19. Layla

19

LAYLA

Kaden's hands are washed of blood, gore, and dirt. By the time he returns from the woods, his tall figure emerges from the dense fog like a demon born of shadow and sea. The soft morning light streaming in through the misted window illuminates the scar that splits his face, a testament to his darker talents of being able to bury his enemies, then stride into my kitchen and put together a hot breakfast.

My cuticles are still stained with dried blood after bleaching and wiping down the floors, but instead of attempting to scrub the blood off my hands (again), I watch him move behind the counter with surprising grace, the juxtaposition of his lethal skills and his current domesticity almost laughable.

The aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of moss-covered cobblestones outside and contrasting with the latent stench of death that clings to our clothes.

After setting down plates laden with food, Kaden joins me by sitting on one of the worn wooden chairs at the small table .

"Thank you," I murmur, picking up my fork and pushing the scrambled eggs around.

Our conversation consists of the clinks of metal on ceramic until Kaden lifts his head and searches my face. "Morelli knows I'm the one protecting you now. His interest isn't just in the AI anymore. He'll come after us doubly as hard."

I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth. Then I place it back down.

"You've been provoking him," I counter, trying to hide the sting of my words behind a casual shrug.

Kaden rubs his fingers over the stubble on his jawline and nods in agreement.

"Yes." His acceptance of guilt surprises me. "And I'm sorry."

A truly fleshed-out apology from Kaden is as unusual as a sunny day in Greycliff. My gaze lingers on Kaden's face, on the lines of concentration that crease his forehead and the constant storm brewing in his vibrant blue eyes.

"Why do you look so calm?" he asks, lowering his fork onto the plate with a clatter and leaning back with a frown.

Because I have you, I want to respond. But I only shrug again and offer him a small smile.

"I'm not helpless, Kaden. Besides," I add, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "I'm starting to trust you."

Kaden stares at me, his eyes reflecting a rare mix of shock and confusion. Then he gives me a curt nod.

"Good," he mutters under his breath.

"The AI," I say, trying to veer the conversation back into less treacherous territory. "We need to figure out how to neutralize it."

His focus sharpens on me. "As I've told you before, I don't care about the damn AI, Layla. All I want is Morelli. "

"But you can't just kill him and walk away. This isn't just about revenge. A lot of people will suffer if we don't destroy it."

"He killed my daughter and made her suffer. That's all that matters."

"I can do more than just wait around for you to end Morelli."

"I won't put you at risk?—"

"But I'm already at risk!"

I stand, my chair scraping abruptly against the floor.

"Because of you," I repeat, my voice louder than intended. "In case you forgot, you walked into my life and turned it upside down!"

The following silence is painful, broken only by the hissing of the overflowing coffee pot. Kaden's jaw tenses as he gets up and moves to the drip machine, yanking the pot off the hot plate.

His back is to me, but even from here, I can see how rigid his posture is.

"I didn't plan for this, either," he says after a while, his voice barely audible in the deafening silence.

Turning back to face me, he takes a deep breath. "You've become…"

Kaden rakes a hand through his black, disheveled hair, releasing a frustrated growl. He walks over to the sink, dumping out the burned coffee, then filling the pot with water and washing it out. The sound of running water fills the uncomfortable silence.

The meager sunlight hits his profile, lingering on the scar that bisects his face, a constant reminder of his past, just like my inherited lighthouse is to me.

He says, "For what it's worth, I stopped seeing you as bait last night, when they..."

Kaden sets the clean pot on the drying rack, then turns around to lean against the sink and crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles tightening beneath his shirt.

"The way you handled that man in your bedroom like a goddamned warrior even though you had every reason to be terrified. You're not just a pawn, Layla. You never have been."

His confession hits me as hard as the waves hitting Greycliff's jagged rocks. I'm frozen in my spot, my heart thundering in my ears.

I want to respond, to tell him that I'm only a warrior because I have him at my side, because of him. But before I can form the words, he pushes away from the sink and strides across the room toward me.

"But you are still my responsibility," he grinds out.

"I don't need a knight!" The words burst from me, raw and angry. My throat burns with their release, but it feels good.

The look of surprise on Kaden's face is almost worth it. Almost.

"Maybe I don't want to be saved," I go on when he doesn't respond. "Maybe I want to fight by your side instead of being the damsel locked in the tower."

"Is that what you think this is?" Kaden asks, his tone brimming with restraint.

"That's exactly what this is," I retort, matching his icy tone with my own. "You've been treating me like some clueless civilian who can't handle the truth, who can't fight her own battles. But I'm not a little girl, Kaden. I'm not your daughter."

I flinch as my words strike him, as he absorbs their impact, his piercing eyes blinking rapidly as if in pain.

"I didn't mean—" I backpedal, realizing too late that I've crossed a line.

"I'm well aware you're not my daughter," he says after a moment, his voice far too calm.

Kaden's jaw tightens, the muscle twitching beneath the jagged line of his scar. His gaze breaks away from mine as he takes a step back, pinching the bridge of his nose with fingers that tremble ever so slightly.

"I didn't bring you into this mess," he says quietly, almost in defeat. "I found you in it."

His unspoken accusation of carelessness is like cold steel sliding between my ribs, severing the tenuous thread of hope I'd been clinging to.

"Why?" I demand. "Why can't you let me in? Why can't?—"

"Why can't we be partners?" He finishes my question with a painted smirk that doesn't brush his eyes. "Because this isn't some sort of romantic adventure. I'm a killer, same as the men who broke in last night to kill you. I was originally hired to murder you. It's only because you're more valuable to my plans alive that you're even arguing with me right now."

"I know what you are," I say defiantly, "But I also know who you are."

Kaden's face is a mask of stone as he rakes his gaze over me.

"For God's sake, Kaden," I breathe out, frustration and hurt surging. "I'd do anything to help you. Can't you see that?"

"I see it, Layla," he says quietly, his brows smoothing just a fraction. "I see it more clearly than I want to."

"Then why?—"

"Because I don't want you in the same room as him!" he roars suddenly, slamming his hand on the table, making the mugs and dishes rattle. "Because I can't bear the thought of something happening to you! Because…" He takes a deep breath. His expression is pained, tortured. And as much as I hate to see him hurting, I can't deny the shiver of relief that courses through me at his outburst. "Because I can't lose you, too."

I resist the urge to close my eyes and crumple to the ground. The room spins in tandem to the relentless churning of the ocean outside.

"But…" My voice is barely a whisper, struggling to find form in the thick fog of emotion choking me. "But what if I lose you?"

His eyes snap to mine, wide and unguarded for the first time since we met. They're no longer just the color of a storm-tossed sea but full of its turmoil, too.

Then he's moving away, distancing himself from me as if afraid of what we've just admitted.

"Kaden," I prompt softly, trying to reach him.

But he's erected his walls, making himself impenetrable.

"There is no ‘we', Layla," he murmurs. "You don't even know my fucking last name."

"I know your pain," I say, talking past the stab of hurt at his statement. "I know your thirst for justice, your rule against harming innocent people, and your urge to protect. Isn't that better than a surname that tells me nothing about you?"

He chuckles bitterly. "And what if my last name is all that I am?"

"I don't believe that."

"It's not enough!" Kaden snaps, his voice rebounding off the aged walls of my once peaceful cottage. There's no malice in his outburst, only a sore desperation that sends a tremor of empathy through me.

He spins away from me, shoulders set as he looks out toward the fog-shrouded lighthouse looming in the distance.

"Do you think this ends with Morelli?" he asks, his voice a hollow imitation of itself. "Do you think there will be some sort of happily ever after once I've gotten my hands on him?"

"Then how do you want it to end, Kaden?" I manage to choke out .

He glances at me over his shoulder. "It only ends one way for men like me."

"You're wrong," I whisper. "It could be different. It can be different..."

"No," he rumbles, shaking his head. "I'm beyond redemption."

Suddenly, the room feels too cold, too bleak.

In a last-ditch attempt to bridge the growing chasm between us, I reach out for him. "Kaden…"

But he's already moving to my front door, his pace as firm as a soldier heading to the battlefield.

With no plans to return.