Page 8 of Seeking Vengeance

“No.” I suck in gasps. One after another without relief. I’m suffocating. Drowning in the karma I knew would come my way.

“He’s dead.” Cole steps forward, his face bleak as he opens his arms and envelops me in his hold.

“No.” I batter his chest. “You’re lying. You’re doing this to punish me.”

How had I not noticed Benji didn’t return? I hadn’t spared him a thought. My focus had been on Stella. On our baby girl he went to rescue.

“They shot him. He couldn’t be saved,” Cole whispers the horror in my ear. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

A sob escapes, my eyes searing with a firestorm of tears.

I heave for breath, for understanding, pummeling and scratching at my brother’s suit-covered chest as my legs threaten to give out.

“Don’t cry.” He continues to hold me, but those words are nothing more than a formality. No warmth exudes from him—only sterility. “Don’t cry, Layla,” he whispers. “We both know tears are a privilege for those who lack guilt.”

3

Layla

Present day

I crossmy hands on the bar and stare at the gloss scratched from the wood, wishing the crevices held the insight to get me out of here.

“All I want is answers,” the man mutters from the stool beside me.

“And I gave them to you. I like sitting near the window. Most people do.”

“Mostpeople don’t eavesdrop on neighboring conversations the entire time.Mostpeople would sit with their back to the wall, not the room. Andmostpeople wouldn’t hang around until the exact moment the patrons behind them left.”

My cheeks heat. No matter how hard I concentrate on measuring my breathing and remaining calm, my skin doesn’t stop burning, potentially exposing my guilt.

“You’d want to start talking, sunshine.” His endearment is far from kind. “Why are you here? Who do you work for?”

So much for being discreet. Turns out my presence held the blinding discretion of tractor beams. But still, I’ve done nothing wrong. I overheard a conversation. I haven’t broken any laws.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I slide from the stool. “And I’m done pandering to your paranoia. Like I told you, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

The man follows, his shoulders broadening, yet again blocking my escape route. He doesn’t look at me, though. He stares over my shoulder, those icy eyes focusing on something behind me.

“I can take it from here, Bishop.” A voice etched with smooth superiority and graveled confidence brushes the back of my neck.

I swallow, my pulse thunderous.

There’s no threat in the newcomer’s tone. It’s far less abrasive than his colleague’s. Maybe it even holds a hint of humor. But since my father’s schemes ruined my life, I’m not easily fooled by cadence and timbre.

Bishop glances from me to the unseen guy at my back, pausing a moment before inclining his head and swinging around to walk away. Just like that, the threatening ogre takes his leave, meaning whoever stands behind me is far more powerful.

“You can take what from here?” I turn, my pulse catching at the mischievous chocolate eyes that capture mine.

The handsome stranger grins, his smile subtle and exuding just the right amount of friendly flirtation. He wants me to feel at ease, and for the slightest second, I do, gently coaxed into his web of sex appeal.

Then intuition kicks in.

“You can take what from here?” I repeat.

His grin deepens, the slight flash of wicked intent catching me off guard. This guy is good. Manipulative. Everything about him is perfect.Tooperfect. From the expensive designer suit, to the devilish graze of stubble along his chiseled jaw, all the way to his finger-tousled dark hair.

Charming yet destructive.

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