Spades attempts to impersonate Rookie, burning across the city toward Jess’s house. He emergency brakes at every corner and slams the gas halfway through the turn. My head bows back and forth, hitting the headrest every time. He’s fucking hair-raising behind the wheel.
Still, I’ve been the passenger with much worse drivers behind the wheel. While Spades’ skills aren’t that bad, he fails miserably in the laid-back attitude department Rookie emanates. Spades clutches the wheel so hard I think he’ll rip it out of the steering column. Sweat breaks out on his forehead, eyes glued to the road, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows hard. I’ve never seen him this tense.
He’s probably never felt so tense either.
Julij’s hot on our tail with Dimitri behind the wheel of their rental Camaro. He insisted he accompanies me to meet Jess. He claims she’ll be more inclined to talk if she sees that we’re both looking for Layla. Maybe he has a point.
He has no reason to hurt her, and that argument might come in handy. With everything that happened, it’s safe to assume Jess is not my biggest fan.
I hold my spare phone on my knee and light the screen repeatedly, staring at Layla’s picture: a security camera frame from the night we first met. She sits at the bar, her chin high, no smile across her lips. A red dress hugs her body, and an abundance of dark locks frames her doll-like, innocent face.
“You tell me. I’m not a guy. I don’t know what’s so repulsive about me.”
“Frankie.” Nothing else is an option. “Men are afraid to touch you because they’re afraid of your father.”
The fabric of her dress rolls up when she readjusts her position exposing more skin. A beauty mark halfway up her thigh comes into view as if to taunt me as if to say, this marks the spot where you kiss. And, fuck if that’s not what I want to do right now. I move in, resting my elbows on my knees, and place my hands on her legs, stroking the small dark spot with my thumb.
Gut-wrenching desire mixes with a cruel, compelling need to taste her lips. The intensity of my lust quadruples because no one has kissed her yet, and no one has had her between the sheets. I feel like Neil Armstrong the day he boarded Apollo 11 with the moon in his sights. I have Layla, my star, right in front of me. I want to be the first man to do everything to her, and with her, that she should’ve done by now.
“You’re not afraid,” she utters, eyes lingering on my hands feeling up her legs.
I dig my fingertips into her flesh, my blood turning into red hot lava. “I’m not afraid of Frank, Star.”
Spades pulls into the driveway of what I’d call Frank’s house two weeks ago, but what is now Jess’s house alone. He kills the engine, slinging the door open. A cold shiver slides down my spine when the cool air seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt. I hadn’t stopped to think about the fact that Frank Harston is dead. I know he is. I saw him take his last breath, but while I crumbled under Layla’s betrayal and drowned in the pain of losing her, I failed to process Frank’s death. Now, standing at the door to his once house, the realization courses through my veins, slow like tar. It feels like fucking defeat. The hatred between us grew throughout the years but failed to erase memories.
Frankie helped me when I needed help most. At sixteen, ruled by hormones and rage, I was destined for doom. I rained hell, getting in trouble with Chicago’s finest thanks to many idiotic stunts, fighting with anyone who dared to look at me wrong. After a few weeks of wandering Chicago with bruised knuckles, a few weeks of my uncle threatening to ship me off to military school, a few weeks of rage trapped inside of me and begging for an out, destiny placed Frank Harston in my path.
I still remember the first time he invited me over to his house, this house I stood in front of, for dinner. He mentioned he had a job for me. He didn’t explain the job, but a tailor-made suit on a twenty-something-year-old and the gun I spotted under his pristine suit jacket clued me into his line of work.
I was in awe of the man back then. He lived the dream. Big house, full wallet, and a beautiful family. A family I became a part of for six years until I went rogue… then, not long ago, one-third of the said family became a part of me.
I raise my hand to knock on the door. The house is dark, the secrets, lies, and betrayals hang in the air like a foul stench. Despite wishing a slow, painful death on Frankie since the moment I learned how he treated his daughter, there’s no denying that a small part of me died too when Layla put a bullet through his heart. He was my mentor. He shaped me into the man I am now. It fucking hurts that we fell apart along the way. Life would’ve been different if I had stayed by his side. Perhaps Layla and I would’ve gotten together sooner. Frankie would probably give us his fucking blessing…
Maybe she’d still be the angel she was all those years ago. She’s closer to a devil than an angel now. She has no wings. Frank tore them out. He bruised, taunted, and brainwashed her for years.
A wave of hatred sweeps me from head to toe, bulldozing the regret. It fades quickly when the lights come on in one of the rooms upstairs and then in the hallway downstairs. Angry, hastened footsteps reverberate inside before the door flies open, and I’m staring into the barrel of a gun.
Frank’s gun in Jess’s shaky hands.
Yeah, I’m definitely not her favorite person.
She shudders all over, her eyes pooling with fresh tears, the slim, pale face bordered by a mess of short hair. “Leave,” she chokes, clutching the gun in both hands. I think she’s aiming at my forehead, but her hands shake so much it might as well be my throat. “Leave, Dante. Now.”
“Put it down, Jess,” I say, unfazed. She hadn’t even flipped the safety. “I’m not here to hurt you. I need your help.”
Her grip tightens. Tears roll down her cheeks and her flawless make-up. “Get out of here. Please… get out!”
I grab her wrist, retrieve the gun, and pull her flush against my chest, boxing the petite, scared woman in my arms. She doesn’t fight to break free. Instead, her body gives in and melts against me as she rests her forehead on my torso, fisting my jacket with both hands. A sharp intake of air paves the way for powerful, despairing sobs.
“I need to find Layla.” I hold her in a tight embrace, cradling her head to my chest. “I know she was here the night Frank died.”
Jess nuzzles closer to me for another three sharp inhales before she steps away, wiping her face with the sleeve of her pink silk robe, half of her make-up stamped on my shirt. Blonde hair sticks to her long neck, and baby-blue eyes look dull, almost dead. She lost her husband two weeks ago, but I have a feeling it’s not him she misses the most. It’s Layla. Jess never was a devoted mother; she never had time for Layla, too busy enjoying her youth to appreciate a child, but she’s a mother, nonetheless. Losing them both must’ve been a bucket of ice-cold truth over her head. I’m sure it opened her eyes to everything she fucked up in her life.
“I don’t know where she is. Even if I knew—”
“Jess,” Julij says behind me, making his presence known. “We need to know where she is. It’s important.”
Jess glances between us, one eyebrow raised as she awaits explanations. There’s no time for a vague chit-chat. I walk around her, inside the house, taking the direction of the kitchen. Not much has changed here over the years. The same light color scheme and expressionist paintings of distorted faces on the walls. The distinct smell of cigar smoke saturated every piece of furniture here over the years.
Spades stays outside with Dimitri while Julij and Jess trail behind me as if I’m the host and this is my fucking house. She sets an ashtray on the glass table, pointing her chin at the opposite chair. Julij settles for a casual lean against the wall, watching Jess with a frown, ready to beat the information out of her if playing nice proves fruitless. The intensity of his feelings for Layla is staggering. He rivals my protectiveness. Puts to shame my agitation. At least he keeps a careful watch over his possessiveness. Otherwise, his face would resemble one of those in the hideous paintings in the hallway.
“Who killed Frank?” Jess asks.
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. Although I’m sure you’ve already figured it out.”
She helps herself to one of my cigarettes. “I guessed that Layla did it. She was terrified when she came home that night and immediately started packing. I didn’t want to believe she had it in her to kill him.”
“She had a choice. Frank or me.” I light a zippo, leaning over the table to light the cigarette for her.
“That explains a lot…” She inhales a deep drag, standing up to fetch a glass of wine. “Ever since she met you, she started seeing Frank for who he was. The longer you were together, the more she surprised me with how she treated him. Until you, she was blind to Frank’s flaws. She looked at him and saw the father she so desperately wanted to have, not the one she had. You were good for her.”
No objection. We brought out the best in each other. “I need to find her.”
Jess bites her lip, and just like that, I’m back in Layla land.
She bites her lip, playing with her fingers. “I think I probably do believe you’re here for me and that I’m Switzerland.”
“You think? Probably?” I smirk. “You have to know it. And believe me, when you’re ready and willing, I won’t let you out of bed for a very long time.” I fall onto my back, tying my hands under my head.
Layla lays down too, lips swollen from my kisses. “You’re not making this easy, are you?” She nuzzles herself into my side. “I shouldn’t want to love you.”
Love?
She wants to love me.
One sentence and the arrogant fucker I am, turns into a plush toy. “You’re delirious, Star. You must be exhausted.” I wrap my arms around her, kissing her head.
I hope she’ll love me.
I hope she won’t be able to live without me because I sure as hell can’t imagine my life without her.
I crash with reality when Jess flips ash off the cigarette, accidentally brushing her hand over mine. Layla and Jess are strikingly similar. Same petite figures, doll-like faces, and full, pouty lips. Frank’s the one to thank for Layla’s hair and eye color, though. And maybe I should’ve thanked the fucker. The combination of dark-brown locks and light gray, almost silver irises is striking. In fact, I couldn’t peel my eyes off hers most of the time, openly staring as she studied or read.
“Why are you looking for her?” Jess asks slowly, every word quieter than the last. She doesn’t trust me. That much is obvious, but I think she wants to trust me. “Why did she leave?”
“It’s complicated.”
She butts the cigarette in the ashtray and leans back, folding her arms over her chest, her chin nonchalantly raised. “I won’t tell you where to find her if I don’t know why you want her.”
Because I can’t go on without her.
“She was scared and confused that night. She thinks I want to hurt her.”
“Do you?”
My hands ball into tight fists on their own accord. What kind of a stupid fucking question is that? “Do you really have to ask? Frank ordered a hit on her before he died. An open hit, Jess. Anyone can try to kill her. And a lot of people will try.” I lean over the table again, a vein on my neck throbbing. “I need to know where she is. I need to find her. I can’t fucking protect her if she’s not with me.”
There’s no trace of pink blush left on her face. The peachy tone of her skin turns ashen, eyes fill with a new batch of salty tears. She reminds me so much of Layla that my immediate reaction is to get up and lock her in my arms.
“He wanted her dead?” she utters, peering from under her thick, black eyelashes at Julij, then at me, and back as if willing either of us to say it’s a sick joke.
I still can’t comprehend Frank’s sheer insanity. There’s no other fitting word to describe the bastard. Insane fits perfectly. Treating his daughter like a puppet was beyond absurd. Fucking ludicrous. Requesting that she gives herself to me was even worse. Fucking grotesque. Not to mention the rape or mutilation he ordered—a testament to his deranged mind. I could easily rip him apart for any one of those sins but ordering a hit on his daughter? Playing God to punish me for insubordination? That’s another level of madness. A level beyond my comprehension.
He should be thankful Layla found the courage in her to kill him, or else I’d skin the fucker alive regardless of her betrayal. I’d bask in his screams, pleas, and apologies. He’d pay for every single time he hurt her. Every threat, every disappointed look, every spiteful word.
“He hated me so much he wanted to sacrifice Layla to leave me with nothing.” I weigh every word. Anger rushes over me, bubbling like red, hot soda water in my veins.
Frankie played on Layla’s insecurities her whole life. He turned the vulnerable little girl I adored when she was a child into a weapon of mass destruction.
And then… ready, aim, fire.
I was hers, whenever and wherever. Prepared and willing to throw the world at her feet, to risk my work and life to protect her. She’s a panacea to the diseases infecting my mind, heart, and soul. Life without her just isn’t worth the trouble. I’ve not been living since she left. Barely surviving. I’m stuck in limbo, tumbling deeper into the land of the mad the longer she’s out of my reach.
And Frankie knew that and then some. He knew what kind of a man I was. One who’d completely lose his wits if the right girl ever came along.
I wait for Jess to decide what her next move should be, whether she’s willing to trust me or not. There’s no doubt in my mind she knows where Layla’s hiding. I don’t harbor the same hatred toward her as I did—and still do despite his deceased status—toward Frank. She wasn’t a good mother, she hurt Layla too, but hers and Frank’s sins are incomparable. Jess deserves a chance to right her wrongs. Frank deserves a few bullets fired from my gold revolver.
Surrendering the information I need will mark the first step on Jess’s long road to redemption.
“I’ve got hundreds of people looking for her, Jess,” I say, painfully aware of the ticking clock. “I will find her, but it’ll be faster if you can tell me where she is. We’re working against the clock here.”
She peers up, letting out a loud, shaky sigh. “She’s at Frank’s sister’s in Ivanhoe.”
“Texas?” Julij cuts in, pushing away from the wall.
I almost forgot he was here. He walks closer as an injection of adrenaline jolts his body.
“Yes. Amanda has a farm there. I’ll get you the address.” She up and leaves the kitchen without a backward glance.
For a moment, I can’t believe this is happening. If we obey traffic regulations, we’ll be in Texas inside of fourteen hours. Still, since neither I nor my people give a damn about speeding tickets, the distance is doable in ten hours with breaks for refueling factored into the equation.
Maybe it’d be quicker to fly? A quick search online scraps that idea. The next flight to Dallas leaves at seven in the morning. Flying is not an option. I glance at the watch Layla gave me for Christmas. It’s quarter to eleven. I’ll have her back by nine in the morning. A shockwave of relief detonates in my chest, spreading to all my organs, soothing my jittery unease.
I’m coming, baby. Hold on a little while longer.
Jess comes back with a small notebook in hand. At the same time, Spades enters the kitchen. A sullen look taints his features, and my relief vanishes instantly. There’s no mistaking the torment in his eyes, the expression reserved for relaying the most dreadful news.
He inhales sharply, rubbing his forehead.
“No,” I snarl. “Don’t you fucking dare say it.”
“It’s not that. She’s alive, but… she’s at a hospital.”
“What happened?” Julij asks, his face contorted with worry.
Spades pays him no attention, eyes on me. His tense stance and pained look on his face as if someone kicked him in the stomach make it obvious that he’s ready for my outburst. He’s leaning closer slightly, prepared to jump in and, I don’t know, hold me, maybe? “Jackson accessed her records, but she was only admitted half an hour ago, so the information is limited. Two major wounds to her shoulder and leg, a gunshot wound just below her collarbone, and a mild concussion. She’s stable.”
My insides tangle into knots at the thought of Layla alone in a hospital bed, scared, defenseless. Unprotected. Vulnerable. “Do we know what happened?”
“It’s unclear. The police report places five people at the scene. Out of the five, one’s dead. A tire burst. The car flipped over, rolling for thirty yards before it stopped. There’s no explanation for the gunshot wound on Layla or the dead guy.”
“Who was he?”
“Ex-marine, Archer Hayes. Someone blew his fucking brains out. No witness statements yet, so it’s hard to judge what went down there.”
Jess slumps into the chair, lips parted in an inaudible shock. She gawks at me with big, scared, tearful eyes.
“No one will touch her,” I say, catching her hand in mine. “No one will hurt her, Jess. They’d have to go through me first, and you know damn well that’s not happening.” I squeeze her fingers once and rise to my feet, shaking the weakness off my limbs. “I’ll have Layla back in Chicago in thirty-six hours.”
Spades steps from one foot to another. There’s more to be said, but he refrains from speaking until we’re out of the house, away from Jess’s ears. “She’s no longer invisible, Dante.” He lights a cigarette while Julij paces on the gravel. “Hospital records aren’t protected well. Anyone who’s keeping tabs will know where she is.”
“It’s a twelve-hour drive,” Julij adds. He sure doesn’t know Rookie as I do. “A lot can happen in twelve hours. She needs protection.”
I nod, a plan of action already fully formed in my head. “Call the guys. I want to be on the road in fifteen minutes,” I tell Spades, then turn to Julij. “You’re not coming. You’re organizing the security detail for when we get back.”
