Page 30 of Layla

“Hey, dude,” Kyle begins and John turns his glare on him.

“Shut up,” he grinds out.

“Jesus, John,” I mutter. “Back off.”

“You heard her,” Kyle says, slipping an arm around me. “I don’t know who you are but—”

“I’m the guy in charge of her security,” John growls, but his attention never leaves my face. “You’re not drinking that. If you want a drink, you can go back to the table or let me—”

I drop the glass on the counter and push away from the bar, so furious I can barely see straight.

“Sorry,” I mutter to Kyle. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“I’ll come with—”

But John has already stepped between us, his hand wrapping around my elbow. “I’ll take her.”

I wrench my arm away so hard a shot of pain goes through my stiff shoulder. I manage to keep from gasping at the discomfort and turn on my heel, stomping off towards the bathroom.

“It’s this way,” John says, reaching for my arm again.

“Donottouch me.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see his hands clench, briefly, before he shoves them in his pockets. The hallway to the bathroom is mercifully empty but as I go to push open the door, John sighs loudly. “You know I need to check the room first.”

I spin quickly to face him. “I cannot believe you just did that!”

He doesn’t back down. “And I can’t believe you were about to take a drink from a stranger. That’s a dumb move no matter who you are.”

“I was standing right next to him!”

His face is stony as he stares down at me. “You didn’t have your eyes on that drink the whole time. His back was to you when the bartender handed it over. He could have put anything in there and you’d have no idea.”

I’m breathing hard, so fucking angry at him. “I’ve managed to take care of myself in bars just fine for the past ten years, John!”

He steps closer, his expression livid. “Well now it’s my job to take care of you.”

I let out a gasp of surprise, taking a step back. “That isnotyour job.”

He closes his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“I don’t think I do.”

He finally opens his eyes and there’s no mistaking the fire in them. “You’re too smart for this, Layla. Taking a drink from a stranger. Letting some asshole you don’t even know put his hands all over you.”

I gape at him, and suddenly I realize that this is about a lot more than the drink. He’d been glaring at me before, when we were just dancing. “You judgmental bastard,” I mutter, taking another step back. “You know what, John? I will let whoever I want put their hands wherever I want. That is myright. And I refuse to let my fucking bodyguard slut shame me for it.”

“I’m not—” he begins, but I hold my hand up.

“Just shut up. You have no right—”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you!” he practically roars.

All of a sudden, I feel like crying, and I don’t even know why. My shoulders slump forward and I see concern dance across John’s face. And maybe something like regret. Before he can say anything else, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out, praying that it’s Haylee or one of the others, any kind of excuse to get the hell out of this hallway.

But the text isn’t from one of my friends. It isn’t from anyone I know.You look great tonight.

I stare down at the phone, confused, until it vibrates again a moment later. This time there’s a picture attachment. A picture of me with my eyes closed, dancing with Kyle. Who in the hell sent this? And why do I suddenly feel so chilled?

It takes a minute for the pieces to come together. The unfamiliar number. The words. The shot of me from just a few minutes ago. And then there’s one more message.I’m never going to let someone else touch you again, Layla. Soon.Your Wicked Lover.

“John,” I whisper, my voice shaking. He’s at my side immediately, grabbing the phone from my hand. As his eyes scan the messages, I see his face harden. Then he’s grasping my arm again, this time pulling me back towards the club, towards the exit. He has his walkie-talkie in his other hand and he’s barking something to Eddie.

“That washim,” I whisper, my brain spinning as my blood runs cold. “He’s here.”

My knees buckle and I stumble a little, but John’s arm is around me before I can fall, pulling me along. I bury my face in his shirt, taking in the familiar clean scent of him.

“I’ve got you,” he says firmly, his voice calm and steady, cutting through the whooshing noise in my ears. I clutch onto him and let those words wash over me as he leads me out into the night.

“I’ve got you Layla.”