Page 77 of Wicked Little Nightmare

Rose's eyes ping-ponged between us, confusion etched on her pale face. I could practically see the gears turning in her head, trying to make sense of our dynamic.

"Look, kid," I said, leaning forward. "I don't know what kind of life you had before, but—"

"Cam," she warned, her voice low and dangerous.

I held up my hands. "Relax, I'm not gonna scare her. Just being honest." I turned back to Rose. "Thing is, we're not exactly model citizens. But Lakey here seems to think we can help you. So... here we are."

Rose just stared at me, silent and unblinking. Christ, it was unnerving.

I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of what we'd taken on. "Fuck," I muttered. "What are we doing, Lakes? She doesn’t even talk. Who knows if she even fucking can? What are we gonna do with a mute?"

Lakey's eyes met mine. "We’re doing the right thing, for once," she said quietly.

I couldn't help but laugh, a harsh sound in the stillness of the room. "Us? Doing the right thing? That's rich. Lakey, youliterally got me to fuck women, just to murder them, do you remember that? How the fuck… What? Do you think this is going to cleanse our sins? Cuz baby, I love you EXACTLY as you are. I don’t need some purified fucking version of you to love you." Now I was getting heated. Lakey was acting like salvation was right around the corner and all she had to do was fix this thing.

But you know what? You can’t fucking fix broken. No. It just compounds and builds and reshapes until the thing in front of you is some unrecognizable mass of sinew and steel with a heart as black as coal. No. There was no ‘saving’ us.

The fact of the matter was, I didn’t fucking want to be saved. Didn’t need it. Purity was for the saints who touched little kids at night, and if that’s what it means to be saved, keep me chained to Lucifer himself, serving hell on a silver platter.

Lakey’s face contorted as she processed my words, turning towards me in anger. As she opened her mouth to no doubt spew some angry tirade, I cut in. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t mean to piss you off, but the thing is, you and I… we are who we are. I need you to stay my wicked little nightmare because that means you’re real. It means you are exactly who you’ve always been and who you are meant to become.”

Her face softened as she stood and sat in my lap. “Oh, my twisted little dream. I’m not changing who I am, I’m evolving. I don’t want to run in the same spot like some fucking hamster. Knowing what I know, I have found my purpose, and I’ll drag you with me at the end of a chain if I have to, but we are doing this together.” She smiled and kissed me gently before biting my bottom lip so hard blood spilled into her mouth.

I looked at Rose and then at Lakey, her face set with that beautiful brokenness I knew so well, something shifted inside me. Maybe we were monsters, yeah. But even monsters could choose to be... something else. Something more.

"Alright," I said, my voice rough. "Let's do this. God help us all."

Twenty-Eight: Lakey

The kitchen was my stage, and I was the star of this here cooking lesson. I twirled between the counter and stove, tossing pancake batter with a flair that would've made the great G-Ram shit himself. All the while, I could feel Rose's eyes on me, tracking my every move like a deer watching a wolf. Poor thing thought she was being subtle, but subtlety ain't exactly her strong suit.

I glanced over my shoulder, catching her gaze for a split second before she ducked her head. Damn, she was jumpy. Made me wonder what kind of hell she'd crawled out of to make our cozy little den of sin look like a safe haven.

"Hungry, sweetheart?" I asked. "Don't worry, I promise I won't bite... much."

Rose's shoulders tensed, but she managed a tiny nod. Progress, I suppose. At least she wasn't pissing herself anymore. That was gross as fuck.

As I poured the batter onto the sizzling pan, my eyes drifted to the living room where Cam was hunched over his make-shift desk like some broody gargoyle. Papers were strewn everywhere, and his laptop screen flickered with God-knows-what research he was doing. “Connecting the dots” as he called it. I dunno, I just wanted him to point me in someone’s direction and let me at ‘em. All this puzzle solving was exhausting.

I couldn't help but smirk. My man, always so focused. It was sexy as hell, watching those big hands of his shuffle through documents, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration. But what really got me going was the way he'd occasionally glance up at Rose, his gaze sharp and calculating.

Oh, Cam. Always so cautious, so guarded.It made me want to carve my name into his skin over his tattoo, just to remind him who he belonged to.

"How's the digging going, babe?" I called out, flipping a pancake with unnecessary force. "Find any juicy tidbits about our little friend's former digs?"

Cam grunted, barely looking up. "Nothing concrete yet. But there's something off about the church. The numbers don't add up. If it’s headquarters, their finances should reflect that, but it seems most, if not all, of their funding does come from donations. So… just trying to track the money."

I nodded, pretending I gave two shits about the financial records of the church. What I really cared about was the way Rose flinched at the mention of it all. There was a story there, alright. And I was gonna pry it out of her, one way or another.

As I slid the first batch of pancakes onto a plate, I couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of domesticity. Here we were, playing house with our new little pet. It was almost cute, in aseriously fucked-up way. I didn’t even burn the pancakes this time. Improvement.

I sauntered over to Rose, balancing a plate stacked high with pancakes dripping with syrup. My lips curled into a sweet smile. "Here you go. Eat up. You look like you could use some meat on those bones."

Rose's eyes darted between me and the plate, her fingers twitching slightly. Poor thing looked like she expected me to yank it away or worse. It was almost endearing, in a sad sort of way.

"So, Rosie," I sang, sliding into the seat next to her. "Tell me, what was life like before you joined our little family? Any fond memories of your nunnery days?"

I watched her face carefully, drinking in every micro-expression. The way her brow furrowed, the slight tremble of her lower lip. It was like watching a wounded animal, cornered and desperate. Once, a little mouse had gotten stuck in a glue trap back at one of the homes we were at. I spent hours prying the little fella free, washing him and letting him go in the woods. Reminded me a lot of that little mouse. Funny that I’m the one diagnosed as a psychopath, and not the dumb fuck who set out that trap intending to hurt an innocent creature.

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