction curled in my gut. Fuck this asshole.
"Ooh, hit him again, baby." Lakey was perched on the arm of the couch, legs swinging. "Right in that smug little mouth."
I paused. Something was bugging me. He'd been eyeing Rose ever since she walked back in the room. Not the way a handler watches an asset. The way a man watches a woman he thinks belongs to him. That desperate, hungry look. Rose's patient number. Worth a shot. My fingers flew over the keypad.
Bingo. The screen lit up.
I scrolled through the contents. "Looks like someone's got a crush on our little Rosie."
Lakey's brow furrowed. "What'd you find?"
I held up the phone, showcasing a map dotted with blinking lights. Each one labeled with a patient number, including our girl.
"Seems like he was telling the truth. Chimera's keeping tabs on all their lab rats," I muttered. A sick feeling settled in my gut. How many more were out there?
For a split second, I pictured her face that first night.
Christ, she was just a kid. Twenty years old and already put through more hell than most people experience in a lifetime.
I didn't know why that bothered me. Lakes and I had probably been through worse.
Lakey for sure. I couldn't really remember much about my own time in the lab.
Just a brief flashback. More of a feeling, really.
That I'd been there before. That my body knew things my brain had been made to forget.
I shook it off. Whatever that was, I didn't have time for it.
Sociopaths don't do guilt.
"How many?" Lakey's voice had gone quiet.
I counted. "Twenty-seven. All over the fucking map."
Beaver started thrashing against his restraints, desperation all over his battered face. "You don't understand," he wheezed. "Those people need us. We're trying to help—"
I silenced him with another punch, harder this time. His head snapped sideways and he went quiet. "Sure, pal. Real humanitarian work you're doing."
Lakey's arms snaked around my waist from behind, her cheek pressed against my back. "What do we do now, baby?" she whispered.
I stared at the blinking dots. Each one a life Chimera had fucked with.
Each one a person strapped with a tracker they probably didn't even know about.
Pretty soon we'd be overrun with strays if I didn't rein in this savior complex I was clearly developing.
When did that happen? When did I start giving a shit about strangers?
"We figure out how to turn off these goddamn trackers," I said. "Starting with Rose's."
As I dug deeper into Beaver's phone, a thought kept circling.
What would we do if we couldn't turn it off?
She'd become a liability. A walking homing beacon, leading more of these fucks right to our door.
But I couldn't just throw her out. She'd become something to us.
To me. Not a daughter, not a sister, but some kind of extended family.
I pushed the thought aside because every time I acknowledged it, I ended up thinking about Lillianna and how Lakey's kid was out there somewhere with one of these chips in her head too, probably, and I was here playing brain surgeon on a kitchen table.
Fuck. One thing at a time, Axley.
Lakey's fingers dug into my hips as she leaned around me, propping her head under my arm, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Holy shit, Cam," she breathed. "There's a couple close to us. Maybe we can go get 'em. Add them to our pound."
I chuckled. "Looks that way, sweetheart. But no. No point if we can't turn this fucking tracker off."
Lakey's laugh was sharp. "Oh, goody. I do love a challenge."
This just got interesting. Sometimes the danger found us, and we didn't even have to leave our apartment. Kind of nice for a change, having it brought here. Like a delivery service for murder.
Murder-gram? Nah. Skip the Hunt. Yes. Yes, that's exactly it. Murdery delivery services by Lakey and Cam. You want 'em, we got 'em.
Beaver must have sensed my internal distraction. He started squirming again, his voice taking on a whiny edge. "Listen, I can help you. I know things. Important things. If you let me go, I can—"
I cut him off, turning away from the phone to face him. "Oh, you're gonna help us alright." I crouched down to his level, close enough to smell the blood drying on his chin. "But I don't think you understand your situation here, pal."
I reached down and tightened the zip ties around his wrists. He hissed as the plastic cut deeper into his flesh, the skin purpling beneath it. With any luck, his hands would just fall off.
"See, you're not leaving this room until we say so," I continued, tapping the phone on the counter as I thought. "And how much pain you experience in the meantime? That's entirely up to you and how cooperative you decide to be."
It was easy, slipping back into this. The interrogator. The guy who could make someone talk with a smile and a zip tie. It was comfortable in the way only fucked-up things can be comfortable, the way a knife handle fits your palm after enough use.
But there was something different this time. A thought I couldn't shake. That maybe we could use this situation to do something useful for once. Not good. I didn't do good. But useful. Strategic. Something that would benefit more people than just us.
I pushed it aside. One step at a time. First, we needed answers.
"Now," I said, locking eyes with Beaver. "Let's start with you telling us everything you know about these neural chips."
He grunted. Clenched his jaw. Refused to answer.
So I went back to the phone, swiping through screens while he sat there dripping blood onto our floor.
Each new detail helped the puzzle come together.
They had tracking systems on their operatives too, labeled with four-digit numbers and a letter denoting some kind of hierarchy.
Which begged the question: they wouldn't just hand this information to anyone. So who the fuck was this guy to them?
"Fuck me," I muttered, scrolling through a list of coordinates. "They've got these bastards tagged like animals. All of them. Including the operatives."
Lakey clicked her tongue. "What else you got there, sugar?"
Before I could answer, the floor creaked behind me.
Rose had moved towards Beaver, silent, her eyes locked on him.
She'd been so quiet I'd forgotten she was in the room.
The look on her face stopped me. Not fear.
Not the timid girl who'd been sleeping on our couch a week ago.
Something harder. Something that had switched on during the break-in and hadn't switched off.
"Well, look who's joined the party," Lakey chirped. "Want another shot?"
Rose straightened her back, chin up. "That man," she said, jerking her head towards Beaver, "he told me he loved me. Said he'd save me."
Oh, sweet little flower. No mommy or daddy to tell you that men were dogs. This fucker had been playing the long game, and his clock had run out.
"Did he now?" I sighed, turning to face our captive. "Ain't that sweet. You hear that, Beaver? Sounds like you've been playing Prince Charming."
Beaver struggled against his bonds. "Rose, baby, you don't understand—"
"Shut it," I snapped. To Rose, I said softer, "He played you, sweetheart. But we're gonna make it right. I suppose no one taught you that men will say anything to get in your pants."
I caught Lakey's eye. We were on the same page. This fucker was gonna pay.
Funny how things change. A week ago, I wouldn't have given two shits about playing hero.
It was one of Lakey's favorite things to sarcastically call me when I got protective.
But now? Looking at Rose, at the way her face crumbled when she said the word "loved" about a man who'd been sent to drag her back to a lab?
Something had shifted. Not just for Lakey.
For me. For whatever I was becoming in the wake of this girl's presence.
Christ. I couldn't figure out if it made me stronger or weaker, but watching Rose's shoulders loosen just slightly, just enough to tell me she believed us, I couldn't bring myself to care about the answer.
Did that mean I wasn't a psychopath? Or did it mean I was capable of caring about someone as long as I considered them mine? Something to file away and research later. When I had time. When we weren't standing in a blood-splattered living room at four in the morning.
Lakes sauntered over to Rose. Her gait softened, which was its own kind of surreal. Lakey didn't soften for anyone but me.
"Oh, honey," she sighed, placing her hand on Rose's shoulder. "Men are such lying bastards, aren't they?"
Rose's eyes fell to the floor before looking up again, filling with tears.
"I... I thought he cared. He'd sneak into my cell at night and tell me he loved me.
He brought me extra rations. Tried to make sure they picked the other girls for the more corrective punishments.
" Her voice cracked. "How... how can he lie? He said he'd save me."