Page 30 of Broken Promises
We walk through the sterile corridors, passing hospital staff on the way to Layla’s room, my body like a time bomb. I’m heavy, anxious, and overwhelmed at the same time. Something inside me pulls taut like a bowstring until I almost can’t breathe around the sudden onset of dread knotting in my stomach when we enter the last corridor. Armed men stand in strategic places by the door, the windows, and the emergency exit.
With every measured, calculated step that brings me closer to Layla, another contradicting emotion resurfaces. Fourteen long, torturous days have passed, each full of attempts to forget, hate, and kickstart my life without her by my side. Who the fuck was I kidding? The day I realized she meant more than anyone else, I crossed a line. A line I’ve been so perfectly fucking balanced on, it felt like a paradigm shift when I put one foot out. Now, there’s no turning back.
The imposing smell of gauze and antiseptic spikes the back of my nose when I grab the door handle and push down, bracing for a harrowing sight. Bruises, cuts, tears.
But the bed is empty, and the heart monitor is flatlining. The sound steals the oxygen out of my lungs. My chest pinches tightly for a split second before adding two and two together. Of course, it’s fucking flatlining. It’s not connected to Layla. Not reading the rhythm of her heartbeats.
The IV stand is by the bed, the bags empty, and a cannula lays on the sheets stained with a few drops of blood. An open travel bag is tucked under a chair by the wall, and a takeout cup of coffee stands on the nightstand. It must’ve been the first thing Layla asked Mark to fetch this morning because there’s no way this girl can start the day without a dose of caffeine, or she unleashes fire and brimstone.
I’m about to turn around to ask Johnny where the fuck she is when the door on my right, partially hidden behind a room divider, swings open. Layla emerges from what must be an ensuite bathroom, stopping in her tracks. Still, so, so still. Frozen in place like a statue. An unbearable ache swells in my heart. God, she’s so fucking beautiful that looking at her feels like a punch to my gut. Wet hair sticks to her neck and shoulders, falling further down her back where it wets the white fabric of the V-neck t-shirt she wears. A single, silent tear rolls down her cheek. She swats it away, doing her utmost to stop the rest as she squirms under my gaze, trembling like a baby deer. She’s thinner than I remember. Cuts and bruises mark every inch of uncovered skin.
Tension leaves my muscles for the first time since Spades told me Delta’s on fire. I twitch to cross the room and touch her, but with the first step forward I take, she jerks back, eyes wide, cheeks scarlet.
“Don’t. Move,”I say, wearing my heart on my fucking sleeve as I pin Layla down with a pointed stare, willing her to stay in place.
There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Even if she locks herself in the bathroom, I’ll knock the door down two seconds later. I catch her hand and pull her frail frame close. Chest to chest. My heart rate soars, pulse throbs in my throat as I wrap one arm around her back. The world stops fucking spinning. Nothing but her matters when my fingers disappear in her long, damp hair and I cover her lips with mine.
A sort of terrified ecstasy, of being suspended, poised on the edge of a knife, jolts through me, intense and so deliciously sharp it’s almost painful. She parts her lips, making a soft whimpering noise that strips me of my inhibitions.
Just like the first time I kissed her, I sink into the silk of her mouth, devouring her sweetness, hungry for the calmness she evokes, for the feeling of being at home.
Her fingers grasp onto a thick tangle of my hair, and everything stills, blurs, fucking implodes. She chokes back tears, trying not to show weakness, but she can’t fool me. Not in the slightest. I feel her emotions as if they’re my own when her tongue sweeps and tangles with mine, our lips working in a desperate, breathless sync. She instinctively lets go of fear because she knows I’ll take care of it. She knows she’s safe with me. The one thing she clings to is guilt. Every touch of her fingers on my skin, every look, every kiss is designed to prove how much she loves me, so I won’t dare to doubt.
I don’t.
Ididn’t.
Not for a moment.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” I whisper, resting my forehead on hers, eyes closed. “Never leave me, baby.”
“I promise.” She steals another kiss.
Her heart pounds against her ribs, my mind nothing but a slave to the erotic anticipation. The kiss turns greedy, urgent. Forceful. Layla knots her hands on my neck as we fight to say with the kiss what neither of us could explain with words. I don’t think there are words in the English language capable of describing the unruliness of my mind.
I grip her waist, standing on the edge, desperate to tear her clothes off and show her who she fucking belongs to. I see it in my head: my hands under her butt, lifting her into my arms, slamming her petite body against the door, so I can impale her on my cock. I see myself driving into her, burying myself up to the hilt. I can almost feel her vibrating, clawing at my back, nipping at my neck as she comes, moaning, crying out my name.
But we’re not alone... we’re surrounded by too many people. We’re out in the open, not safe from an attack. The hunger burning inside my every cell needs to be tamed.
I break away to cup her face, brushing her tears away. “Never leave me.” Her absence is the one thing I can’t handle. The hell I refuse to endure ever again.
“I promise... and I’m sorry.” She bites her lip. Big, bright eyes stare straight into mine.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.” She tries to take a step back, but I hold her tight, not ready to let go. Daunting atmosphere brews in the room as her eyes drop to stare at the floor. “I’m not apologizing for following Frank’s orders, and I won’t.” She peers back at me with fresh tears dancing in her eyes. “I don’t regret what I did.”
“Then what are you apologizing for?” Now I’m the one to step back, my shoulders bunching, tensing, fucking painful again. She’s not making much sense, but I’m no closer to hating her than I was a minute ago.
She clings to me. Grabs handfuls of my shirt. Her eyes flicker with panic as if she thinks I’ll disappear if she stops touching me. “I’m sorry I doubted you loved me enough to forgive me.” She cups my face with trembling fingers, rising on her toes a little to level with me, which isn’t happening at her miniature height. “I love you,” she whispers, grazing the bridge of her nose along my jaw line. The alluring, sweet scent of her hits me just right. “I hate what I’ve done, but Idon’tregret helping Frank. Otherwise, I’d regret meeting you, loving yo—”
I don’t let her finish. I catch her lips in mine again, drinking the confession straight from her mouth so she won’t take it back. The remnants of contradicting emotions fade away, leaving no trace or proof that I ever wondered if she’s worth fighting for. She is. Christ, the gnawing desire to keep her safe, happy, and at ease, comes back in full force, packing a punch straight in my throat.
And she still has the ability to turn the ruthless, filthy, soulless asshole I am into a plush toy. No wonder I fell for her so hard, sofast. Instead of wishing to turn back time, refuse to help Frank, and ensure a death sentence wouldn’t hang over her head, she’s confident I’m worth all Frank threw at her.
“I’m taking you home, Star.” I stamp a kiss on her head. “But first, I want to have a word with your cousin and her friends about what happened last night.”
She nods, pushing a heavy sigh past her mouth. “Morte was here last night. He told me about the hit. Some family I have.”
