Page 92 of Wicked Little Nightmare

Thirty-Three: Cam

Itowered over the zip-tied bastard, his phone a dead weight in my hand. Thus far, he had been pretty uncooperative, with all the information we had so far coming from Rose.

"Password," I growled, swiping at the locked screen. No dice.

Beaver just laughed, a wheezy chuckle that set my teeth on edge. I tried his limp finger on the sensor. Nothing.

"You think this is funny, asshole?" I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back. "Let's see how much you're laughing with a few less teeth."

My fist connected with a satisfying crunch. Blood spattered, painting Beaver's chin a lovely shade of crimson. He grunted and spat out a couple teeth. Satisfaction curled in my gut. Fuck this asshole.

"Ooh, hit him again, baby," she purred. "Right in that smug little mouth."

I paused, a lightbulb going off in my fucked-up brain. He’d been eyeing our little flower ever since she walked back in the room. Almost like someone who had caught a bad case of the feelings. Rose's patient number... worth a shot. My fingers flew over the keypad.

Bingo. The screen lit up like Christmas morning.

"Well, well," I drawled, scrolling through the contents. "Looks like someone's got a crush on our little Rosie."

Lakey's brow furrowed. "What'd you find?"

I held up the phone, showcasing a map dotted with blinking lights. Each one labeled with a patient number, including our girl.

"Seems like he was telling the truth. Chimera's keeping tabs on all their lab rats," I muttered, a sick feeling settling in my gut. How many more were out there, scared and alone, like Rose was?

For a split second, I pictured her gaunt, pale face when we first found her. Christ, she was just a kid. Twenty years old and already put through hell. I don’t know why that bothered me. Lakes and I had probably been through worse. Lakey for sure, losing her kid like that. I couldn’t really remember much about my time. Just a brief flashback… more of a feeling, really, that I’d been in that lab before.

I shook off the unwelcome pang of... something. Guilt? Nah, couldn't be. Sociopaths don't do guilt.

"How many?" Lakey's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

I counted quickly. "Twenty-seven. All over the fucking map."

Beaver started thrashing against his restraints, desperation etched on his battered face. "You don't understand," he wheezed. "Those people need us. We're trying to help—"

I silenced him with another punch, harder this time. "Sure, pal. Real humanitarian work you're doing."

Lakey's arms snaked around my waist, her cheek pressed against my back. "What do we do now, baby?" she whispered.

I stared at the blinking dots; each one a life Chimera had fucked with. Pretty soon we’d be overrun with strays if I didn’t reign in this savior complex that I was clearly developing.

"We figure out how to turn off these goddamn trackers," I growled. "Starting with Rose's."

As I dug deeper into Beaver's phone, a nagging thought wormed its way into my brain. What would we do if we couldn’t turn it off? She’d become a bigger liability. Leading more of these fucks right to our door. But I couldn’t just chuck her on the street like trash —she’d become like a little sister to me. Fuck. Morality had never been my thing, and yet here I was, answering the age-old question: save yourself, or save a someone else?

I felt Lakey's fingers dig into my hips as she leaned around me, propping her head under my arm, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Holy shit, Cam," she breathed, her voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. "There’s a couple close to us. Maybe we can go get ‘em. Add them to our pound."

I chuckled, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "Looks that way, sweetheart. But no, we aren’t going to go get them. No point if we can’t turn this fucking tracker off."

Lakey's laugh was sharp and cold. "Oh, goody. I do love a challenge."

We exchanged a look, and I saw the same dark thrill in her eyes that I felt coursing through my veins. This just got interesting. Sometimes the danger just finds us, and we don’t even have to leave our apartment. Kind of nice for a change— having it brought here, I mean. Like a delivery service for murder.Murder-gram? Nah. Skip the Hunt. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. Murdery delivery services by Lakey and Cam. You want ‘em, we got ‘em.

Beaver must have sensed my internal distraction. He started squirming again, his voice taking on a whiny edge. "Listen, I can help you. I know things — important things. If you let me go, I can —"

I cut him off with a dark chuckle, turning away from the phone to face our captive. "Oh, you're gonna help us alright," I said, crouching down to his level. "But I don't think you understand your situation here, pal."

With deliberate slowness, I tightened the zip ties around his wrists. Beaver hissed in pain as they cut into his flesh, cutting off his circulation. With any luck, his hands would just fall off.

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