Page 29 of Wicked Nightmare

Fair point. I'd done worse for less.

The ten grand bothered me. Not the amount. The intent. Someone had anticipated that we'd come looking. Someone had known, before we knew, that we'd want the Almines. That meant someone was watching us. Had been watching us. Maybe since before the hit list. Maybe since before we started killing marks. Maybe since the beginning.

The thought made my grip tighten on the steering wheel until the plastic creaked.

And if Skeeter couldn't or wouldn't give us the information we needed, I'd find someone who would. As much as killing our foster families was going to be satisfying, her real hatred burned for those nuns. She'd kept their secrets locked tight in her chest and I intended on helping her exact revenge.

In the meantime, Skeeter was going to be very well taken care of, either in my house, giving me what I need, or at the bottom of the ocean, where the rest of the fucks who crossed us slept.

His choice.

Chapter Ten: Lakey

The bathroom light flickered as we dragged Skeeter's squirming body across the grimy tiles. His muffled whimpers echoed off the walls, music to my ears. I couldn't help but hum a cheery tune as I zip-tied his wrists to the rusty bathtub handle.

"There we go, all snug as a bug," I cooed, patting his tear-stained cheek. "Now, wasn't that fun?"

Skeeter's eyes bulged with terror, darting between me and Cam. God, I loved that look. It never got old.

I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear. "Listen up, my sweet little pig. You've got two choices here: spill your guts, or we'll spill them for you. Easy peasy, right?"

My voice was meant to calm, to soothe, much like a vampire's would if they were real, but let's face it, I usually had the opposite effect. Maybe I needed something more poignant to be seen as a non-threat. Like if I lost the knives. Or the maniacal grin.

Neither was going to happen, but sometimes I liked to think ‘what if’.

Behind me, I heard the rhythmic snick of Cam's butterfly knife as he flipped it open and closed. Such a show-off, but damn if it didn't add to the ambiance. To be honest, it made me want to jump his bones. His brand of violence was always lyrical and mine was messy. Together, we were something to be admired.

"Tick tock, Skeeter," I sing-songed, trailing a finger down his trembling jaw. "What's it gonna be?"

My mind raced with possibilities. Would he crack right away? Or would we get to have some real fun first? The anticipation was killing me. Well, it would be killing Skeeter soon enough if he didn't wise up.

The bathroom was small. Smaller than it needed to be for three people, one of whom was the size of a small rhinoceros. Cam was leaning against the doorframe, blocking the only exit, which was both strategic and annoying because now I couldn't pace. I liked to pace during interrogations. It made people nervous when a small blonde woman with knives strapped to her thighs walked circles around them. It was my thing. But no. Cam and his giant shoulders had claimed the doorway and Skeeter and his giant everything had claimed the tub and I was stuck in the two feet of floor space between them, trying to be intimidating while also trying not to step in the puddle of piss that Skeeter had contributed to the ambiance approximately thirty seconds after we'd zip-tied him.

Lovely.

I turned and caught Cam's eye. That darkness made my heart skip. God, he was magnificent when he got like this, all murdery and shit. I had half the mind to bend over on the sink and let him have his way with me, but then he'd kill Skeeter and we'd all be fucked.

Focus, Lakey. Business before pleasure.

I turned back to our captive, cocking my head with a Cheshire grin. "C'mon, sugar. Don't keep a girl waiting. You know how impatient I can get."

And wasn't that the understatement of the century? But Skeeter didn't need to know just how badly I was itching to make him scream. Not yet anyway.

The real fun was just beginning.

Skeeter's eyes darted wildly, searching for an escape that didn't exist. I could practically smell the fear oozing from his pores, mixed with body odor and whatever the fuck he'd eaten for lunch. The man sweated like a faucet on a good day. Under duress, he was basically a human sprinkler system.

"I-I know where the Almines are," he stammered, voice cracking. "But... but Janine's remarried now. And John... John's dead. Heart attack."

My grin faltered, a scowl creeping across my face. Well, shit. That wasn't part of the plan. I'd been looking forward to a little reunion with dear old John. Guess karma beat me to the punch.

"Dead, huh?" I mused, tapping a finger against my lips. "That's... disappointing."

Disappointing was putting it mildly. John Almine had been on my mental shit list since before I could form coherent memories of what he'd done to me. My body remembered even if my brain didn't. The way my stomach clenched at the sound of a man's voice in a certain pitch. The way I flinched when someone grabbed my wrist from behind. Those reactions belonged to John Almine and Janine Almine and whatever they'd done to me in those early years before Carmen's house. And now John was dead from a heart attack, which meant he'd died peacefully, probably in a hospital bed with people holding his hand and telling him they loved him.

He didn't deserve that. He deserved me.

But you can't kill a corpse, so I pushed aside the rage away and moved on. Lakey Aldrich: compartmentalization queen since age seven.