Eyeing the door to Frank’s house as if I can summon Layla telepathically, I wait outside, counting seconds and smoking like a chimney. It takes ten minutes before she emerges with a bag hanging over her shoulder. She stops at the top of the concrete steps, half of her face covered with a scarf, the other half hidden under the hood of her jacket. I don’t need to see tears to know they’re there. The way she hugs herself paints the picture.
My instincts kick in before a single rational thought penetrates the growing madness. I shove my hand under my jacket, grabbing the gun. No thinking, no rationalizing. My body flips into battle mode, and my reaction is both natural and worrying simultaneously. I don’t know what happened. Whether Frank had anything to do with her tears, I’m ready to make a sieve out of him regardless.
Layla drops her hands, descending the steps. “I’m fine.”
“Then why were you crying?”
She hides in my arms, inhaling my scent. “We had a fight. Can we go? Please, I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
The plea in her voice stops me from asking another question. I grit my teeth, kiss her head, and give her the helmet. “Put it on. You ever rode a bike?” She shakes her head, watching me mount the Ducati. “Hold on to me. Don’t lean over to the sides.”
“Where are all your cars?”
“This is faster than any car in my garage.”
The engine springs to life, and its roar drowns out my racing thoughts. I look over my shoulder and grab Layla’s thighs to slide her closer to me. She rests against my back, arms around my stomach, cold hands under my jacket.
I miss the adrenaline of speeding through the city at a hundred miles an hour on a bike. With Layla clinging to me like a child, I watch the speed, but I’m eager to get home, so I double the limits a few times.
Layla jumps off when we park in the garage. I take my helmet off and watch her do the same. She turns to go upstairs, but my pulse speeds up faster than the Ducati ever could. Her scarf slides, revealing a crimson trickle of dry blood that marks a line from her mouth down her chin. Seeing the swollen, cut lip freezes my blood.
“It’s nothing,” she says, her eyes red from crying. “Frank’s impulsive, I said too much, and—”
“Stop,” I seethe, reaching for my helmet. “Stop making excuses for him.”
She tears the keys out of my hand, backing away. “Don’t go there. It won’t change anything. You’ll just fight for no reason.”
“No reason?! Give me the fucking keys!”
Her back rests against the wall. I’m right there, towering over her, the muscles on my back like stone, the need to break Frank’s neck so powerful it threatens to bring me to my knees.
Layla hides the hand that holds my keys behind her back. “Please, let it go. I’m fine, really. It’s my fault… I angered him.”
I grip her shoulders. “He hit you. I don’t care what you said or did. He fucking hit you, Layla. Nothing justifies this.”
I can’t believe the fucker.
He hit his own daughter.
He hit my girl.
How can any man hurt a woman in the first place? I’d fucking skin him alive if I saw him right now.
A single tear rolls down Layla’s cheek, changing my attitude. I never could handle the sight… I pull her into my arms and kiss her temple. It’s been years since I wanted to kill someone as much as I want to kill Frank, but it has to wait. Layla needs me to calm her down. She needs me to clean her up.
My hands still shake when I search the kitchen cabinets for a first-aid kit.
“I was scared to look in the mirror,” she admits, her cheeks pink. “That’s why I didn’t clean it up.” She cringes when I part her lips with my thumb to clean the cut.
The grimace on her pretty face pushes me to grab a gun and a shovel and bury the fucker, but killing Frank means hurting Layla, and that’s the one thing I refuse to do. I remember when she saw blood on my fingers, and I don’t want to think how scared she must’ve been when she tasted it in her mouth.
“I know, baby. You’re not going back there again.” I throw the towel aside. “You live here.”
“Isn’t this quick? We’ve been dating for—”
“Why? Why does it matter how long we’ve been together? We’re not standard, so don’t expect us to follow some socially acceptable relationship timetable.”
She sits on top of me, her fingers weaving into my hair. “Frankie’s my father, Dante. I know you hate him, but I won’t cut him out of my life.”
My hands rest on her hips, and she cuddles into me, resting her head on my shoulder, pecking my neck. Everything I want is right here in my arms, but I’m painfully aware that once the war ends, Layla might not want to be a part of my life anymore. If Frank doesn’t bow out, if he insists on being the last one standing, I’ll have no choice but to kill him. Layla loves me, but the strength of her feelings is a mystery. Challenging times await us both.
“I don’t want you anywhere near him alone. If you want to see him, I’m coming with you.”
“Yes, of course.” Irony coats her words. “Because that won’t end in a blood bath.” She wriggles out of my arms. “Don’t blow this out of proportion. I’m fine, baby, but I do need a hot bath. I’m freezing.” She leans over to kiss my forehead.
“Tell me you’re okay, Star.”
“It’s not my first rodeo with Frank. He’s never hit me before, but it didn’t surprise me. I’m immune.”
That calms me down a little bit. Until now, I wondered if he had hit her before or if she hid bruises under make-up. I wondered if she suffered many panic attacks at the sight of her own blood. Knowing this was the first time stops the tormenting line of questions but doesn’t ease my rage.
“I’m fine. Really.”
I let her go and almost call Spades to cancel the meeting with the V brothers, but I can’t. There’s too much to discuss, and the clock is ticking. Nikolaj might die any minute. I need to be prepared for any outcome or move on Frank’s part.
I get ready in one of the guest bathrooms, and forty minutes later, I enter the ensuite to inform my star that Luca’s due in fifteen minutes to keep her safe.
She lays in the bubbly bath immersed up to her nose, cheeks pink. “You look nice.”
“I have to leave.” I sit on the edge of the tub. “My business partners from Detroit flew in this afternoon. They didn’t announce it sooner.”
Layla smiles, so I stop talking. “You don’t have to explain. If you have to go, you have to go. The amount of time you’ve been spending with me is quite impressive.” She slides underwater and resurfaces a few seconds later, wiping her face, then grabs a bottle of shampoo, glancing at me as if surprised to see I hadn’t moved. “Go. I’ll be okay. I’ll go to bed early.”
I developed a compulsive need to quadruple-check if she’ll manage as if she has two left hands. She proved many times she’s different from the women I dated in the past. Maybe because of her upbringing, or perhaps she’s reasonable, and all my exes were spoiled brats. Either way, I bite my tongue before another will you be okay? leaves my lips, but there’s one more thing to discuss.
“You’re not staying here alone. Frank’s looking for a hitman, and I won’t risk some nutcase hurting you.”
“So, you found me a bodyguard?”
“Luca will be here soon.”
“Luca?” She sits up, testing my concentration, when her beautiful boobs covered in soap bubbles come into view. “You’ve got so many people working for you! Why him?”
At least she’s not trying to talk me out of the security-detail idea. “Because I trust him. I know he gets on your nerves, but he won’t let anyone touch you. You can ignore him or argue with him if it helps you cope, but he’s watching over you tonight.”
She crosses her arms, pushing those perky boobs higher. “I’m trying,” she says, eyeing a large, round glass bowl filled with colorful bath bombs. I half expect her to smack my head with it. “I’m really trying to understand your reasoning. I mean, okay, you’re worried, I get it. Nikolaj’s dying, and Frank feels threatened. I get it. He might do something stupid, so it’ll be better if someone keeps an eye on me. I get that too. What I don’t get is why you chose Luca. The one I hate.” She bites her lip, smiling. “Okay. I do get it. You really are crazy jealous.”
I open my mouth to object but think better of it. Explaining why I chose Luca requires informing her he was the one who killed the guy at the club, and I don’t want to go there.
I peck her lips. “Don’t wait up.”
She brings her hands up to hold my head in place and sinks into my lips, the kiss slow, full of lust. She sighs, grazing her nose along my cheek.
“Damn you, Star,” I whisper. “Wait for me. Naked.”
