21. Layla

21

LAYLA

My body screams for Kaden to return even as my mind races with plans to defy him.

His stifling presence lingers in the kitchen, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his exhales on my lips, a cocktail of heat and adrenaline that leaves me dizzy and bracing against the counter.

I shake my head, banishing the fantasy. I don't have a lot of time.

The rhythm of my pounding heart plays out beneath my skin, but I force myself to calm. I need to be quick, efficient.

My bare feet hardly make a sound up the rickety stairs. I reach my bedroom and start rifling through my closet, pulling out an old black lace dress that's been gathering dust in there. It's a bit too fancy for me, but tonight it may just pass for acceptable at a formal conference.

The thought that Kaden could walk in at any moment and stop me tightens my chest. But this is something I have to do. For me. For anyone who thinks they don't matter and can't save the world, when actually, they damn well can .

I slip into the dress and look at myself in the full-length mirror. The lace clings to my curves, the plunging neckline boldly revealing more than I'm used to, but there's a power in my reflection that straightens my shoulders.

Gathering up my long hair, I twist it into a loose updo that falls over one shoulder. A quick makeup application to enhance my eyes, cheeks, and lips are next until I can delay the inevitable no longer.

I pick up my phone. Kaden's tracking software is undoubtedly running, but I don't have a choice. I open my messaging app and type:

Ethan, can you pick me up at the old boat launch? ASAP. Don't reply.

As I await his read receipt, it feels like I'm counting down the seconds on a ticking time bomb. I nervously bite my thumbnail, fixated on my phone's screen as if I could telepathically send a message instead. But Ethan's always glued to his video games and never off-line, even when he needs to attend a conference in an hour.

At last, the checkmark appears. He's seen it.

"Thank God," I mutter, then turn the phone off and toss it on the bed.

There's no doubt that Kaden will find the phone and go through it. He'll know I've left, but at least he won't know where I'm going. Not yet.

I peer out the window. The lighthouse cuts a lonely silhouette against the roiling clouds, its feeble light penetrating the mist of tempered rain, but it's the smaller shadow prowling over the rocks that catches my attention.

In less than a minute, Kaden will disappear behind the lighthouse for no more than thirty seconds. I've been watching him all day, inadvertently learning his surveillance routine. It's my only opening .

Three... Two... One...

With my heart spilling out of my chest after every beat, I grab my clutch purse then fling open my bedroom door and race down the stairs toward the front door.

On the modern security panel next to the door, the red warning lights glare at me like accusatory eyes, but I quickly mute them with practiced hands. There's no way to shut down Kaden's multiple cameras and no time to mess with the footage, but when he checks them, he'll know I haven't been taken against my will. A small consolation, because he'll be furious either way.

For a fleeting moment, I feel a pang of guilt for betraying his trust. But this isn't about Kaden. He's made it clear he doesn't care about the ramifications of Morelli's illegal technology.

I do.

Through the front door, across the cobblestone path slick with sea spray and rainwater, my heels click softly as I crane my neck to keep the lighthouse in my view and ensure I stay in Kaden's blind spot before pushing through the wooden gate separating my property from the woods. Starting a car would draw his attention, so I skirt past my old girl and his sleek truck and disappear into the dense foliage.

The smell of seaweed and wet earth fills my nostrils as I navigate through the underbrush in the light drizzle, my dress getting splattered with droplets falling off the leaves until I find the small path leading to the boat launch, its once lively energy now nothing more than a desolate shoreline dotted with rotting skiffs and long-forgotten buoys. The weathered sign creaks and groans from the cold wind as I pass under it, a relic from fifty years ago when fishermen hauled their vessels to sea at dawn and returned at dusk. Now, the place is hidden under a blanket of fog and decaying planks .

A set of headlights cuts through, disturbing the peaceful melancholy. Ethan's van pulls up, his engine humming like a dying animal. The sliding door squeaks open, and there he is—looking like he's about to piss himself.

"Hey, Layla," Ethan grates out, hunched behind the steering wheel like he's expecting to be ambushed.

"Thanks for coming," I say, stumbling into the passenger seat.

The van is a crammed spaceship of digital paraphernalia: consoles, keyboards, and monitors flicker with lines of encoded gibberish. A glowing unicorn bobblehead vibrates merrily on the dashboard, while empty soda cans and chip packets roll underfoot.

"Don't mention it," he murmurs, pushing up his glasses and casting a sidelong glance at me. "Though it would help if you would explain what the hell is going on. Last time I saw you, I got an impromptu acupuncture session to the neck, and you were carted off like some twisted Beauty and the Beast story."

I cringe. "Thank you for not calling the cops."

"Oh, don't worry about it. Your ‘friend' paid me a visit and explained things. Said you were fine, and that my continued ability to type might depend on my discretion."

"I'm so sorry, Ethan."

The van lurches forward, making me grip the edges of my seat as we bounce over the uneven terrain. Ethan's driving skills leave much to be desired. It feels less like he's navigating the coastal track and more like he's trying to take down Bowser from Mario Kart .

"You and me, we're fine," Ethan says, though his voice wavers. "Your hulking bodyguard, on the other hand…"

"He's not my—well. He's complicated."

"There it is," he mumbles, his eyes never leaving the road. " Your defense of him already. You do realize there's a difference between ‘complicated' and ‘probably going to murder me in my sleep,' right?"

"Ethan, Kaden isn't going to murder you."

"Of course not. Not if I don't ever sleep again."

The weight of his curious gaze falls on my shoulders as I gather my thoughts. How much should I tell him? Ethan's my friend, and the last thing I want is to drag him deeper into this mess than he already is.

"Hey, no need to look so grim. I'm not mad at you," he says, flashing me a wry grin. "Just ... start from the beginning, yeah?"

"It started with Dawson," I mutter, keeping my attention firmly trained on the foggy road ahead.

"Our creep of a boss?" Ethan wrinkles his nose, the windshield wipers thrumming against the rain-slicked glass. "Why am I not surprised? Go on."

I nod. "He's involved in something. Something really bad."

Ethan snorts and looks at me sidelong. "What, like embezzling company funds? Creating a Ponzi scheme? Bitcoin fraud? What is it with start-up tech guys?"

"No," I say, trying to suppress a laugh despite myself. It feels strange and foreign to laugh at a time like this, but there's something comforting about Ethan's natural humor. "Like illegal AI tech that could crash our economy and be sold to the Mafia level bad."

Silence.

"Wait … are you serious ?"

"Dead serious." I shiver as I look out the van's window.

"But … why would Dawson be involved in that?" His voice is small now, filled with confusion and a touch of fear. "He's a terrible boss, but a criminal mastermind?"

"He's not the mastermind," I clarify. "Just a peon. "

"So who's the king, then?"

"His name is Frank Morelli. The Ghost Leader." I let the name settle between us like a poisonous cloud. "He's the head of a Mafia syndicate, and he wants to take the world to hell along with him when he succumbs to cancer."

A beat of silence passes.

When I don't fill it, Ethan says, "Oh my God. You're serious. You're seriously serious."

He clamps one hand to his mouth, looking distinctly green around the edges.

"This isn't like you, Layla," he says softly. "I mean, you're a kick-ass coder, not some super spy. This isn't our world. Where the fuck do you come in to all this?"

I find myself confessing, "I overheard something I shouldn't. Morelli's men have been after me ever since. Kaden's been protecting me from them because he has his own vendetta to settle with Morelli, but he refuses to help stop the AI from falling into the wrong hands. That's where I come in. I can't just sit back and let it be handed to the Mafia."

Ethan sighs and rubs his forehead with the heel of his free hand. "I'm regretting the edible I ate before coming to get you. Or maybe I didn't have enough."

"You don't have to be involved. I just need a ride to the conference. And maybe your security pass so I'm not flagged by using mine to access the basement, then plant a virus in this AI that every employee at Pulse, including you, has helped create."

"Excuse me, what ? I've been creating what ?"

I can't help the laughter that bubbles up. It's not funny, not really, it's dangerous and potentially life-ending, but the look on Ethan's face is too much. "Keep your eyes on the road before you get us both killed."

He throws up his hands defensively, although one quickly returns to the wheel. "You tell me you're breaking into a high-security tech event held by our boss who's apparently involved in some Mafia scheme and expect me to just drive perfectly? I'm stressed, Layla!"

"No one will know," I reassure him.

Ethan scrubs a hand down his face and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘ why me? '.

"You realize this is not like hacking into your neighbors' Wi-Fi because they forgot to lock it, right? This is some James Bond level shit and there's no way you can do this alone. I'm coming with you."

My stomach drops. "No. No, you're not. You're going to go to the event and mingle and kiss ass like every other employee and stay safe."

Ethan catches my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine tightly. "James Bond needs a Q, Layla."

A surge of warmth floods my chest at my friend's steadfast support. "You would really want to be Q?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, he's a genius who saves Bond's ass multiple times, so…"

That earns him a chuckle. I squeeze his hand before letting go. "I could use someone as a lookout for anyone who goes into the basement, but at the first sign of trouble, you have to promise me you'll find someplace safe."

"Only if you promise the same," he counters, and I can see in his eyes that he means every word.

We pull into Main Street, and the suspicion that pulled me to this conference tonight settles around me again. Greycliff is an abandoned fishing town recently discovered by millennials and Gen Zs, both for the crazy deals on real estate and the idealism attached to reviving and modernizing a quaint, spooky town. It's why Pulse Dynamics moved in. The start-up company bought up an entire building with six floors and renovated it to their specifications for a quarter of the cost a start-up in New York City would require. After establishing their success, no doubt Pulse would move to a better location, but that begs the question: Why hold a conference here?

Greycliff is not yet a town you invite prospective clients to, unless they enjoy ghost tours and the stench of dead fish.

Pulse has never hosted clients before or had parties beyond its first December holiday last year that Ethan told me about, consisting of a single keg and tinsel along the walls.

The only explanation is that someone in the clientele they're courting enjoys the thrill of investing in a risky, fledgling town and the clandestine meetings it promises. It offers the kind of privacy that backing illegal technology and being shown how it operates would require.

As Ethan and I park the van, the sprawling Pulse Dynamics building comes into view. The high-tech glass structure seems almost out of place against the old-world charm of Greycliff. Its sleek metallic lines reflect the blue LED lights inside.

When we come to a stop, I rummage through my purse, then use the sun visor to put in a brown contact over my blue eye. Then I turn to Ethan, blinking a few times. "How do I look?"

"Wait, you do that? I've never seen you camouflage your awesome eye colors before."

"I gave up a long time ago. It was too expensive to buy lenses without insurance, and when I tried the cheap Halloween ones, well, I almost blinded myself."

Covering the true colors of my eyes started as an attempt to be less desirable and less stared at by Mom's "friends." I was too young to know that it wasn't my uniqueness that drew them to me. It was my age.

I was forced to learn how to stay away from home fast.

Even this contact is too old. I can feel its edges every time I blink, giving me a tic. It's better than being recognized on sight, though.

"Gotta say, you look pretty boring now. Zero superhero aura about you," Ethan adds.

I laugh, but my smile dies as fast as Ethan's does. His face is a sickly shade of white, and he's chewing on his lower lip nervously.

"You can stay here." I lay a comforting hand on his arm. "I just need your security pass."

He hesitates.

"You'll get it back, I promise."

Ethan's expression is filled with worry, but there's trust too. A trust I don't deserve but am grateful for.

"My pass should be a backup plan," Ethan says as he twists between our seats and grabs his laptop. He uses the lever to push back his seat granting him room to open his computer and mutters over the electronic whir of the chair, "Time to be Q."

"What are you doing?"

"Figuring out how to keep you safe during this insane operation you've talked yourself into."

Ethan's fingers fly over the keyboard with soft clicking noises. Lines of code fill his screen and I lean closer, interpreting the numbers.

"You're creating a backdoor in Pulse's security system. That's brilliant," I say, my heart picking up on the excitement. I can actually do this.

"It'll give you maybe twenty minutes before they detect it and shut it down."

My excitement pops and fizzles away.

20 minutes.

That's barely enough time for me to get to the server room, install my malware, and find an escape route before it all goes sideways.

"And here." Ethan reaches under his seat, sifting through empty chip bags and soda cans before tossing something at me that I catch in mid-air. "My smartwatch. Put it on so I can track you."

Watching Ethan work, the glow of the screen illuminating the taut concentration on his face, causes a lump in my throat to form.

I've never needed anyone. Never thought it necessary. But here, with Ethan's guidance and Kaden's protective lessons, they're both spurring me on. I may have slipped away from Kaden, but ironically, it's his influence that's given me the edge I need to pull this off.

It also makes me realize that if anything happened to either of them, I would fight the asshole responsible to the death.

Is this what it feels like to have a family?

Ethan looks up and must notice the sheen to my eyes because he says quietly, "Hey, what are friends for if not to commit felonies together?"

I respond with a small smile. "Thanks, Ethan. I owe you big time."

With a final keystroke, Ethan says, "Your time starts now. And Layla, be careful. Please."

I nod, reaching for the van's door handle. "Promise."

"And if we pull this off, drinks are on me. You know, assuming we're not in witness protection or something."

Despite everything, I find myself grinning before stepping out. "I'll hold you to that."