Page 63 of Layla

John

Idon’t go into my room. I can’t.

Apparently, I’d rather torture myself instead because that’s what I do, sinking down the wall across from her room, staring at that fucking closed door from my spot on the floor.

Everything in me is screaming to break the door down. To pull that asshole out of her room. Hell, to pullherout of her room, to take her back to mine where I can keep her safe.

Sheissafe,I try to convince myself. I don’t actually think Conner would hurt her. Besides, Layla can definitely handle herself with a twerpy guy like that. I have no doubt she would eat him for breakfast if he tried to do something she wasn’t on board with.

So why am I filled with so much dread as I stare at her door?

You know why, idiot.

The idea of that guy in her bedroom—fuck, the idea ofanyguy in her bedroom—makes me feel sick. Sick and really, really pissed off. I want to rip his fucking hands off for touching her. And the knowledge that he may well be doing a lot more than touching her right now…I groan, balling my hands into fists against the floor so I don’t give in to the urge to get up and start pounding on the door.

Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.

The sound of her voice asking that question had sent chills down my arms. I might have expected her tone to be defiant. But it wasn’t. She just soundedtired. Tired and sad. She wasn’t challenging me, wasn’t trying to make me jealous or spur me into action. She had almost sounded desperate. Like she was truly hoping I could provide her with a reason not to go into that room with him.

And I hadn’t even been able to give her that.

I wanted to. I wanted to tell her not to do it because it should be me. I wanted to tell her not to do it because she’smine.

But that’s bullshit. Layla Perry isn’t mine. She can’t be.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that she’s hurting right now. She’s hurting and she needs me and I completely failed her when I didn’t answer that damn question.

I jump up, unable to stand the thoughts swirling in my head, the nausea in my gut, for even a second more. I don’t know what I’m going to do, exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s gonna involve using my key to get in that room and rip that douchebag apart.

But no sooner am I on my feet does her door swing open, revealing the douchebag himself. He seems startled at the sight of me.

“Is she okay?” I blurt out, and his surprise slips away as his eyes narrow.

Conner closes the door behind him. “She’s fine.” He crosses his arms, watching me. “The fuck is your problem?”

I clench my fists. “Just doing my job.”

He continues to watch me, his expression appraising. Finally, he smirks a little. “So that’s how it is.”

I swallow. I don’t like the look on his face. It’s almost like he knows exactly why I’m still sitting in this hallway. When I don’t answer, he shakes his head. “Well, I guess I should wish you luck. You’ll need it—for someone who’s supposed to be easy, that bitch turned out to be pretty damn disappointing. Total cock-tease—”

I have him pushed up against the wall before the words are out of his mouth, my forearm tight across his throat. Through the haze of my rage, I see his face reddening as he sputters, trying to push me back. I tighten my grip. “The fuck did you just call her?”

My grip is definitely too tight for him to respond. Too tight for him to breathe, if the reddening of his face is any indication. And I don’t want to let up. I want to put my fist through this punk’s face, want to rearrange his features enough to wipe off that smug expression for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to gasp out. And even though I don’t want to, I ease up the pressure on his neck. Because Layla was right about me—my control is central to my very being. And destroying this asshole in a public place for calling her names is not exactly a good demonstration of control.

He uses the extra room to push my arm away, gasping as he bends at the waist. “Fuck, man.”

“Stay away from her,” I say, voice soft and controlled when what I really want to do is shout it at him. “You don’t talk to her or touch her again.”

He glares up at me. “What in the hell is it to you?”

I take another step closer, pleased to see the panic in his eyes as I invade his space. “It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that I can end you. Testing me would not be in your best interest.”

He pushes away from the wall, rubbing at his neck. “Fine. Frigid bitch isn’t worth this shit.”

This time I make sure his head hits the wall, hard, my arm right back in place over his windpipe. “You don’t fucking learn, do you?”