I stop halfway to the street ahead and rest my shoulder against the brickwork, placing my shopping bags on the ground at my feet. The emotional drain of two years weighs me down. No, it’s been longer than that. The heaviness has been a growing constant since the day my father asked me to spy on Cole.
Now the pressure is unbearable.
Each breath is etched in pain. Each step is more grueling with all that piles on top of me.
I retrieve my cell from my purse, my heart hurting as I acknowledge the rendezvous with Matthew has to be cancelled.
If I see him again, I’ll kiss him. And if I kiss him, I’ll sleep with him. And if I sleep with him, I’ll never be able to get him out of my system.
Would the hours of bliss be worth the future filled with torment?
I have less than thirty minutes to decide.
“Give me your purse.”
I stiffen at the male demand coming from directly behind me.
“Now. Hurry the fuck up.” Hard metal nudges the back of my skull. A gun.
I slowly raise my hands, my fingers trembling, my mind on Stella and if I’ll ever see her again. “Take whatever you—”
He snatches at my purse strap, the aggressive yank tearing at my shoulder.
I scream, the noise adding to the deafening rush of my pulse in my ears. He yanks again, harder, pulling, wrenching my arm as the gun grates into my head.
“Stupid bitch.” He shoves me toward the wall, the side of my face hitting brick.
My muscles slacken with the impact. My arms fall to my sides. I become fluid, slithering to the ground as he claims his prize and snatches at some of the shopping bags on the ground.
I’m too stunned to move. In too much pain to think.
He runs for the far end of the alley, the clap of his footsteps a dull clip over the noise in my head, his black cap shielding his face before he disappears around the corner.
I crumple onto the remaining shopping bags, my left cheek throbbing, the bone beneath having taken the brunt of the impact with the wall. My shoulder burns from the assault from the purse strap, too. But what flames hotter is my blood, the rage flowing through my veins turning volcanic at my stupidity.
Not only did I daydream myself down a secluded alley with my arms filled with brand-name shopping bags, but I didn’t notice I’d become a target until that asshole had been right on top of me.
I can’t even figure out if it was luck or idiocy that I didn’t have my gun.
If my weapon had been stolen, I’d have to report this to the police, then Cole would find out and the reasons for my out-of-town trips would be unraveled.
I hadn’t even attempted to protect myself.
I didn’t have the instinct to fight. I’d stood there, statuesque. Still and fucking pathetic.
Cole would be ashamed of me. Yet again.
I press my head back against the cold brick and whimper. How am I going to get out of this without him finding out? I’ll have to cancel my credit cards. And my cell… What the hell happened to it?
The device had been in my hand. Now it’s gone. When did it go missing?
Oh, shit. The cyanide.
Bile creeps into the back of my mouth, threatening to spill onto my dirty blouse and scuffed jeans.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I rest against the wall, my cheek tight from swelling, my pulse pounding through the tender flesh.
Why do I keep failing like this? My life has become a compiling stack of misgivings. One stupid move after another. Over and over again.
I’m not worthy of my family’s notoriety. I bring nothing but shame to our name.
My throat tightens with emotion.
All I ever wanted was to make them proud. To help build our empire. And instead, my every decision has worked against that goal. I’m a liability. The most despised part of what has always been a vicious environment.
“I’m worthless.” I cover my face with my hands, my nails digging into my forehead. I want to scream. To claw and scratch until the internal voices subside. But they never will. It never does.
The bags beside me rustle, the rhythmic vibration coming from my cell.
I straighten, riffling through the purchases worth far more than anything in my purse, and find my phone, the pink casing now cracked in the top corner, the screen alight with Matthew’s name.
I shouldn’t answer. Of all the things I should be doing right now, speaking to him isn’t one of them. Not when I have to figure out how to cancel my credit cards without Cole knowing, which is going to be goddamn hard when he’s the main account holder.
But my fingers work of their own accord, numbly swiping the screen. I answer without a greeting and sniff to dislodge the tingle in my nose.
“Hello? Layla?” He pauses. “Are you there?”
It’s sickening how those few words wash me in comfort. How a stranger can ease my suffering without even knowing it.
“Yeah.” I clear the fragility from my voice. “I’m sorry, I’m going to need to cancel catching up with you.”
“What’s wrong?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He cares. The passionate concern in his tone takes hold of me and grips tight.
I don’t know why it matters. Why it affects me even in the slightest. Having my purse stolen is nothing in comparison to what life has dealt me. A throbbing face and sore shoulder aren’t in the same league as the threats I’ve endured as the sister to a drug boss. Or the heartache of the lonely nights spent in a forced marriage.
It doesn’t even hold a candle to the disgust that brought me to my knees when I found out my father was a sex trafficker.
This is nothing.
No-thing.
And still, frailty threatens to drag me under.
“Layla, talk to me,” Matthew demands. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I scowl, willing the inner voices to quieten. “I’m fine. I just… My bag was stolen and I’m flustered. I need a minute to think—”
“Where are you?” he repeats.
“It doesn’t matter—”
“It matters,” he growls. “Tell me where you are.”
I’m used to protection. I’ve been shielded from hideous threats all my life. But never before has someone’s need to care for me hit this hard. Someone who barely knows me.
“Layla,” he implores. “I’m on my way to you. Just tell me your exact location.”
The disgust in my veins increases. The tightness in my throat, too. “Outside the mall. In an alley nearby.”
“Give me a name, amore mio. Do you know what alley?”
I look for the street sign and find nothing. “I don’t know. I can’t see—”
“As soon as I hang up you need to text me a pin on your location. Can you do that?”
I nod through the frantic emotions.
“Can you do that for me, Layla?”
“Yes.” My voice cracks.
“Okay… Good. Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
11
Layla
I’m slumped against the wall, my heart and thoughts in Chicago with Stella, when a black Lincoln Navigator pulls into the alley, the glossy vehicle stopping in front of me.
Matthew flings open the passenger door, and despite not wanting it to, my heart squeezes in relief. He jogs forward in another stylish suit, falls to his knees before me, and cups my face.