43. Chapter Forty-Three Cam
Chapter Forty-Three: Cam
The 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, 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. My butterfly knife was in my hand before I even realized I'd pulled it.
Flick. Open. Flick. Closed. Flick. Open.
But the rhythm wasn't working. The memories were too loud, too bright, too fucking real.
"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, 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.” 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, 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 scent 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.
I needed more. More pain. More fury.
More her.
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 raw and jagged. My fist connected with the wall, plaster crumbling under the impact. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough to silence the screams 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.
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.
"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," a warning and a plea all at once. "You don't have to do this."
Her eyes never wavered. They bore into me, challenging and comforting all at once. Take what you need. 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, tasting the blood that had collected on her bottom lip from earlier. She gasped, arching into me, her nails scoring down my back hard enough to leave welts that would sting for days.
"Fuck," I growled, tearing at her clothes. "I need—"
"I know," she breathed, her voice soothing even as her actions stoked the fire. "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.
I yanked her shirt over her head, ripping it at the seam, and my mouth found her neck, her collarbone, biting down on the curve of her shoulder until she hissed and her hips bucked up into mine.
Her fingers twisted in my hair, pulling hard, and the sting of it was grounding, real, present.
Not a memory. Not a lab. Not Tommy's blood on white tile.
I shoved her jeans down her hips, not bothering with finesse.
She kicked them off while I freed myself, shoving my sweats down just far enough.
There was nothing tender about the way I gripped her thighs and spread them apart, nothing gentle about the way my fingers found her, slick and ready, and I groaned at the proof that she wanted this as much as I did.
That this wrecked, broken version of me didn't repulse her. It turned her on.
I drove into her in one brutal stroke. She took all of it, her back bowing off the mattress, a raw, guttural moan ripping from her throat.
Her hands flew to my shoulders, nails sinking in, and I pulled out slow, watched her face twist with the need for more, then slammed back in hard enough to shove her up the bed.
The headboard cracked against the wall. Neither of us cared.
The memories were still playing out behind my eyelids.
Electrodes. Cold tables. Tommy's eyes, staring at nothing.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block them out, but they kept coming, overlapping with the reality of Lakey's body beneath mine, her heat, her sounds, the way her pussy gripped me so tight it bordered on pain.
"Look at me," Lakey commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos in my head.