Page 31 of Layla

John

This is my fault.

That’s the only thing I can think of as I pull her into the waiting car. This is my damn fault. Fuck.

Our walkies are probably out of range so I pull out my phone, typing out a quick message to Eddie, letting him know that we’re secure. He and the others will need to get the rest of the band out of there. I hope that they’re all close—it will be a lot harder if they have to track anyone down on the dance floor. But I can’t worry about that. Getting Layla out was the priority.

Once I’ve received confirmation from Eddie that he’s on it, I call Louis, letting him know what happened and that we’re on our way to the hotel, instructing him to call the police. He swears loudly in my ear then hangs up to call the cops.

Only then do I turn my attention to Layla. She has her face buried in my chest, clinging to me tightly, and her entire body is shaking. She’s terrified.

“Hey,” I murmur, pulling her away so I can look down at her. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Everything is fine.”

Her wide eyes are darting around the dark interior of the car, not focusing on anything. I grasp her chin in my fingers, making her look up at me. “You’re safe, Layla.”

“He was in there?” she whispers.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. He was obviously there, and close enough to get that shot of her. My stomach bottoms out at the thought.

And I didn’t see a damn thing because I was too busy being pissed that some douchebag had his hands on her.

What in the fuck is wrong with me? I have a job to do. Layla is relying on me to keep her safe. And instead I let myself get—what? Jealous?

Jesus. I was supposed to be watching for this exact thing and I missed it because I can’t seem to pull my head out of my ass where this woman is concerned.

“Do you think he…do you think he wants to hurt me?” she asks, her voice breaking, and my chest constricts.

I tighten my grip on her chin. “I amnotgoing to let that happen.”

She takes a deep breath, nodding, and I release her face. I watch as see tries to get herself together, to regain some control. Her shoulders straighten, her chin going up just a bit. It does something to me, watching her struggle to put her strong mask back on. How many times have I done that exact same thing?

“You told Louis to call the police?” she asks, her voice still thin.

I nod. “The number is probably blocked, but we need to have them check.”

“Maybe it isn’t the same guy,” she suggests, the hope in her voice making my chest ache again.

“Maybe,” I agree, but I don’t believe it for a second. He’d used that same moniker,Your Wicked Lover. There was no way it was a coincidence.

She closes her eyes for just a moment before they snap open again, a fresh wave of terror washing over her expression. “What about everyone else? Haylee—”

“Sean and Eddie will get them out of there,” I assure her. I don’t mention that I’m not worried about Haylee, or any of the others. This asshole is clearly fixated on Layla and Layla alone.

“This is my fault,” she whispers, echoing the mantra that’s been running through my head since I saw those messages.

“Hey.” My voice is firm and I squeeze her shoulder a little tighter. She’s still curled up into my side and I don’t have any desire to move her away. “This is not your fault.”

“I was being a brat,” she says. “Challenging you and dancing with that guy—”

“You were out with your friends,” I cut in. “You have every right to dance with someone.” Of course, it’s the complete opposite of what I said to her in that hallway, but I’m fully aware that I was being a jealous asshole when I threw those words in her face.

She opens her mouth, maybe to make that exact point, but we’re pulling up to the hotel. There’s a small group of fans waiting around the front door, and she tenses all over again.

“Go to the parking garage,” I tell the driver. I’m not crazy about the idea—there are too many dark corners there for me to watch. But I know Layla is not going to be able to handle walking past those fans, having them shout her name and take her picture.

The driver circles around and takes us in through the garage. I jump from the car, my eyes scanning as much of our level as I can see, then pull Layla out, wrapping an arm around her. “I’m okay,” she says softly. “I can walk now.”

I pull her tighter against me. “I feel better if you’re close,” I mutter, not caring how husky my voice sounds. There’s no way I’m letting her walk even a foot away from me until I get her safely to her room. She doesn’t argue with me, but she doesn’t bury her face in my chest again, either. We walk quickly to the elevator and I hold my breath until it opens and I can see that it’s empty inside. I still refuse to let Layla go. “Wait until we’re upstairs,” I mutter when she tries to pull away.