Page 106 of Seeking Vengeance

“Then stop right there.” He decimates the space between us to grab my wrists, the red fabric falling to huddle at my hips as he tugs me into his chest. “We’ll start fresh together. You, me, Stella.” He inches forward, and I’m not sure if it’s his words or his proximity that sends me into a tailspin. “I’ve never—”

“No.Youstop.” I splay a hand against his sternum in warning. “Don’t—”

“I care too much to let you walk out on me, Layla.”

I shake my head. Over and over and over.

These reactions. This craziness. None of it can go on.

“I didn’t grow up planning to take a path toward a man like Lorenzo,” he continues. “But every decision and every fucking mistake led me to the night we met. Every crime. Every unforgivable action brought me to you.”

My veins hum with fear and anticipation. Panic and power.

I’m torn. Severed in two.

“It doesn’t matter.” I have to get home. To monotony and misery. Solitude and sadness.

Another knock sounds at the door, rattling the wood against the frame. I snap rigid at the intrusion as Matthew growls a curse.

“Who is it?” he barks.

“Me,” Bishop yells from the hall. “Who the fuck else are you expecting?”

Matthew doesn’t move. Doesn’t even loosen his hold. The only change is the flare of his nostrils as he glares at the entry. “I’ll get rid of him.”

26

Layla

I scrambleto right my dress as Matthew stalks for the entry, the whoosh of the door soon following.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you until Lorenzo was taken to the doctor,” he growls.

“Relax,” comes the arrogant reply. “He’s on his way there now.”

I hustle across the room, taking in the sight of Matthew at the door and Bishop scowling over his shoulder at me from the hall.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Matthew asks.

Bishop drags his gaze from me, his focus tight when he says, “Because I’ve got news.”

There’s a beat of silence. Of non-verbal communication.

“What news?” I interrupt. “I want to know what’s going on.”

The quiet continues, their silent communication lasting a muted microsecond before Matthew steps back, allowing his friend access to the suite.

My nemesis strides inside, his chin arrogantly high, his lips thin. He stops before the sofa and turns away from me to take off his suit jacket, exposing the gun buried in the back of his pants before he throws the item of clothing over the armrest.

It’s a show. A deliberately theatrical intimidation.

I’m not buying tickets.

When he pivots to face me, I want to roll my eyes. To roll them so far in the back of my head I gag, but he doesn’t need to know men like him are a dime a dozen where I’m from.

He descends to the sofa, spreading his arms along the headrest, crossing an ankle over his knee. He’s attempting to appear superior and relaxed while I’m expected to cower and hide.

Not going to happen.

---