“Layla’s heart stopped yesterday because one of the hitmen found her here. He took the shot. The bullet missed her heart by a hair’s breadth... for three minutes and seventeen seconds, I thought she was dead. The longest one hundred and ninety-seven seconds in my life and now yours. I wanted you to know what the pain of losing what you love feels like before you die.”
I don’t wait for an answer. There’s no point in prolonging his misery. No point in talking or listening to pleas. Whatever he has to say, whatever bullshit excuse or deal he came up with on the long-haul flight hereisn’tgood enough; isn’t worth losing time I can spend by Layla’s side.
I’m sure deep down, he knew he came here to die. When my index finger slides onto the trigger, a glimmer of relief flashes in his eyes. Relief, which can only be interpreted one way. He’s grateful I chose to kill him over his son.
EPILOGUE
Dante
SIX MONTHS LATER
“No,” I say, arms folded over my chest, eyes on Jean, who mimics my stance. “That’s not up for discussion.”
She scoffs, blowing an unruly lock of red hair off her flushed face. “You’re right. It’s not. She’s staying with Jess and Anatolij, and that’snotup for discussion.”
“Um, can I say some—”
“No!” Jean and I both snap at Layla.
“You’re staying home, Star.”
“She’snot!”
This might take a while. Jean’s adamant Layla should spend the night at her parent’s house, so I won’t see her all day tomorrow until Anatolij walks her down the aisle at four in the afternoon. I am, obviously, very much against this idiotic idea.
For six months since we came home from Moscow, we spent every night together. Even if I had to fly to Detroit, New York, Dallas, or anywhere, Layla came with me. I’m not letting that girl more than three miles out of my reach, and even when she’s at college or visiting with Jess and Anatolij, one of my men is always there, standing outside the building.
What’s most surprising is that not only does she not mind, but she was the one who asked for a bodyguard. The bounty, shooting, and near-death experience took a toll on her. She still wakes up drenched in sweat sometimes, plagued by nightmares. The scar on her chest reminds us daily how close we were tothe end.
Both of us.
As much as I try not to replay the dreadful days I spent at the hospital in Moscow or the sound of the flat-lining heart monitor, I do. My mind was made the second Layla’s heart stopped beating, and my resolution hasn’t changed with time. I’ll follow her out of this fucking world if she checks out before me. I go where she goes. No exceptions.
“I think Jean’s right,” Layla says. Great, two against one. “It’s just one night, and they say it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”
“See? She’s staying with Anatolij and Jess.” Jean grips the small travel bag she already packed for Layla.
I’ve got a love-hate relationship with Jean. We get along well until we don’t, but I like the verbal scuffles just as much as I like when she’s easy-going. Now that she moved to Chicago two months ago, she became the mama-bear to all my men’s girls, fighting for their rights, which drives her man—Jackson, up the fucking wall.
He knew what he was getting into falling in love with Miss independent, so I don’t feel one bit sorry for him.
“Fine, one night,” I huff, checking my watch. “I’ll bring her over in two hours. For now, you might want to make yourself scarce.”
No way I’ll let her out of the house for a whole night before I get my fill.
The only person not to speak one word for the past twenty minutes rises from the couch. “We better go.” Jackson grabs Layla’s suitcase and Jean’s hand. “You’re not the bride, so why the hell are you staying with—” The door closes behind them.
Layla smiles, already on her way upstairs. She knows what I want. What I crave more and more every day, if that’s even possible. I catch up with her in the bedroom andpin her to the wall, one hand clasped around her throat, the other on her hip.
“I don’t like this idea.”
She rises on her toes to reach my lips, speaking against them. “I know how to make this more bearable.” She slowly pops all buttons on my shirt, her warm fingers ghosting down my chest. “Can I do as I please, or would you rather take over?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” I fucking devour her, slipping my tongue in the silk of her mouth, tasting and teasing. I move one hand to press my fingers against the swollen bud on the apex of her thighs, earning a soft moan in return. “Good girl.” I yank the zip on her dress, tugging so hard the fabric rips, then take off her bra and rip off her white panties. “On your knees for me.”
She sinks. Not a moment’s hesitation. She frees my stiff cock out of my boxer shorts, yanking my pants down. I step out of them, and Layla wraps her fingers around the base, confident, focused, and unmoving as she waits for further instructions.
“Open,” I rasp, watching her lips fall apart. “Good girl. Make me come, baby.”