Page 80 of This Ravenous Fate
Layla turned the water off and faced Jamie. He looked tired, blond hair damp from a shower, eyes a bit glazed over. But still, he scowled at Layla and the water she had splashed on the counter. “You’re a menace.” He slumped onto the couch and picked up the crossword puzzle Layla had left there earlier. The scowl slowly melted away as he read her thank-you message. A small smile graced his lips and even though Layla hated that surge of warm softness that flooded her because it meant she was cracking beneath his whims, she was glad to have a distraction from her complex feelings surrounding Elise.
Layla would have rather spent hours scrubbing her hands in the sink until they were raw as long as it meant she did not need to confront her feelings for the Saint heiress. But there she was, hands wet and raw, specks of blood and glass still stuck to her, and Elise still on her mind.
“Why do you look so peeved? I thought you had some kind of breakthrough,” Jamie asked.
Layla moved toward the couch. She gingerly sat on the only available cushion that just happened to be beside a sleeping Hendricks. He lifted his head as she sank onto the seat, green eyes narrowing onher. Layla shot him a quick glare, then focused back on Jamie. “Not quite. The Saint heiress and I ran into a problem at the club.”
Jamie’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What? More gangsters? Most of my guys don’t have stable homes; they are probably just staying there until they find a place.”
Layla shook her head. “No…” She realized now just how stupid it would sound if she mentioned getting sidetracked because of the tension that had risen between her and Elise. But frankly, who was Jamie to judge her when he thoughtVexwas a good name for a gangster? She sighed. “The problem is the Saint girl. And me. We just don’t work well together.”
“Obviously. But that can’t be it.” Jamie folded the crossword puzzle and turned to her. “I think you hold yourself back a lot. I don’t understand that. What are you afraid of? You’ve already lost everything.”
His words hurt. Layla looked away for a moment, throat burning with unshed tears. She forced her emotions back down and swallowed before she looked at him again. “I know I should work past everything to get to the bottom of this so I can get the cure, but you have no idea what it’s like to have to constantly be around the ghost of the most traumatic moment of your life. When I’m around her, it’s like pouring alcohol on an open wound.”
“Ah, but you open yourself up to be healed eventually. It’s all part of the process,” Jamie said gently. He stroked a hand down Hendrick’s back, and the damn cat purred. His eyes closed, head craning back, purrs traveling through his body and to the couch, where Layla felt them vibrating through her cushion.
She bit into her bottom lip. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Tell me about the Cotton Club. Do you really think it’s bound to reopen?”
Jamie snorted. “Doubtful. The owner is not even in the city.”
Layla frowned. “No?”
“He was so upset about the incident with the reapers and the dancers, he had to fly off to Europe to spend time with his other, more successful, less liable club.” Jamie laughed softly. “His words, not mine. He’s really pissed off Stephen Wayne, actually.”
“Why Stephen?”
“They’re in business together. Why do you think Wayne had posters for his lab all over the club? He approached me to be a product supplier for Calhoun initially, but I was already too busy with the speakeasy. So Stephen went with the Diamond Dealers.” Jamie gaped. “And now they’re dead. Thank God I listened to my gut.”
Layla paused, thoughts spinning in her mind. “Do you try the liquor that you get?”
Jamie almost laughed. “To make sure it’s good? Hell no. These people are so desperate for a fix, they would drink bleach.”
“What if it was? I mean, there’s been so much death surrounding the Cotton Club, you never stopped to think something was off with your supply? The Saint heiress told me Stephen might have enemies—”
Jamie’s eyes darkened and his expression fell. “Are you accusing me of something, Quinn?”
“No. But maybe someone used you as a cover to hide their ownillegal activities. And that same person probably killed Theo Smith and those Saints.” Layla sighed. “It’s only a matter of time before more people die.”
Jamie stared at her for a while. “Your mind always goes to violence. You are so violent. All the time. Does it ever get tiring?”
“No.”
Hendricks let out a low meow. Jamie grinned. “I know, she’s crazy.”
“Says the man talking to a cat. Who you call your ‘son.’” Layla teased. She could still remember the shock of finding out that Jamie’s “son” was not a human child. Layla had laughed on the couch for five minutes straight when she first met Hendricks—before he made an enemy out of her. She was glad for the break in tension now, a welcome relief from the day’s stressors. Tenderly, Layla reached a hand out to pet Hendricks, but Jamie shook his head.
“Let him smell you first,” he said.
So Layla did. Or she tried. Her hand hovered in front of Hendricks’s face for one second before his eyes shot open. But to Layla’s surprise, he did not hiss. He lapped at her fingers with his tongue for a few moments, no aggression in sight. Layla huffed. “Wow, Hendricks, youcanbe nice—”
Hendricks, as if turned on by a switch, suddenly lunged for her hand. Yowling, he clamped down on her fingers and drew blood. Layla snatched her hand back right as Jamie pulled Hendricks onto his lap.
“Never again,” Layla muttered, rubbing her blood off onto her pants.
Jamie stared. “I have never seen him so angry before. That was beyond anger; it was pure warfare.”
Layla only rolled her eyes and left the room.
