Page 144 of Wicked Nightmare

Oh yes, we would make them pay, and I had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a bloody ride.

"I love you, Cam."

"I love you too, my wicked little nightmare."

Chapter Forty-Three: Cam

The door slammed behind me, the walls shaking from the force. I'd been sitting outside with Lakey and the next second my vision went white as a new flashback played out. Kyle's words echoed in my head, mixing with flashes of blood and screams from that damn hunting trip. I paced the room, my fists clenching and unclenching as I tried to push the memories away.

Me, watching Lakey as they had her fighting against two grown men with just her karambits to protect her. The feral grin splitting over her face as they circled her. A fist connecting with her jaw just as she sliced downwards, cutting his face open.

"Fuck!" I growled, running my hands through my hair. The room felt too small, closing in on me. My muscles were coiled tight, ready to snap at any moment.

My fist pounded on my temple, trying to force the picture away. The way she jumped on his back as the other rained fists on her spine. But all she did was smile, bringing her knives down and up in an X, killing one before she jumped, rolled, and turned to face the other. I couldn't protect her, even if she didn't need it. They made me watch as my other half was thrown into hell, again and again. No. I shook my head violently, trying to dislodge the thoughts.

My breath came in ragged gasps as I stalked back and forth. Four steps one way, turn, four steps back. Over and over. My butterfly knife was in my hand before I even realized I'd pulled it. Flick. Open. Flick. Closed. Flick. Open. But the rhythm wasn't working. The memories were too loud, too bright, too fucking real.

"You're losing it, Axley," I muttered to myself. "Fucking man up."

But I couldn't. The memories kept flooding in, threatening to drown me. I needed an outlet, something to anchor me before I completely lost control. Where the hell was Lakey? She always knew how to pull me back from the edge.

As if on cue, the door creaked open. I whirled around, ready to lash out at whoever dared interrupt me. But it was her. My dark angel. My salvation and my damnation all wrapped up in one beautiful, deadly package.

Her eyes met mine, and in that moment, my own darkness reflected back at me. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to. Lakey had always been able to read me like a book.

I stalked towards her, my intentions clear in every line of my body. She stood her ground, chin raised in that defiant way of hers. Daring me. Challenging me.

"I need you.” It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

A small smile played at the corners of her lips. "Then take me," she replied simply.

And I had every intention to do just that.

I gripped her arms, pulling her roughly against me. Her body molded to mine, but even as I crushed my lips to hers, tasting the metallic tang of blood as our teeth clashed, I couldn't escape the terror that haunted me.

The clinical atmosphere of the facility flashed behind my eyelids. The sharp scent of bleach burned my nostrils, mixing with Lakey's scent in a dizzying cocktail. I could hear the cold, unphased voices of the researchers, their words echoing in my skull.

"Patient Y, proceed with the test."

I growled, biting down hard on Lakey's lower lip. She gasped, her nails digging into my back, almost enough to ground me in the present, but it wasn't enough to banish the ghosts.

I needed more. More pain. More fury.

More her.

I saw myself, small and terrified, strapped to a cold metal table. Electrodes attached to my temples, my chest, my arms. The fear was paralyzing, but I knew better than to cry out. Crying only made things worse.

"Fuck," I hissed, breaking away from Lakey's kiss. My hands shook as I fumbled with the hem of her shirt, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Then I pulled back. No. I was dangerous right now. Unpredictable. I needed a minute. "I can't... I can't stop seeing it."

Lakey's eyes met mine, understanding and hunger warring in their depths. "Then don't stop," she whispered. "Show me. Make me feel it."

I hesitated for a moment, torn between the urge to protect her and the desperate need to purge these memories from my system. But Lakey had always been stronger than she looked. She could take my pain. She wanted to see it.

So I let go.

I roared, the sound tearing from my throat raw and jagged. My fist connected with the wall, plaster crumbling under the impact. It wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough to silence the screams in my head.

I grabbed the nearest object, a lamp, and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the opposite wall, raining glass and ceramic shards onto the floor. The destruction felt good, cathartic. I needed more.