Page 65 of Wicked Nightmare

"We need to talk," I said against her ear, keeping my voice low.

She giggled, all bubbly charm for the leering patrons. "Mmm, I wanna get some drinks first."

I squeezed her ass. "Two guys. Back booth. They don't fit. Something's off."

Her eyes went to the men, then back to me. Her smile never dropped, but I caught the slight narrowing.

"You're paranoid, babe," she said, shrugging off my hand. "They're probably just closet cases afraid to admit they like dick."

"This isn't a joke, Lakey. One of them is Cloak."

That got her attention. Her body went still for half a second before the performance kicked back in. "You sure?"

"Positive. And the other one is the warden from Ashcroft."

She processed that for a beat, her leg bouncing, her brain doing that thing where it latched onto information and wouldn't let go. "Why would they be here?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. But Lakes, think about it. Cloak ran fights. The warden ran a prison. Both connected to us. Both here. Watching you dance."

She rolled her eyes. "Lots of people watch me dance, Cam."

"Not people who are connected to Chimera."

Her leg stopped bouncing and she huffed. "Fine. But I'm finishing my shift. I made four hundred in the last hour and I'm not leaving money on the table." She pulled away. "We'll deal with it after."

She headed back to the stage. She was right about the money. She was wrong about the urgency. But pushing Lakey when she was in work mode was pointless. She'd finish her shift, and then we'd talk.

I went back to my seat and nursed another whiskey, keeping one eye on the booth. They stayed for another forty minutes, then left through a side exit I hadn't known existed. I went outside for a smoke and watched the direction they went. South, toward the industrial district. Toward the old mill.

Of course.

We left the club an hour later, the chill air a welcome relief to the stifling heat inside. The ride home was quiet, Lakey humming tunelessly while I ran through every connection in my head, building a map I didn't want to look at.

The moment we stepped into our apartment, Lakey's mood cracked. The smell was overpowering.

"Jesus fucking Christ," she said, storming towards the bathroom. "We seriously left him in the tub?"

I followed, wincing at the sight of Skeeter's pale, bloated corpse. "We've been busy," I offered.

Lakey whirled on me. "Busy? We've had two days! Now he's all... soggy."

I couldn't help but snort at her indignant tone. "Sorry the murder victim's inconveniencing you, princess."

She huffed, grabbing her gym bag. "I can't deal with this right now. I'm going to shower at the gym. You..." She gestured vaguely at the tub. "Handle this."

"Wait, what about—" The door slammed behind her. "—those guys at the club," I finished to the empty room.

I sighed, eyeing Skeeter's corpse. "Looks like it's just you and me, buddy. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

I rolled up my sleeves. "Time to get down and dirty, Skeeter. Hope you don't mind a little dismemberment."

Grabbing our trusty bone saw from under the sink, I got to work. The squelch and crack of flesh and bone filled the bathroom, but I hardly noticed. This wasn't my first rodeo, after all.

"You know," I said, hacking through a particularly stubborn joint, "if you'd just played nice, we could've avoided all this mess. But no, you had to go and be difficult."

As I worked, my mind drifted to Lakey. God, I loved that crazy bitch. When she got like this, all stubborn and irate, it ground on my gears. She almost always, without fail, left me to clean the messes she made. Unironically, this mess was mine, but the sentiment remained. Still, the way she looked at me when I had my fun, it almost made up for the fact that I had issues when it came to cleaning. She'd be fine living in relative mess, but I wasn't. Sure, I had an advantage because of my obsessive need for things to be clean, but still, she could at least offer to help chunk him with me.

An hour later, I'd reduced Skeeter to a pile of manageable pieces. I bagged them up, making a mental note to dispose of them in a couple hours, just before the garbage truck grabbed the big apartment bins. Now for the real fun. Bleach time.