Page 66 of Wicked Little Nightmare

Cam's hand gripped my shoulder, his touch grounding me. "Lakey, focus," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "We can't stay here. We need to move. Now."

I blinked, forcing myself to meet his intense gaze. Right. Escape. Priority number fucking one. I nodded, shoving the adoption papers into my jacket.

"Okay," I said, taking a shaky breath. "Okay, let's bounce."

As we made our way to the door, part of me felt like I knew all along. The one piece of me that I never would have been able to care for. To love. Maybe it was better that she’d been taken from me. But another part — a part I barely recognized — felt a primal pull towards that little girl. My daughter. Mymaybedaughter. Christ, the word felt alien even in my thoughts.

Cam's firm grip on my arm kept me moving, his presence a reminder of the fucked-up constants in my life. Whatever this meant, whatever came next, didn’t really matter— I wouldn’t stop until we had her. Soon, I stood by the door, waiting as the sounds of people shouting grew nearer.

Cam's eyes gleamed with a familiar, dangerous light as he strode into the kitchen. "Time to light this fucker up," he growled, his long fingers deftly twisting the knobs on the gas stove.

I watched, mesmerized, as he worked. The hiss of escaping gas filled the air. My mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up, screaming at me, drowning out all sense of thought, adrenaline mixing with the toxic cocktail of new emotions already swirling in my gut.

"Matches?" I croaked, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Cam's lips curled into that wicked grin I loved so much. "Always prepared, baby," he produced a book of matches from his pocket. “Well, except the gloves, I guess.”

As he struck the match, the small flame dancing hypnotically, I couldn't help but think of that little girl. My... no, I couldn't even think the word. We were about to burn down her home. It made me feel some kind of way. Like I shouldn’t. Even if Janine was a horrific person, this was the place where she raised that little girl. It was almost… sacred.

"Cam," I whispered, a hint of uncertainty creeping into my voice. "Are we sure about this?"

His dark eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding. "It's us or them, Lakey. Always has been."

The match fell, and we ran just as all hell broke loose. Men streamed into the house, shouting at each other, but I didn’t take time to stop and look.

We ran into someone’s back yard, over some bushes, slamming through a gate. I was on auto pilot, following Cam’s large frame as he led the way, looping this way and that as I clutched those damn records to my chest. I replayed the night's events on a loop. That drawer. Those papers. The implications hit me like a freight train, over and over again, as we finally slowed to a brisk walk, the air sucking into my lungs in a rush.

"Let’s go. Lakey, you need to move. I think we lost them. For now, anyway. Baby, come on, please. You need to help me out here," Cam muttered, finally stopping in front of our bikes, his eyes never leaving the road as he sat me on mine, slipping on my helmet before getting on his and doing the same.

I laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "Yeah, well, finding out you might have a kid tends to do that to a girl."

His jaw clenched, and I saw a flicker of something – jealousy? Fear? – cross his face. "We don't know anything for sure," he said, his voice tight.

I started my bike and shot off like a rocket, watching our familiar shitty neighborhood come into view. "No," I agreed softly. "We don't."

As we pulled up to our crappy apartment complex and headed down to parking, the reality of what we'd just done started to sink in. My hands were shaking, and not in the fun way they usually did after a job.

"Fuck," I muttered, fumbling with my helmet. Cam's hand shot out, steadying mine.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and rough. "We're okay. You're okay."

I met his gaze, those dark eyes that had seen me through hell and back. "Am I?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. "Cam, if that little girl is... if I'm..."

He cut me off with a sharp look. "Don't go there, Lakey. Not yet. We need more intel."

I nodded, swallowing hard. He was right again, of course. Just like he usually was. The bastard.

We made our way up to our place in silence. As soon as the door closed behind us, I headed straight for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. Cam didn't stop me.

"So," I said, after taking a long pull. "What now?"

Cam ran a hand through his hair, looking more rattled than I'd seen him in years. "Jesus, Lakey, just…” Something must have been in my eyes because he sighed. “We find Janine, I guess. I’m sure Skeeter’s laptop has more information. I’ve barely scratched the surface. Make her talk."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And if she won't?"

His eyes met mine, cold and determined. "Then we make her scream."

Blood. Pain. Torture. This, at least, I understood. This, I could handle.

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