Page 11 of Wicked Nightmare

Well, the man has balls, I'll give him that.

As Lakey advanced towards him, Skeeter backed up until he was pinned against the balcony railing.

"Well, why didn't you just say so? That's alright. I burned them anyway." She smiled her sickly-sweet grin, tilting her head just right so she looked like a cute little porcelain doll.

"I... I'm so sorry, Ms. Lakey, next time, I promise." Now his face was purple as he tried to inch by her and squeeze through the glass door, barely edging by the knife that was dangerously close to slicing his shirt.

"See? He apologized. Fucking pussy." I laughed, slapping him on the back. "I'll Venmo you the money now, Skeeter. Stay outta trouble, alright, buddy?"

He mumbled profuse thank yous as he practically raced out the front door, wheezing all the way out.

As soon as the door slammed shut, I burst out laughing. "Damn, baby, I thought you were gonna gut him."

Her brow pinched as she stared after him. "I'm not convinced that I still won't. He's disgusting."

Linking my arms around her waist and pulling her towards me, I nibbled at her neck before pulling on her bottom lip, sucking and biting. "Fuck him. I might need more info out of him yet. How's about we order food and then you can sit on my face, and I can eat that sweet little cunt for dessert?"

"Mmmm, you know just how to make a lady feel special."

Chapter Four: Lakey

"Mmmm, babe, do that again." I rolled over and faced Cam as he pinched my nipple.

The sun smacked me square in the face through our paper-thin curtains and illuminated the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Cam was the complete opposite of me. Where I was tiny and blonde, he was tall, dark and handsome, with bronzed skin, wavy hair that fell into his dark eyes, and perfectly straight teeth. He had my name tattooed in big jail script across his chest and I smiled as I ran my finger over it before allowing my gaze to run over his other ones.

Some were professional, others he'd let me do with the tattoo gun we'd bought online on a drunken whim. His sleeve was a giant, salivating wolf that looked like it wanted to devour me and behind the wolf, sat a naked woman tied to a pole. I loved it. The symbolism warmed my soul. Tracing the tattoo further down to the scarred heart, I tickled his skin.

"Remember when I did this one?"

He chuckled, running his hands over my skin before nuzzling into my neck. "Yeah, you went too deep and almost made me bleed out. But I like it."

I think I'd done a heart for every year we'd been in each other's lives. Twenty in total, all scattered over his skin in various places. Some were tiny, tucked behind his ear or on the inside of his wrist. Others were bigger, messier, done on nights where I was drunk or angry or both and he'd just sat there and let me carve into him because he knew I needed to mark him. Not for anyone else to see. For me. Proof that he was mine and that every year we survived was a year I'd written on his body in ink and blood.

He had scars too, underneath some of the tattoos. We both did. But his were the kind you cover with art and mine were the kind I covered with long sleeves and attitude. Between the two of us, there wasn't a square inch of undamaged skin, and I wouldn't have traded a single mark.

"Why the frown?" He stopped playing with my tits to cup my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his gaze.

"Just thinking about that one social worker who kept us together all these years. I wonder how she knew we were better off together."

His lips pursed. "Probably because she knew what was going on in those homes and didn't want you to be alone."

"You didn't deserve to be alone either. Not after—"

"Don't." Cam snarled, getting out of bed. "Don't say his name." He paced for a moment before grabbing the towel dangling off the chair in the corner of the room. "I'm going to shower."

Rolling my eyes, I flopped on my back. We'd had our share of what they call 'childhood trauma.' Still, I wondered how that social worker was doing, and how she got away with moving both of us together for so long. Every time a placement fell apart, every time one of us got pulled or a foster parent filed a complaint, she'd show up with paperwork and a tight smile and somehow, somehow, we'd end up at the same address again. She was even at Cam's hearing before he got sentenced. Sat in the back row. Didn't say a word. Just watched.

She sucked, but at least she moved us as a unit. Small mercies.

Maybe I should pay her a visit. Find out what she knew. What she'd seen. Why she'd fought so hard to keep a feral little boy and a broken little girl in the same orbit when every institution in the system was designed to separate kids.

"Ughhhhhhh, I wanted to fuck," I said just loud enough so Cam could hear before jumping out of bed and pulling on a sundress. Fuck it. I'll grab us some breakfast from the cafe. Don't feel like sitting in today. "Cam, you got any cash. I wanna go get us breakfast."

"Should be some in my wallet." He yelled.

"Right, that explains exactly where it is," I muttered under my breath and started rummaging around, trying to find it. Just as I was about to tell him I couldn't find it, I noticed it peeking out of his sweats. Rolling my eyes, I snatched it out of the pocket and flipped it open. Twenty? That's it?

Fuck.