Page 101 of Wicked Nightmare

Chapter Thirty-One: Cam

Garlic and onions wafted through our apartment. I sprawled on the couch, one arm dangling off the side, fingers brushing against an empty beer bottle. Lakey lounged beside me, her legs draped over mine, her blue eyes fixed on Rose bustling around our cramped kitchen.

"Who knew our little science experiment could cook?" I said, tilting my head to catch Lakey's reaction.

She smirked. "I told you she would adjust."

I snorted but couldn't stop the smile as I watched Rose. The kid moved with a nervous energy, opening cabinets and closing them, checking on whatever she had going on the stove, wiping her hands on Lakey's borrowed leggings every thirty seconds. But she was a definite improvement from where she was. That first night she wouldn't even look at us without flinching. Now she was making us dinner and humming something under her breath that I didn't recognize.

"Face it, you like her, Cam," Lakey said, reading my thoughts as usual.

I scoffed, giving her leg a playful shove. "In your dreams, sweetheart. I'm still the same cold-hearted bastard you fell for."

"Mhmm." She hummed it the way she always did when she thought I was full of shit, which was most of the time. "That's why you've been teaching her to defend herself, right? Out of the goodness of your black little heart?"

I opened my mouth to retort, but Rose's voice cut through our banter.

"Um, dinner's ready... If you guys want to eat?"

Lakey sprang up with surprising grace for someone who'd been lazing around all day. "Perfect timing, Rosie! But first, how about we work up an appetite?"

Rose's face changed, this flicker of something I was starting to recognize as excitement. She'd really taken to the self-defense we'd been going over the last few days. Almost a natural. "More fighting?"

"You got it, kid," I said, hauling myself off the couch. "Can't have you being a liability out there."

We cleared some space in the living room, shoved our ratty furniture aside until there was enough room to move without cracking a shin on the coffee table. Lakey took center stage, demonstrating a basic stance while Rose watched, copying the way Lakey planted her feet, the way she held her hands up.

"Alright, sunshine," Lakey chirped, loosening her shoulders and cracking her neck. "Let's see you try to take me down. Just remember, in the real world, your attacker probably won't be wearing such a cute top."

Rose lunged forward, clumsy but determined. She led with her shoulder, which was wrong, and telegraphed the whole thing with her eyes, which was worse. Lakey sidestepped and tapped her on the back of the head.

"Too slow, buttercup. You gotta be quicker than that if you want to survive."

Rose's face scrunched up. Her next attempt was marginally better. She came in lower, tried to grab at Lakey's waist, got a knee to the thigh for her trouble but didn't go down. I found myself actually rooting for the kid, which was a new and uncomfortable development that I chose not to examine.

"Not bad," I said when she managed to clip Lakes on the shoulder. "You might actually last five seconds in a real fight now."

Rose beamed at the praise, and there was that weird twinge again. That thing in my chest that I kept pretending wasn't there. Fuck. Maybe Lakey was right. Maybe I should just admit that I liked this. All of it. The cooking smells and the training sessions and the three of us existing in the same space without anyone bleeding.

I watched them spar for a while longer. Lakey was good at this, patient in a way she never was with anything else. She'd show Rose a move, then let her try it, then show her again, adjusting her grip, moving her elbow, tapping the spot on her body she should be aiming for. Rose kept getting frustrated with herself, kept shaking out her hands and squaring up again, and there was something in that stubbornness that reminded me of someone I couldn't place. Or didn't want to.

This was some type of family. It looked nothing like anything I'd ever been taught a family should be. Three fucked-up people in a shitty apartment, one of them fresh out of a lab, two of them with kill counts they'd lost track of. But it was ours. And with our expanding little unit came more responsibility. More people to protect. When it was just me and Lakes, it was easy. She could handle herself. Always could. But I was never far, just in case. Rose added in a wildcard that I wasn't sure I knew how to navigate.

She was strong, getting stronger. But she didn't have the instincts yet. She didn't know how to read a room the way Lakey and I did, didn't know how to clock an exit or feel someone watching from across a street. She still trusted too easy. Still smiled at strangers. Still left her back to doors.

That shit would get her killed.

I stepped out onto the balcony, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag. The nicotine hit but it didn't do shit to calm my nerves. My eyes scanned the street below, same routine I'd been running for days.

And there it was. That all-black car, parked in the exact same spot it had been sitting in for the past week. Same tinted windows. Same position, nose out, ready to move.

"I see you, you piece of shit," I muttered, watching for any sign of movement. Nothing. Just the same lifeless hunk of metal, sitting there like a damn tumor on our crack-addled little street. No one got in. No one got out. The windows never rolled down. But it was there every single morning when I checked and it was there every single night before I went to bed. That wasn't a coincidence. That was surveillance.

I took another drag, my mind working through the options. Were we being watched? Had someone finally caught up to us? Chimera. The cops. Someone connected to one of our marks. Could be any of them. Could be all of them. The thought of anyone threatening what we'd built here, this unhinged, fucked-up, beautiful thing with my girls, made something dark and hot coil behind my ribs.

Lakey's laughter floated out from the living room, followed by a thud and Rose's muffled "oof." Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched.

"Alright," I said under my breath, crushing the cigarette on the railing. "Playtime's over."