Page 82 of Wicked Nightmare

“She fucking might be, Cameron! You just don’t want to face that.” She screamed.

The words landed like punches. Every single one. Because yeah, part of me was mad about exactly that. Not at her. At the situation. At the faceless piece of shit who'd put a baby in her while I was locked in a cell being "trained" by Spider and "protected" by Cloak. At the fact that I'd been so close, just a few miles away in that facility, and I hadn't been able to do a goddamn thing.

And now there was a nine-year-old out there who might have Lakey's eyes and someone else's DNA, and I didn't know how to make that fit in my head. I didn't know how to love something that was proof of the worst thing that had ever happened to the person I loved most.

But standing there, watching Lakey's chest heave, watching her chin jut out the way it did when she was bracing for a hit she expected to come, I realized something. She wasn't asking for my permission. She wasn't asking me to be okay with it. She was telling me what was going to happen, and the only choice I had was whether I walked beside her or watched her walk away.

And I'd never watched her walk away, again.

The kid wasn't mine. Fine. But Lakey was mine. And if this girl was part of Lakey, then she was part of me too, whether my pride could swallow that or not. I'd figure out the rest later. I'd figure out the jealousy and the rage and the sick feeling in my stomach when I thought about who the father was. I'd figure out how to look at a child who existed because someone had violated the woman I'd kill and die for.

But I'd figure it out with her. Not against her. Never against her.

"You done?" I let out a long breath, feeling the fight drain out of me. Fuck. When Lakey got like this, there was no talking her down. It was like trying to reason with a very angry snapping turtle. You either got out of the way or got swept up in the chaos.

She nodded, her lips a thin line as she waited for what I had to say next.

"Alright, alright," I conceded, running a hand through my hair. "Fuck. I hate this, but fine. We go to the orphanage first. Then if we get what we need, we can chase this golden egg of yours. 'Ight?"

The corner of her mouth twitched. "'’ight."

I snorted. "You want that list alphabetically or chronologically?"

Her smile widened, her hands clapping loudly once before she squealed. It was moments like these that reminded me why I couldn't quit her, even if I wanted to. It didn't matter how fucking angry we got with each other; we made it out the other end.

I leaned back. "Okay, so the orphanage. Last known intel puts it as operational thirty years back. That's ancient history in our world. Older than we are. Dunno what we'll find, but knowing these fucks, they've probably still got info in there. They seem to cut and run when needed. Talk about adaptability."

"Could be abandoned," Lakey said, her fingers tapping an erratic rhythm on the table. "Or repurposed."

"Either way, we're going in blind," I said, the planning headspace clicking into gear. "We'll need to case it first, maybe set up some long-distance surveillance. If it's still running, we might be able to..."

I trailed off, noticing the glazed-over look in Lakey's eyes. She was with me, but part of her was already there, chasing ghosts and what-ifs. I pushed down the nagging worry in my gut. This was a powder keg waiting to blow, but for now, at least I had her pointed in a direction I could work with.

"Hey," I said softly, reaching out to trace the 'C.A.' on her wrist. "We'll figure this out, yeah? You and me against the world, remember?"

Lakey's focus snapped back to mine. "Always," she whispered, and I felt that pull, the one that had kept me in her orbit since the day she stabbed me with a fork over a box of cereal.

"Then let's go raise some hell."

She nodded. "Raising hell's our specialty, darling." But even as she spoke, her fingers drifted to the photograph sitting on top of the stack of papers. She didn't pick it up, just traced the edge, like she was afraid it might vanish if she touched it too much.

"Right so, what else do we need," I said, keeping her on the job. "Surveillance gear if we wanna watch what goes in and out first, maybe some of that fancy tech Skeeter has listed in his recon file."

"Mhm," Lakey hummed, her eyes still on that damn picture. "And weapons. Can't go in unprepared."

I studied her, reading every micro-expression. The way her shoulders tensed, the slight furrow between her brows. I knew every inch of her, could read her moods better than I could read my own. And right now? She was holding something together by sheer force of will. One more crack and the whole thing would come down.

I was afraid of what I'd find if she fell apart. What monsters were still locked in Pandora's Box, just waiting for a weakness in her armor. Would they rip her apart, or would they take vengeance on the world who did us so dirty?

"You on board with all this?" I asked, studying her face. She was with me, mostly. It would have to be enough.

"Oh, absolutely," she said. "We'll find what we need there. Information about Chimera, and..." she hesitated, then added softly, "...and maybe about her."

This obsession of hers was dangerous, for both of us, but pushing too hard would only make her dig her heels in deeper. And honestly? If that girl was hers, if some piece of Lakey was out there in the world being raised by monsters, then maybe I understood the pull more than I wanted to admit.

Because if someone told me there was a piece of Lakey out there, I'd burn down the world to find it too.

The only issue was that there was no proof she was Lakey’s, other than the fact she has blonde hair and blue eyes. Like a billion other people, but who am I to try rationalizing her feelings? If she believes she can be a mother to this kid, and that’s what it takes to keep her focused, then fine.