Page 54 of Wicked Little Nightmare

“I’m just standing here, watching my girl, you know how it is.” I said nonchalantly.

“Yeah, well, watch her somewhere else.” He crossed his arms, waiting.

As I scanned his body, I noticed a piece bulging.Ah, yes. Rules for thee, but not for me.Must be something big happening here.I patted his face before breaking out in a smile at his responding scowl. “Alright, chief. Have a good night.”

Grabbing my phone, I carefully took a video of the club, lingering on the two assholes in their power suits, and the guard who acted like a chihuahua on meth. Skeeter’s laptop might have photos. The thing was, I knew that one greasy fuck. But from where?

As Lakey sauntered over, still glistening with sweat from her performance, I grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

"We need to talk," I murmured, my lips brushing her ear.

She giggled, all bubbly charm for the leering patrons. "Mmm, I wanna get some drinks first."

I tightened my grip, squeezing her ass. "Two guys. Back booth. They don't fit. Something's off."

Lakey's eyes flickered to the men, then back to me. Her smile never faltered, but I caught the slight narrowing of her eyes.

"You're paranoid, babe," she said, shrugging off my hand. "They're probably just closet cases afraid to admit they like dick."

I growled in frustration. "This isn't a joke, Lakey. I swear I recognize one of them."

She rolled her eyes, already moving away. "From where? Your vast criminal empire? Chill out, Cam. Not everyone's out to get us."

I watched her sashay back to the stage, frustration building. Sometimes her nonchalance drove me fucking crazy. Most times, she took what I had to say seriously, but she got a kind of high from dancing, something even I couldn’t give her.

Sometimes, it made it so she stopped listening entirely, her hyperfocus overtaking all reason. Yes, it was cute, like when she would dance in the kitchen, but right now, it was annoying.

"Fine," I muttered under my breath.

The missing pieces slowly clicked together, but it was like walking through molasses. I’d almost placed exactly who they were, and then it would be snatched from my mind. I was almost positive that one guy was the warden at the prison, and the other looked similar to a guy I used to fight for back in the day by the name of Cloak. If it were them — and I couldn’t be sure it was — why the fuck would they be meeting?

After I got out of juvie, Cloak had approached me to fight in his underground club. I made bank destroying noobs, but it got sketchy, so I got out. Lakey and I lived the high life for a while, until all the money was spent, and we were back to the same old song and dance. I hadn’t told Lakes, but Cloak had approached me about a year back, asking me to fight again. I put his head through a window. Traitors don’t deserve second chances. So… was it just coincidence that they were here? Or did they realize that captivating little bitch was Lakey? Part of the black void in my memories was tugging at me, begging me to remember something. Vague flashes of Cloak meeting with someone in the chapel came to mind, but nothing stuck.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. If they came for me, or for Lakes, they’d end up as shark bait. I didn’t have the bandwidth to give a fuck about piecing it together any further. I felt a pair of eyes on me and looked down to see my girl staring up at me, a questioning look on her face. I smiled, leaning down to kiss her before downing my drink.

We left the club an hour later, the chill night air a welcome relief compared to the sweaty interior. The ride home was tense, Lakey humming tunelessly while I stewed in silence.

The moment we stepped into our apartment, Lakey's cheerful facade cracked. The smell was overpowering.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she snarled, storming towards the bathroom. "We seriously left him in the tub?"

I followed, wincing at the sight of Skeeter's pale, bloated corpse. "We've been busy," I offered lamely.

Lakey whirled on me, eyes flashing. "Busy? We've had two days! Now he's all... soggy."

I couldn't help but snort at her indignant tone. "Sorry the murder victim's inconveniencing you, princess."

She huffed, grabbing her gym bag. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to shower at the gym. You..." She gestured vaguely at the tub. “Handle this."

"Wait, what about—" The door slammed behind her. "—those guys at the club," I finished to the empty room.

I sighed, eyeing Skeeter's corpse. "Looks like it's just you and me, buddy. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

I rolled up my sleeves, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Time to get down and dirty, Skeeter. Hope you don't mind a little dismemberment."

Grabbing our trusty bone saw from under the sink, I got to work. The squelch and crack of flesh and bone filled the bathroom, but I hardly noticed. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all.

"You know," I mused, hacking through a particularly stubborn joint, "if you'd just played nice, we could've avoided all this mess. But no, you had to go and be difficult."

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