Page 25 of Wicked Little Nightmare

"I’m so excited, Cam," I continued, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If we find the place, there’s bound to be information, right? They can’t have had all of us girls there, without some kind of filing system. Some records of some kind. All those files, all that dirt on the bastards who made our lives a living nightmare. It's just sitting there, waiting for us to use it. Who knows? Maybe we will find some info on the where-abouts of the ones missing on the hit list."

Cam leaned back against the counter, his massive frame radiating predatory grace. "And what exactly did you have in mind for all that information, sweetheart?"

I felt my lips curl upward in a little smirk, a whirlwind of possibilities swirling through my head. "Oh, you know... a little blackmail here, some well-deserved vengeance there. Maybe we'll even burn the whole fucking place to the ground."

“As long as I can sink little Marie here”—he flicked his butterfly knife open and shut— “into the guts of the bastards who hurt my girl, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Eleven: Cam

The last of the beer slid down my throat, its bitterness mixing with the metallic tang of blood in the air. A pleasant buzz hummed through my veins as I watched Lakey glance down at our clothes, spattered with crimson evidence of our latest... indulgence.

"Well, this is a mess," she giggled, her light blue eyes twinkling with an eerie innocence that never failed to stir something primal in me.

I couldn't help but smirk. Here we were, covered in the Rat King’s blood, and she looked as carefree as if we'd just spilled ketchup on ourselves at a picnic. The casualness of it all was fucking hilarious.

"Think we should wipe this off before it stains?" Lakey asked, her voice dripping with a sweetness that belied the darkness of her words. "Blood's such a pain to get out of fabric, you know."

I nodded. "Wouldn't want to ruin our Sunday best," I drawled, setting down my empty bottle next to the sink and opening the drawer where we kept the washcloths. My movements were smooth, deliberate – no rush, no panic. Just another night for Cam and Lakey.

As I rummaged through the drawer, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror above. Dark eyes stared back at me, alive with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. The rush of our earlier activities was still thrumming through me, but now a different kind of hunger was building. The kitchen sink ran hot as I pushed my hand through the water. I wet the towels and headed back into the living room.

I turned toward to Lakes, washcloths in hand, drinking in the sight of her. The way the blood accentuated the curve of her neck, how it made the scar on her collarbone stand out... Christ, she was a work of art.

"Your wish is my command, darlin'," I said, tossing her a cloth. "Let's get cleaned up."

I watched as she caught the washcloth, her sky-blue eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and desire. She slowly peeled off her blood-soaked top, revealing the intricate map of scars across her torso. Part of the missing pieces she needed to string together.

"Like what you see, Cam?" she purred, trailing her fingertips down her body, pausing to squeeze on her small tits before pinching a nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

I didn't answer, just started stripping off my own clothes. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. As I wiped the blood from my chest, I noticed Lakey's gaze following my movements, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

"C'mere," I growled, closing the distance between us.

I ran the damp cloth along her collarbone, down her sternum. Each stroke was deliberate, sensual. Lakey's breath hitched as I cleaned her.

"You missed a spot," she whispered, guiding my hand lower.

My cock twitched in response. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. I could feel the familiar burn of desire building in my gut, my cock already hard for her.

Lakey must have sensed the shift because before I knew it, she was on her knees, looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes that I knew were anything but.

"Let me take care of you, Cam," she said, her voice melting with sweetness.

I tangled my fingers in her hair as she took me in her mouth. Fuck, the sight of her like this – it was better than any kill, any high. This was our bond, twisted and dark as it was. As Lakey worked her magic, I couldn't help but think how fucked up it was that this – her on her knees, blood still drying on our skin – felt more like home than anything else in this godforsaken world.

I gripped the back of her head, guiding her movements as she worked her mouth around me. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body.

"That's it, baby," I growled, my voice low and husky. "Just like that."

As I watched her, I couldn't help but marvel at the contradiction she embodied. To the world, she was a vicious killer, cold and unfeeling. But here, on her knees for me, she was soft, pliant, almost vulnerable. It was a side of her only I got to see, and the possessiveness that knowledge sparked in me was intoxicating.

"Fuck, Lakey," I hissed, feeling the pressure building. "You're gonna make me—"

I pulled away abruptly, my breath coming in short pants. Lakey looked up at me, confusion and desire warring in her eyes.

"Cam?" she questioned, her voice breathy.

Without a word, I hauled her to her feet and bent her over the arm of the couch. The transition was seamless, charged with an urgent energy that crackled between us.

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