I’m a wound-up toy. Mauricio was quite right—I needed to distance myself from Layla; look at the situation through the eyes of a passive observer, but such a strict cutoff from her tires me out both physically and mentally. As if it’s not enough that I can’t see or touch her, now I’m supposed to function without even hearing her voice?
Good fucking luck.
I was a fucking mess while Layla hid in Texas. Despite coping with unwanted separation better this time because at least I know where she is, safe and mine, not having her close is still torture.
Jesus Christ. Whoever invented love should’ve been killed on the spot before he could spread the idea throughout humanity. Love is confusing. Overwhelming. Uncontrollable. A constant, energetic worry at the back of the mind. A rush of protectiveness that can make or break a man.
I’m still not sure if it’s making or breaking me.
Love is messy. Fucking amazing too.
Layla’s a little damaged thanks to Frankie, a damsel in distress. At first, she needed adoration, attention, and love. Now, she needs protection, and her needing is what has me running in circles, killing myself to fulfill those needs.
A fucking Knight in shining armor. No sword or horse in this fairy tale, though. A gun and a drug empire are all I got, but I snatched the princess anyway.
Instead of focusing on what eludes me, I wonder what she’s doing. Is she having fun at the ball? She promised to call if anything happens, but I worry anyway… I’m fucking tired of worrying. Tired of thinking about her. Tired of the chaos she turned our lives into.
Granted—unknowingly, but still chaos.
I had it easy before she came along. Money, power, respect, women. What the fuck was wrong with that? Why did I have to fall in love with Tinker Bell? Sassy, feisty, troublemaker. My life would be much easier if I hadn’t walked up to her that night in Delta. If I stayed locked in my office, none of this would be happening. No kill order, no worrying, no feeling.
I can safely say I wouldn’t swap the chaos for one peaceful day. Despite all the shit that came along with her, I’m glad she stormed into my life and showed me there’s more to it than money and power.
She’s my more.
Still, I need space, peace, rest, and a reset, so after arriving back from Vegas early in the morning, I went straight to bed. Not a dreamless sleep, unfortunately, but six hours worked a treat to re-charge my batteries. Later in the afternoon, after a quick shower, I order food from Layla’s favorite restaurant and sit in the living room with a bottle of cognac, trying to stop the express train of thoughts for a little while.
Jackson’s hunt for Morte continues. He employed the best of the best hackers in the country to track the motherfucker. I knew it’d be difficult considering that Morte is well trained, a careful master of camouflage. I hoped to have a lead by now. The footage from the cameras at the hospital in Dallas wasn’t helpful. Morte can’t be seen entering or leaving the building. Fucking Houdini.
He came prepared. He knew where the cameras were and purposely avoided them all, making it painfully clear that getting a positive ID on Morte will be damn near impossible.
An hour later, after the first proper meal in three days, I polish the last three fingers of cognac from the bottle. “I can’t go on without you” by Kaleo plays from the speakers around the house when the security alarm clicks once. My head hits the back of the couch as a jab of irritation spoils my drunken bliss. I’m barely touching base with reality right now and don’t want to talk to Spades tonight unless he’s here to relay good news for a change.
Hope bursts when instead of Spades, Grace enters the room, wrapped tightly in a long, military-green jacket.
“What are you doing here?” I frown, squinting against the bright lights she flipped on.
“I forgot my phone.” She stops by the bar, eyeing the coffee table where the empty bottle of cognac stands in the company of a full one. “What’s wrong?”
If not for double-vision making it hard to focus on her face, I’d say she looks worried. I try to tear myself from the couch to put out the cigarette but fail miserably. I throw it on the table instead, missing the ashtray by a mile. That’ll burn a hole in the plush carpet Layla bought to keep her feet warm while we watch movies in the evenings.
Shit… I guess drinking isn’t helping much. I’m still conscious, still thinking about her.
“Are you okay? I asked you what’s wrong.” Grace is suddenly right in front of me. She takes the glass out of my hand and touches her small, cold hand to my forehead.
“Make me a drink.” I move away from her touch.
“Looks like you’ve had enough.” She points at the empty bottle on the table. “Was it full?”
“Get me a drink, please.”
Two wrinkles mark her forehead, and an exasperated huff follows. “Only if you tell me why you’re on the best route to alcohol poisoning. What happened?”
Hanging my head low, I close my eyes to stop the room from spinning. One or two more drinks, and I’ll be out. A dreamless state at last. A few hours of complete peace.
“Where’s Dalton?”
“At my friend’s house. He’s staying there tonight. I had errands to run, and he fell asleep before I got back.”
I smirk under my breath, lighting up another cigarette. Grace is no longer on the couch. How the hell did she get by me unnoticed? She’s at the bar, a fresh bottle of cognac in hand.
“Have a drink with me. Go ahead. Make yourself a drink. You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom, and come morning, you’ll take care of my hangover. It will be huge, I assure you.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She huffs out a laugh. “It’s a miracle you’re still able to articulate properly.”
“Bacardi should be there somewhere.” I wave my hand at the bar. “Layla loves mojito. Try it.”
“I’ll have a glass of wine if that’s okay. I don’t know how to make a mojito.”
“Neither does Layla. She can’t cook either. Or clean or iron a shirt, but I love her anyway. She’s… she’s flawless. Mine, so fucking mine. I can’t function without her.”
Grace grabs my hand to cuff my fingers around a glass of cognac. “Clearly. You’re a mess.” She plops down beside me, sipping on the wine, eyes closed, I think. It’s hard to tell when there are currently three of her sitting beside me. “I envy her,” she says quietly.
“All her life, people used her in the worst possible way, and now everyone wants to kill her. There’s nothing to envy.”
“You, silly. I envy her because she has you. The way you love her, how much you’re willing to do for her…” She trails off and pulls the sleeve of her jumper lower. “She’s only two years older than me. That’s not much, but look, she already has her happily ever after. When this is all over, she’ll live like a princess. Your princess. I hope she appreciates what she has.”
The note of exasperation in her voice comes as a surprise. I hadn’t paid much attention to Grace since Layla came back, but it looks like I should have.
“You don’t like her.” And I don’t like knowing this.
“It’s not like that. I just don’t like being here when you’re not around. Layla’s not a nice person.”
Objection forms in my mind but fails to become audible. Grace has a point. Layla’s not a nice person. She’s rude, bossy, and only respects people she likes, of which there aren’t many. Then again, I don’t fucking care. How can I? Layla doesn’t need to be likable. I’d take the honest, no-bullshit attitude of hers over fake smiles every time.
“If you went through half as much shit as she did in your life, you wouldn’t be nice either. She’s cautious. It’s not easy to break through her walls, but deep down, she’s a good girl.”
“Oh… yes, I heard,” Grace mumbles, cheeks pink. My mind takes me an extraordinarily long time to grasp that she’s referring to me calling Layla a good girl while we fucked in here while Grace involuntarily eavesdropped from the kitchen. “I’m not saying she’s not a good person, but I prefer you. Keep your promise and tell me why you’re drinking alone.”
“I’m trying to distance myself from her for a while.”
“From Layla? I don’t understand.”
“That makes two of us. I told her I won’t call her for a while. I thought it’ll help me focus on the problems here, but instead of thinking about her less, I think of her more,” I wave the glass in front of her face. “I’m drinking to stop thinking.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
Not one fucking bit.
“You know…” Grace stares at the glass in her hand. “I’ve never seen a man as in love as you are.”
A frown and a hand gesture urging her to keep going is my only answer.
“She’s the first person you look at when you walk into the house. The first you speak to.” She steals a sideways glance at me, ghosting her index finger over the rim of the wine glass. “Not once and not twice, you walked right past me, not a word, not a glance until you kiss her.”
She’s not wrong. When the time comes to get home, all I can focus on is Layla. Seeing her, kissing her, touching her is all I wait for. What the hell has she done to me? People don’t change. Or so I’ve been told my whole life.
Bullshit.
Layla brought a different side of me to life. A side I have a love-hate relationship with. Feeling is great, but it’s getting out of hand. There has to be a way to put a cap on love. A way to stop the feelings from overpowering a man. A way to love just the right amount.
It’d be good to find balance before I go mental.
“You can stand right in front of her, and I won’t notice.”
“Exactly. You’re very intense. Do you even know how deep she sits under your skin?”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Too deep.”
“I can’t disagree. Why, though? I don’t understand it. You are two different people in one body.” She pulls her legs under her bum, curiosity clearly visible on her thin, pretty face, a soft glow of pink heating her cheeks. “When she’s not around, you’re quite scary.”
“Scary?”
“Yes. Intimidating. Commanding, sometimes callous… but when Layla’s around, you’re even scarier. You’re territorial. I watch every word I say to Layla because God help anyone who disrespects her.”
I groan, annoyed at the involuntary reaction the mere thought triggers—my body tenses, fists clench, jaw ticks.
A moment of inattention is what got me here. One moment of letting my guard down when the curiosity of the girl dressed in red sauntering across the dancefloor of my club got the better of me.
Grace eyes the framed pictures of Layla hanging on the walls. From the corner of my eye, I see her lips, all three sets of them, form a thin smile.
“She’s pretty. I’ll give her that. High cheekbones, full lips, big eyes. You’ll have beautiful kids.”
An invisible hand grips my heart at the thought of Layla round with my baby. A throaty laugh that morphs into a groan follows. I’m borderline psycho whenever I think Layla’s in danger. Maybe it would be safer not to imagine her pregnant.
I pinch another cigarette between my teeth. Too lazy at this point to hold it in my hand, I settle for keeping it in my mouth and inhaling and exhaling on cue. With every next drag, I lose more and more reality, slipping deeper into the state of mind-numbing drunkenness. Almost two bottles of cognac work a treat. My mind finally waves a white flag, cutting me off from my girl.
Reset.
No thoughts. No feelings. I’m suspended in the moment, half-conscious of what’s happening around me. My eyelids became too heavy, head slumps to my shoulder, raising and falling in sync with my short, shallow breaths.
Bliss. Pure, uninterrupted bliss.
A warm body presses into me, climbing onto my lap. My hands move, but I don’t think I’m the one moving them. I feel the smooth texture of skin under my fingertips while my lips, grasped by different lips, cooperate, struggling to kiss. Small hands knot at my neck. A warm mouth deepens the kiss. Sweet sighs bounce in my overworked mind as the petite body clings to my chest. For a moment, I give into her efforts. For a moment, confused, blinded, I think this is okay.
It’s only when my brain, among a plethora of information, fires up the fourth sense that I realize the perfume lingering in the air doesn’t match Layla.
My eyes fly open, focusing on the picture before me. Three girls are there, so I blink and squint until they become one. With the little strength left in me, I push away the girl who definitely isn’t my star.
