11. Kaden

11

KADEN

My daughter's laughter haunts me.

I sit in the shadows, her memory a relentless tormentor unleashing words of guilt and blame. The fateful morning she disappeared is etched on my soul, leaving an indelible mark of loss, black and all-consuming.

I imagine what Cassie saw when he intercepted her in the hallway of our home.

What she said as she struggled and cried:

I want my dad. Please, Daddy, help me…

The cold marble floor on her bare feet, the hallway lit by the early morning sun and adorned by our family photos—her elementary school graduation portrait, when she caught her first big fish with me smiling behind her, the one where she snapped a picture of me at the top of the cliff, overlooking the sunset after a long hike … all those happy, proud father versions of me bore silent witness to Cassie's terror.

She would've stumbled backward, her small hands instinctively forming fists, preparing to fight with all the innocent courage a twelve-year-old could muster .

I imagine the sickening crunch of a blow, a monster's fist colliding with my baby's face. The cry she would have let out—a sharp, horrifying sound that bounces off the crumbling brick walls of my nightmares each night.

Maybe she bit him. Perhaps she kicked and scratched, using the self-defense maneuvers I taught her from when she could walk. My Cass was a fighter. She wouldn't have gone down without a struggle.

Then I hear the dull thud of her body hitting the floor for the last time before being dragged away, ripped from everything she knew and loved. Taken from me.

And I imagine how I'll kill him.

I'm on the hunt, Morelli. For ten years, I've followed your trail, and now I've found you.

One of his assassins attempted to grab his latest prize, Layla, which I easily prevented. Morelli will make the mistake of sending more, all of whom I'll dispatch, sending blood-soaked evidence to him, to anyone who steps between me and what's mine. Every person involved in this scheme will understand the Scythe's presence. I won't leave until I get my pound of flesh.

That will make Morelli curious, an emotion I've learned he does not enjoy.

While clearing my dinner this evening, I'm not worried. I've thought of strategies and counter-solutions for all of the above. My operational designs are all so second nature to me, I consider individual warfare to inhabit a reserved section of my mind.

It's the anomaly I never planned for that pisses me off. Layla is a variable that defies all my predictions, yet she's become the most crucial part of the equation.

With her uncommon beauty and impressive mind, she makes me question everything I've become—a man consumed by vengeance and hardened by the cruel effects of violence. I know I can't let myself become distracted, but my fingers still thrum from burying themselves inside her. I've never worn lip balm, yet I would gladly paint my mouth with her pussy's scent every morning.

I study the abandoned fishing warehouse around me, its decaying walls, the salty scent of the ocean heavy in the air and mingling with the pungent aroma of rotting wood and rusted metal. The wind whistles through the cracks in the building's facade, the eerie sound accompanied by the distant cries of the seagulls circling above and soft mewls of kittens.

After leaving an open can of tuna for Reaper, I take the dilapidated staircase leading up to the loft. The old structure creaks and groans under my weight, as if protesting my intrusion into its forgotten realm. I reach the top of the stairs and enter the dimly lit room, the flickering glow of the monitors casting a spectral light.

My gaze is drawn to the screens, and there I see her, like an ethereal vision framed by the camera's unyielding eye. I only allowed myself to leave her watch for ten minutes while I slapped together a sandwich and guzzled water from the sink.

An inexplicable longing seizes me, making it impossible to look away. I'm captivated by Layla's every gesture, from the way she tucks a strand of wheat-blond hair behind her ear, to the soft curve of her lips as she hums a bittersweet melody while she turns in for the night. I doubt she knows she's doing it.

I cock my head at her nighttime routine. Either Layla's given up on destroying my electronic surveillance or the piece of the hitman I sent her has convinced her that she's better off with a guardian shadowing her every move.

My Wraithling is sensible. She understands the need for me.

Lifting my fingers for one last, delicious inhale, I take my seat in front of the largest monitor.

I'm also a sensible man. Coldly so. And I realize that I'm not just observing a woman who's unwittingly become entangled in my dark world; I'm witnessing the embodiment of everything I've lost and can never have again. Layla represents the innocence and light that have long since been extinguished within me, replaced by a void of despair and bitterness.

"Dammit," I mutter under my breath, the words a harsh reminder of the chasm that separates me from her.

Yet even as I berate myself for succumbing to the temptation of watching her, I can't tear my eyes away from the screen. The magnetic pull between us is undeniably powerful. She must feel it, too. Layla curved against that railing for me, the metal trembling under her orgasm, threatening to send her plunging into the ocean sixty feet below.

But she let me finger fuck her. She curved her pussy into my hand like she would gladly fall out of the sky in the throes of what I gave her.

I'd never let her fall. But I'm also never going to let her free.

As the night unfolds, I remain rooted to my post, the flickering images on the surveillance monitors holding me captive. I know I should leave and put distance between myself and the woman who threatens to shatter my carefully constructed barriers. But as the hours slip by, I find myself unable—or unwilling—to turn away from the haunting beauty of Layla Verona.

The weight of my original directive—to kill her—stirs around me, taunting and relentless.

On the screen, Layla moves gracefully about her room. She's wearing a short white nightgown that clings to her body, revealing every curve as she prepares for bed. My breath hitches, my heart pounding against my chest.

"Dammit all to hell," I curse under my breath, trying to distance myself from the visceral reaction her mere pixelated presence evokes.

As Layla settles into bed, I expect her to read a little, as she always does, making it three pages before she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Tonight, she does no such thing.

Her brows are tensed in thought. Layla keeps her eyes hooded, but I've watched her so often I'm familiar with every move, tic, or habit she falls into when she thinks no one's looking.

Her lashes flutter in a poor attempt to disguise where her focus is: on my camera. She starts chewing on her lower lip, her exquisite jawline tensing and releasing as she debates whether to unleash some sort of rebellion.

I smile.

After three days of uneventful patrols around her property, I'm looking forward to how she'll attempt to incense me next.

My Wraithling would never simply give up.

Leaning back, I rip open a package of red licorice and stare at the screen, chewing slowly.

Her hand slides beneath the sheets. The sight sends a jolt of electricity through me, straightening my spine and dropping the candy to the floor.

My mouth goes dry when the small tent of her hand moves toward her center.

I take a deep breath. She moves her fingers in a slow, steady rhythm. I can't look away, transfixed by the sight of her exploring her own body with a savage hunger that matches my own. I feel my restraint slipping with each passing moment .

But my resolve only lasts for so long. Eventually, I give in to temptation and engage the microphone.

"Missing my fingers, Wraithling?"

Layla's hand freezes. She looks up, directly into the camera, her mismatched eyes locking with mine. Something passes between us, primal and powerful.

"You better be thinking of me while fucking yourself," I warn.

"I was."

Her voice comes through my speakers, husky with both shame and desire.

My response is just as low and raspy. "Toss the sheets aside. I want my monitors to glisten with how wet you are."

Layla peels the sheets off her glorious body, her nightgown riding up as she squirms.

"Spread your legs," I command.

After a brief hesitation, she does, her knees bending slightly.

"Wider."

I zoom in while I make the demand, the details of her desire reflected back at me in high definition, from the blush to her cheeks, the swell of her bottom lip as she bites it, to the fluttering of those gorgeous eyes.

Layla shifts, her knees lifting on either side of her.

I smile when the pink folds of her pussy are centered perfectly in my vision.

"I'm very pleased to know that I'm keeping you up at night," I tell her, my voice a low growl. "Are you dreaming of me fucking you, Wraithling?"

I can hear her breath quicken, her center wet and ready for me.

"Yes," she whispers, her voice breaking.

Her fingers resume their frantic pace.

I can understand her need at this moment. Desire is so much better at consuming fear than hate. Layla wants to lose herself in what I did to her—what I will continue to do—rather than think about her life being cut short solely because she chose to stay late at work one time.

A respite which I am more than happy to give her.

"Stop playing with your pussy. Pull your nightgown up. Show me your breasts."

"What if I say no?" Layla continues to bury two fingers in her pussy, pumping and rubbing her clit with her thumb.

My upper lip spasms with both want and irritation. My Wraithling will bow to me if I have to storm over there and force her hands above her head.

"You wouldn't dare," I say.

"I can say anything I want."

"You can say no," I concede, my tone barely restrained with temper. It's not often I'm defied. "You can do anything you want, in theory. You can call the cops, come after me, do whatever the fuck you have to do." I pause. "But you won't."

"Won't I?" she asks, her brow arching along with her neck as she curves into her pleasure.

Amusement curves my lips at her attempt to provoke me.

"I've scared the absolute fuck out of you before—what's stopping me from raising the stakes the next time I see you? Using my cock instead of my hand, I could shove it inside that sassy mouth of yours, your plump lips rounded as you choke on my cum while I plunge in so deep, you can't bite down."

I throw my head back and groan at the tantalizing thought.

It's the most words I've ever said to her, and what does she do? She shoves her hips up, burying her fingers up to the knuckles at my words .

"Maybe next time I see you, I will," I vow, my voice tight. "You want the kind of pleasure only I can give."

"You're an arrogant bastard," she retorts.

"I know," I admit. "But I'm right."

Finally, she relents and pulls her shiny fingers out and uses both hands to lift the fabric of her nightgown. The soft silk pools around her neck, revealing the creamy swells of her breasts. They're small but perfectly formed, the nipples tightened into hard peaks.

"I want to see you play with your nipples, Wraithling."

She cups her breasts, gently tugging and teasing her tight pink buds.

"Keep going," I order.

"I hadn't realized you were so demanding," she says, breathless. "You know what they say about the quiet ones."

I smile, knowing she'll do as I instruct. Victory flows through me as I watch her fingers pinch and rub her nipples to the point of pain. Her movements become more urgent.

"Now fuck yourself, Wraithling. Come for me."

Both of Layla's hands dive for her starved pussy, stretching herself wide, showing me that tight hole. Layla's back arches off the bed when she plunges four fingers in. Her head presses into the mattress. Her pussy is so wet, the top of her hand is soaked. I imagine it's because she's been thinking of me since the moment I walked away from her at the top of the lighthouse.

The thought fills me with such satisfaction. I imagine how it'll feel to have her pussy clutching my cock.

Her chest heaves. The camera zooms in farther, and I can make out the glistening trail of her juices running down her thigh. I set the camera to record before I think twice. I don't want to take my eyes off her. I want this image of her forever ingrained. This is the best I can do .

"You have no fucking idea how good it feels to watch you. I'm as hard as a fucking rock, and I'm going to stroke my cock to you. Layla…" I whisper her name.

I undo my pants, and my cock springs free. My hand wraps around my shaft, and I groan, imagining her pussy stretched around my length.

Layla convulses, tensing as she races toward her orgasm. She brings her knees up to her chest, her toes curling as she comes apart, her pussy squeezing the fingers that are still inside her. I stroke my cock faster, wanting to come with her.

I pump my cock, the seductive sight of Layla writhing on the bed taking me into another, better world. She spasms, and her eyelids fall closed.

"You're close, aren't you?" I say.

"Yes," she moans.

"Eyes on me," I snap.

Layla blinks her eyes open, her head lolling toward the camera and her focus staying on the lens.

I stroke my cock fast and hard. I'm so fucking close. The rasp of my hand is loud in the room.

"Come all over yourself, Wraithling."

The sound of her orgasm starts a split second before she can't look into the camera anymore, and her lips part as she cries out. Layla's body shakes with wave after wave of pleasure. I'm driven over the edge. The sight of her has me spurting over my hand and my abdomen.

I lay there in a post-orgasmic stupor, my heart beating fast, my breathing labored. I don't know what the fuck just happened. I've never come so hard. I've never been so transfixed by a woman before.

The room is silent, save for my thundering heartbeat in my ears, and as her face lingers in my mind, a sense of foreboding descends .

Layla's not just under my skin; she's infiltrating the fortified bastions of my soul.

I've faced countless dangers and navigated treachery and near-death experiences, both in my patriotic past and this menacing present.

But Layla Verona is the greatest threat I've ever encountered.