Page 17 of Wicked Nightmare

The steak timer went off, almost on cue with the one on the stove. Opening the grill and squishing down, they were a perfect medium rare. Setting them on a plate to rest, I brought them in and began to plate everything. Two rib eyes, mushrooms on the side, baked potatoes split and buttered. The candles flickered against the windows and the whole apartment smelled like a steakhouse. Not bad for a kid who used to eat cold canned corn out of Carmen's pantry when she forgot to feed us, which was most days.

I'd taught myself to cook in juvie. The kitchen was the only work detail where they left you alone, and the old cook, Manny, didn't give a shit what you'd done as long as you didn't burn his rice. A year of that and I came out knowing how to make a decent steak, a passable pasta, and the world's best scrambled eggs (worst, according to Lakey).

I was just opening a bottle of red when I heard the shower turn off. I grinned and poured myself a glass, sipping it as I waited on her to come out, and when she did, she was in lacy red panties and a boob-less bra strappy thing.

"Damn, baby girl. You gonna eat steak with those tits hanging out?"

She smirked. "Yes, and you're gonna take it until I'm done. If you wanna tease me, I can tease you right back." She inhaled deeply and noticed the table. "Aw, babe, is all this for little ole me? Smells amazing. Ooooh, what's that?"

Sliding into her chair, she grabbed the file. Just as she was going to open it, I held my hand over hers. "After dinner, sweetheart. You're gonna want to eat first for that. It's an early birthday present."

Her eyes widened. "Ooooh, I can't wait. I love birthday presents!"

I cut into my steak with a chuckle. "I know, doll, I know."

Chapter Six: Lakey

The steak was absolutely divine. It had been a while since the last time I had steak, let alone a rib eye and with the mushrooms and potato, I was in heaven. You'd think the way I ate, I should be a bigger girl, but I was 'blessed' with a metabolism that didn't quit.

Literally.

I was hungry almost constantly. People always commented how nice it must be, but it really isn't. It's not nice feeling hungry all the time. It's not nice feeling like all you do is eat to stave away the next time you're hungry. It sucks, but I can't say that because then I'm seen as 'ungrateful'.

Anyway, I digress. Cam made these perfectly and if I wasn't so curious about what was in the file, I'd have been eating much slower and truly enjoying the way it melted on my tongue.

"Woah, babe, slow down. Jesus Christ, you're gonna choke." Cam was a quarter through his steak, and I was already licking the plate.

I grinned, well aware of the meat sticking in my teeth. "You said I couldn't open my present until I was done eating sooooo..." To make a point I licked the last bit of steak juice up real slow. "All done. Can I open it now?"

He chuckled and looked at me with that twinkle in his eye that I loved so much. He was up to something and if he was this excited about it, I was excited too. Cam rarely got excited about things.

I dunno which one of us was more fucked up at this point. All I knew is that we had both gone through things that other people would choose to die over, or become addicts over, and we hadn't. We were surviving the best way we knew how.

I remember when Cam got released and we found each other again. His probation officer told him he should go to therapy to process his trauma. Yeah, that didn't end well. The therapist came onto him, and she was my first real kill. It was messy as fuck, but it was so fun, we fucked in her blood after and that's kind of how all of this was born. We realized we both needed the violence. Needed an outlet for the thing inside us that screamed when we were quiet and clawed when we tried to sleep. So we built one. We'd find the people who deserved it, the ones who hurt people who couldn't fight back, and we'd take them out.

Cam charmed them. I killed them. It was clean, it was efficient, and it kept both of us from doing something stupid.

It'd been nine years now. Twenty-seven marks. Twenty-seven people who'd earned their spot on the list by being the kind of person who made the world worse just by breathing. And not once in those nine years had I wanted to stop.

Twenty-eight if you count Brinley, which I didn’t because she was random.

"Lakes?"

I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

"Where'd you go? I thought you wanted to open the damn file?" Cam was staring at me, and when I looked down, his steak was almost gone.

"Sorry, babe. Disassociated for a minute, but I'm back. Do you want me to wait for you to be done or can I..."

His lips curled up in that shit-eating grin. "Nah, go ahead babe. Open 'er up."

My hand moved of its own accord as I grabbed the beige file and opened it. My mouth dropped open when I saw it was a list of our former foster homes, and the people who abused us when we were kids. "Is this... is this a hit list?"

I swear to God if I could cry, I would have.

"Yes, baby, it's a hit list. That's what Skeeter was working on for me. It's all of them."

I frantically scanned the page, turning it over and over again. Names. Addresses. Dates. These weren't strangers who'd hurt someone else's kid. These were the people who'd hurt us. Carmen Jones. William Jones. Edward Jones the Second. John and Janine Almine. Each name hit me in a different place, some in the chest, some in the stomach, some in parts of my body I didn't want to think about.