10. Layla

10

LAYLA

" Scythe!"

I storm around my home, yelling into every camera lens I can see. I didn't even give myself time to drop my purse or go to the bathroom. I'm so mad.

"Show yourself! Now!"

The purse smacks against my side in time with my pacing. The grotesque jar sways and bangs inside, a brutal reminder of its presence.

Halting in the middle of the main room, I glare up at the camera installed in the corner and point at my bag. "What is this? What have you done ?"

Silence.

I laugh under my breath, half insane with the images my imagination created on the rest of the drive home. "It must've been you who left me this in my car. My car , you asshole! The only other thing that's mine other than this house you've also invaded!"

No response.

"You don't get it, do you? "

The purse's strap slips off my shoulder. I let it fall on the banged-up sofa chair next to me. "I don't require much. Hell, I don't come with much. But what I do have, I'm proud of. So scare me all you want, but I'm not running away. This half-rotten piece of land is my only legacy, okay? It's more than just a home to me. I'm not abandoning that part of myself. I'm not."

My arms fall to my sides. I blow a piece of loose hair out of my face, waiting ten more seconds before I lose my mind.

I'm about to give up and just toss this haunted pickle jar into the ocean when the camera's speaker light blinks to life.

"Wraithling," my Scythe drawls, his tone dripping with casual indolence. "You keep forgetting you're prey. I'm just making sure you live long enough to learn how to be a predator."

"By presenting me with pieces of human skin?" I snap, my outrage reigniting. "I should just take this to the police. Show them what you're doing."

"Don't. "

The single word chills the air.

"Consider it a warning," he continues coolly. "Each assassin I eliminate will be laid out as evidence for you. You should start listening to me."

"Assassin?" I echo, my attention drifting from the camera and to the floor as I think.

"I warned you they would come because of what you know."

"What is it you want me to do? Unsee what I saw? Unhear what I heard?"

"Stop going to work. I won't make you leave your home, but I will lock you in it if you keep testing me."

I pull my lips in. My mother would have called my current expression a lemon face, but I still feel like going toe-to-toe with this jerk. "I can't do that."

"Then you will die."

The finality of his words rings in my ears.

I take a deep breath and look back up at the camera. "I'm not afraid of dying. But I'd rather not."

My Scythe laughs softly.

The speaker hums with static, the green light flicks off, then the voice is gone.

I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. Before I can second-guess myself, I grab my purse and trudge outside, my heart heavy and my mind spinning.

The lingering echo of his words snakes through my thoughts, an ominous reminder of the duality that defines this man: self-proclaimed protector and deliberate executioner.

I can protect myself. I've always been able to.

And he's not going to execute me.

He's had plenty of chances, and he's avoided each one. Starting with my almost being run over by a car. It would have been so easy to let me go splat under the tires. All of this could've been avoided, like the rewiring of my house, the skin sample from an alleged professional killer, this fucking thumb drive wedged permanently in my bra that's become my death warrant. Maybe I should just give it to him. I'm not sure why he hasn't grabbed it from me already.

What keeps him here?

As if responding to my thoughts, a gust of wind whispers through the trees as I walk down the gravel path to the lighthouse, their branches scraping against each other like the skeletal hands of lost souls.

I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. The lighthouse looms ahead, its once-white paint now faded and peeling. I use my entire body weight to shove open the door, entering the empty circular chamber with an odd sense of doom.

Nothing is out of place since the last time I drummed up enough nerve to explore the barren lighthouse floor. Dirt and debris cover the ground in the same windswept pattern, clicking and chittering every time I open the door and let the breeze in. It's still lonely and musty in here. The previous lightkeepers' lives are a permanent mystery since they've left nothing behind of themselves.

It's the smell.

My nose twitches once I realize the subtle shift. A metallic, feral scent, almost like sweat, lingers where it never was before.

Swallowing, I climb the stairs to the top, trying to ignore it.

The top of the abandoned lighthouse, known as the lantern room, is a circular chamber encased in weathered glass panes, many of which are cracked or broken. The room, once housing the beacon, is now empty. I tentatively step through it and outside to the gallery, the exterior circular balcony encircled by a corroded metal widow's walk offering a panoramic view of the rugged coastline and churning sea below. The wind here is relentless, howling through the cracks and carrying the scent of salt and seaweed. I pull the jar from my purse, clutching it to my chest and looking down at the dark, angry water.

I take a deep breath and unscrew the lid. I hold it out over the edge of the railing and dump the contents into the water below, then toss the empty jar behind it.

As I watch the waves swallow it, I feel a sense of relief and dread. Relief that it's gone, but because I'm being so reckless and defiant, fear that the Scythe might actually kill me if he corners me up here.

But I was tired of arguing with a surveillance system. Now that his advantage of surprise is gone, I could finally confront him and ask the questions I couldn't a few days ago.

I turn around to face the lantern room, waiting. Minutes pass, and I start to doubt myself. Maybe he won't come. Perhaps I was wrong about him.

But then I hear a sound.

I whirl, my hair whipping into my face, and see the eerie, glowing mask at the top of the stairs, neon eyes fixed on me.

He's dressed in all black, his hair tousled by the wind. He takes slow, measured steps toward me, his gaze never leaving mine. I try to fight against the urge to run but fail miserably when my knees go weak. The tension between us is so palpable, a thick current of lightning crackles in the air.

He stops a few feet away, angling his head.

For a moment, we hang in silence, staring at each other, the sound of the wind and crashing waves the only background noise.

"You're playing with fire, Layla," he says, his voice muffled but no less dangerous.

"I figured it was the only way to get your attention," I reply, trying to sound confident even though my heart is beating through my chest. "You said you wanted to protect me, so I put myself in enough danger for you to decide to show up again."

His mask glints in the moonlight. "You called. I came."

"I didn't call you. I just made myself an easy target."

He laughs softly, the sound sending a jolt straight to my core. "You're always an easy target, Layla."

I bristle at his words but can't deny their truth. "Why are you doing this? Why are you protecting me?"

"Who said I'm protecting you?" He takes a step closer, his breath hot against my face. "Maybe I'm just using you to get to them."

"Them?"

"The people who are after you."

"And who are they? "

He shakes his head. "You don't need to know. Just know that they're dangerous."

"And you're not?"

I hear the smirk in his next words. "I never said that."

"Then why should I trust you?"

"Who said you have to?"

"I think you owe me some answers. You've been following me, breaking into my house, and sending me threatening messages. I deserve to know why."

He takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

"You want to know why I'm here?"

His words send a thrill through me, and before I know it, I'm leaning in closer to him, my heart pounding.

He cups my face. My eyes flutter closed of their own volition.

And then he murmurs near my lips, "A man wants you, Layla Verona. For what you're not supposed to have. You've taken something very important to him."

The cold grip of the wind snatches away his heat.

"I knew it was about the AI," I whisper to myself, backing out of his hold.

He hears me despite the crashing waves below. "More than that, Wraithling. If what I've discovered about you in a mere two days is anywhere near an indication of your talents, he'll want you for more than what you've recorded."

It's enough to make me lift my chin and meet his eyes again. "What are you talking about? And who is he ?"

"Frank Morelli. A crime boss known as a Ghost Leader."

"Ghost Leader?"

At my confused expression, he elaborates.

"Someone nobody sees, but everybody knows in the underground. Ruthless, a true cold-blooded killer, and greed-driven in ways even nightmares avoid."

Something fluctuates in this man's voice as he explains. The first emotion that comes to mind is agony , but that can't be right. His face is so cold, so closed off. He's so smooth, I bet wrinkles don't line his skin.

Just that scar.

"He sounds successful and set for life," I say, my voice taking on an edge. "So why would he want someone like me?"

"Morelli always wants more. And you would be an asset in the black market. Sold to a terrorist organization, maybe, to help with their technology. Or forced to marry one of his made men to keep you in the family. Hmm." He cuts himself off, pretending to think. "Those are the best-case scenarios, of course. He could always keep you in a cage and take you out when he needs you."

I refuse to let his words terrify me—yet. I can burrow under my covers later. "And what do you want with him?"

"He took something from me." His tone is a venomous whisper that carries such hate, even the waves seem to hush. "Something I can never replace."

It's like my question flipped an off switch inside him. If I thought he was cold before … he's barren now.

But I don't look away. I can't. Something about the raw intensity of his confession compels me to stay put despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

"And how does that involve me?" I ask, holding his gaze despite the very real urge to run away screaming.

He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. "You are the key to my vengeance."

"I can't help you with that." Desperation creeps into my voice.

A sudden gust of wind pushes against us, and I stumble. He catches me before I fall over the railing and pulls me into his arms. While my heart scrambles senselessly, I can feel his steady, unhurried pulse against my ear.

"You can. Start by not dying, for one."

My hands latch onto his shirt, the soft fabric crimping between my fingers in an effort to both clutch him and push him away.

"Please," I whisper against his chest, my body starting to shiver. "I don't want this. I didn't ask for it. Just—take the thumb drive. Take it and give it to them. I need both you and him to leave. "

He stills. I can't tell if he's staring over my head at the ocean in thought or looking down, watching me. "Then give it to me."

Trembling, I slink out of his hold. He steps back, and I'd like to think it's giving me space, but my survival sense has kicked in, and I'm fairly sure it's so he can take all of me in one bite.

Even though I'm clenching and releasing my hands in an effort to stop them from shaking, they flutter like panicked bait for the predator in front of me as I reach into the V of my shirt.

You brought him here, you idiot . What did you think would happen? A happy exchange of peace before he exits my life forever?

"I'm waiting."

His voice is a terrifying caress while his eyes, so empty and light at the same time, target my chest.

My fingers brush against the skin-warmed metal of the thumb drive, and I pull it out of my shirt, holding it out to him. The wind whips around us, my hair tangling into my face, but I don't dare make the sudden move to tuck it behind my ear. His mask never shifts as he takes the thumb drive from my hand, his fingers brushing mine in the process.

I harden my muscles against the shiver that wants to ignite my blood at our skin-to-skin contact. And I pay particular attention to the fact that a man like this, honed in black and carved with muscle, metal and skill, now holds a pink and white Hello Kitty USB drive in his considerably scarred hand.

He tucks the thumb drive into his pocket but doesn't leave. Instead, he becomes so motionless that my stomach does somersaults.

"Okay, so is that it?" I ask. "Are we done?"

He says nothing.

I step back, my ancestral lizard brain taking over and only wanting to get the hell out of here.

He reaches out and grasps my wrist, yanking me toward him.

"We're not done yet," he says.

I try to pull away, but his grip on me is too strong.

"Release me," I say, my voice shaking.

He doesn't listen. Instead, he pulls me closer to him, his other hand wrapping around my waist. Despite the fear coursing through me, I can't deny the way my body responds to him. Every inch of my skin is on fire even though every synapse in my brain screams MONSTER.

"You think this is over just because I have the thumb drive?" he murmurs with almost casual amusement. "You're wrong. I could end you with a flick of my wrist."

I try to yank free, but he only tightens his hold when he holds a blade to my throat.

Despite the shriek building in my chest and demanding to be let out, I hold his cold, bottomless gaze. "Then why don't you?"

"Because you're the first thing in years I've wanted to keep alive." His mask tickles the shell of my ear. "I won't let you go."

I open my mouth to scream, but he cuts me off, his hand sliding up my arm, a snake coiling around its mouse. "Don't try to deny it, Wraithling. I can smell the sweet scent of your arousal and feel the way your body trembles for me."

"Out of fear. "

I try to pull away again, but he makes it impossible for me to escape. He tilts the point of the knife until it presses under my jaw, forcing my head up.

"I could take you right here, right now," he says offhand. "If I ever let you scream, it will be with my name on your tongue, begging me to touch you again."

I gasp, but I'm not sure if it's with apprehension or surprised delight that a man like this, so feral and beautiful, could be drawn to someone like me.

Pathetic, I know, but I've never discounted my flaws. I can feel the heat between my legs building, the ache becoming almost unbearable.

"But I won't," he continues, angling his head. "Not yet. First, you need to understand what you're getting yourself into."

I catch the hunger in his tone too late.

He clasps me by the throat and pushes me back against the railing until I'm dangling, the toes of my shoes scraping against the floor as I grip his arm and beg him not to let me fall.

My heart pummels against my rib cage as I stare down into the white foam of the sea below. The salty mist bites at my cheeks.

"What are you doing ?" I cry out, my words choked by his rough, calloused hand.

His hand slides under my shirt, the hem buffeting in the wind. His cold fingers tease the soft skin of my stomach before moving up to cup my breast over my bra. He squeezes gently, and I both cry out and gasp, arching my back involuntarily.

"Please—don't let me go. Don't let me fall! "

"But it's not the fall that scares you, is it?" Scythe's voice is as soft as a creeping shadow, the words like a gentle caress against my cheek. "It's me."

His free hand finds its way to the button of my jeans, flicks it open effortlessly, and reaches my soaked panties.

The railing could break underneath my weight at any moment. Scythe's hand under my jaw is the only thing to keep me from tumbling into the waves below.

Scythe's finger slips inside me, teasing the edges of my pleasure with a delicious torment that makes me whimper in spite of myself.

"No…it's…" I can't finish my sentence.

I grip the railing when his thumb finds the small bundle of nerves just above where his finger is buried inside me and rubs it gently. My hips jerk in response, and I release a gasp that drowns out the pounding sea.

"You like this, don't you? You like being at my mercy, your life in my hands as I make you come."

I want to say no and deny the truth in his words. But his fingers are relentless, and his control absolute.

My climax slams into me, my body responding to him in ways I find hard to comprehend. Despite the situation, I can't help but moan when he releases my throat. The sudden lack of friction sends icy terror through me and twist away from the railing and to the safety of the wall, gasping.

I have enough energy left to raise my head, enough defiance to glare at him.

With an emotionless, metal-rimmed stare, he raises his fingers to the shape of his mouth, painting the ingot lips with my arousal.

My own lips thin. If it weren't for the noticeable tent in his pants, I'd be convinced that his dangling me over the railing of the lighthouse and pushing his fingers inside me was just another evening to him. That I was just another inconvenience to be dealt with before he moved on to cut another piece of skin off someone else.

"I have your scent now," he says, at last finished with savoring me on his fingers. "And you've tasted what it's like to be associated with a man like me. Because I'm not going anywhere. I'll kill anyone who tries to get near you. And when it's time for Morelli to make an attempt…" He seems to mull over his last words. "I still don't believe I'll ever let you go."

"I'm not someone to be kept," I snarl while coming to a wobbly stand.

"That's where you're wrong, Wraithling."

He fishes into his pocket, tossing something small, metallic, and heavy near my feet.

"Your new phone," he explains. "Since you ran over your last one. Updated with advanced security features, including encrypted communication channels, a custom-built privacy firewall, and a discreet tracking app. All for my enjoyment and your protection."

I pick up the smartphone, staring at it like I've picked up a roach. "It's like I can't escape you. Everywhere I go, you'll track me down."

"Yes, but I've made it pink." His chin subtly dips toward the pocket he shoved my thumb drive in. "Which you seem to enjoy."

"I don't want?—"

"Don't destroy this one. You won't enjoy my backup plan."

With a grim salute, he spins and disappears down the staircase, leaving me and my electronic handcuff behind.