Page 33 of Seeking Vengeance

“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 slumpedagainst 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.

“Fucking hell.” His eyes harden as they focus on my injured cheek. “They hit you?”

“No. I was shoved into the wall. I should’ve put my hands up to stop the impact but…” I shake my head within his gentle hold. “I guess I didn’t have time. I don’t know… I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“It’s okay.” His attention softens. “You’re going to be fine.”

I’m not so sure. Not with my sinister intentions now out in the world in the form of a tiny cyanide vial. But it’s nice to hear the assurance, to have such a confident and compelling man almost demand my recovery.

“What did they take?” His thumb strokes my uninjured cheek as Bishop climbs from the driver’s seat. “Did you call the police?”

“It was just my purse and a few things I purchased. The cops don’t need to be involved.” They can’t be. I wouldn’t even know how to start explaining my reasons for carrying poison if my bag was found. Although not illegal, cyanide is a controlled chemical and I have no reason to have it, especially not on my person and concealed in a drug vial. “It’s only a few credit cards and some cash.”

“You sure?” His gaze narrows. “This is serious.”

He has no idea.

I can’t explain how I obtained the murderous powder. The name of my contact would only raise more red flags. Could I go to prison? Or worse, if the Costas find out I’m here, and why, will they then target my family again in retaliation?

The blood drains from my face in a rapid vacuum.

“Layla, it’s going to be okay. Just talk to me. You look like you’re about to faint.”

What if someone were to think the vial of white powder was cocaine? What if they snorted it?

“I…” I fight against the overwhelming need to blurt my fears. “I had something in my bag.”

Matthew’s shoulders straighten, but his confident attention doesn’t waver. “Something illegal?”

I nod.

“A weapon?” The question lacks condemnation. He holds no surprise. Not even disappointment.

“Of sorts… If it got into the wrong hands—” My stomach lurches.

“It’s okay.” He leans closer, demanding I believe him with his close proximity. “I’ll take care of it.”

“How? What could you possibly do?”

“I’ve got contacts. If the bag is found, nothing is going to be tied back to you.” He releases my face and glances over his shoulder, sharing a silent communication with Bishop who stands a few feet away before returning his attention to me. “You’re a single woman alone in a foreign city. You’re entitled to have protection, whether it’s illegal or not. And if someone is harmed…” He pauses, his tone gaining conviction before he finally says, “I’ll take care of it, Layla. I promise you.”

I believe him. Even though he assumes I had a gun. Even though the aftermath of mistakenly snorting cyanide could be far worse than a gunshot, my traitorous insides relax a little at his assurance.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He helps me to my feet, then sweeps me into his arms.

“I can walk.” My protest is faint at best.

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