Page 2 of Ruthless Redemption

I slide back in my seat and clench a fist to bang it against the side window. I pound hard enough for the bones in my hand to ache. I don’t stop when Bishop threatens me. I keep pummeling as the showdown continues, my brother’s expression morphing from a glare to a taunting grin.

What the hell are they talking about?

I bang and thump and hit until he starts toward the Lincoln, sparking delirious relief inside my burning veins.

I’ve made a plethora of bad decisions that Cole will forever hold against me. But the epitome of my nightmare is about to be over. I can return to my dismal existence—home, the place that once seemed like hell, yet now resembles a refuge when pitted against my current situation. I’ll slink into isolation to lick my wounds. I’ll become a goddamn hermit.

Cole stops on my side of the car, parallel with the driver’s seat, and glances at Bishop. “Lower her window.”

I straighten. Pause.Panic.

I don’t need the window lowered. I want the door opened. There’s no time for temporary measures when our enemies are near. The men who played a role in killing my husband are in the hotel beside the alley, looking for me. The men who I now know are Matthew’s brothers.

My window descends an inch, allowing a breath of the outside world to sweep in.

“Layla,” Cole greets in a condemning tone. “This is quite a mess you’ve made.”

“I know.” I give another pointless tug of the door handle. “I’m sorry. I’ll explain on the way home.”

“I don’t need an explanation.”

There’s something in his statement that chills me. Something callous and cruel.

“You don’t?” I glance at Matthew standing a few feet away, my gaze connecting with eyes devoid of emotion. He’s not enraged that I’m about to leave him. Not annoyed. Or bitter. Or heartbroken. He’s a blank slate, only marred by the damage my brother inflicted on his face.

“Please let me out.” I return my attention to Cole. “Salvatore and Remy are—”

“You’re not getting out, Layla.”

I stiffen.

Everything slows—my concept of time, my thoughts, the world around me. Everything except my pulse, which does the opposite, its frantic beats threatening to cause heart failure.

“What do you mean?” I grip the edge of the window. My fingers claw as I fail to lower the barrier. “What’s going on?”

“Do you remember what we discussed the day of Benji’s funeral?” His voice hardens as he steps closer.

I ignore the question, tugging violently on the glass. “Open the door.” I don’t want to talk about the funeral. Or my late husband. I don’t want to do anything other than get out of this car.

“You begged me for peace,” he continues. “You pleaded for me to leave the Costas alone for the sake of Stella and Tobias. And I complied. I delayed honor and retribution for you. For your recovery, as well as the children’s. But I also told you there would be a price.”

My blood turns from red-hot to stone-cold, the icy dread splintering painfully through my limbs. “Open the door, Cole.” My fingers ache from my aggressive grip on the glass. “Don’t do this.”

“I made it clear there would be a price to pay for such a sizeable favor.”

“No.” I raise my voice. Shake my head. “Please.”

“It’s time to pay up, sister.”

“No.” I rattle the window. Kick the door. “Let me out.”

“I’m not always going to be around to fix your mistakes. You need to learn to clean up the mess you create.”

My mind continues the screams my parched throat can no longer achieve.

I tug and pull and thrash against the door. I thump and punch and shove.

My brother ignores my plight. Everyone does.

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