25. Layla

25

LAYLA

Kaden will never stop haunting my dreams.

I'm one of those sleepers who are aware when they're dreaming and can usually control the outcome. Like, if I'm approaching an ending I don't like, or plopped into nightmares that have become progressively more violent now that the Scythe has infiltrated my life, I can get out of them by redirecting the narrative or simply waking myself up.

But when it comes to Kaden, my lucid dreaming power fails me.

Tonight, he came up behind me in Pulse's server room, blacking out the lights and clamping a hand around my mouth, pulling me into his infernal depths. The server room's emergency lights bathe everything in a red glow. The hum of machinery fills my ears.

I realize I'm suspended in the air, my body stretched out in a way that makes my muscles scream in protest. Fiber optic cables, usually so delicate in my hands, now bite into my skin like steel wires, arms and legs spread wide.

I'm maybe three feet off the ground, held up by thicker bundles looped under my arms and across my back. They must be anchored to the server racks on either side of me—I can feel the strain when I try to move. Thinner cables wrap around my wrists and ankles, spreading my limbs wide and leaving me horribly exposed.

And naked.

My underwear, dress, and smartwatch have been removed.

Below, I can see a haphazard pile of computer parts. Sharp edges of heat sinks and metal casings glint menacingly. If I loosen myself enough to fall, it's going to hurt. A lot.

The Scythe circles me like a hunter toying with his next kill, drawing my head up.

"Look at you," he purrs through his mask, his deep, modulated voice acting like a vibrator against my core. "The brilliant Layla Verona, caught in a web of the very technology she adores. Poetic, isn't it?"

I should be terrified, but a traitorous heat blossoms low in my belly. Kaden is the twisted hero of my deepest, most shameful desires. But in this dreamscape, I can indulge my darkest fantasies without consequence.

Kaden slinks closer, running a gloved finger down my trembling body. I shudder at his touch, a whimper escaping my lips as he traces the curves of my breasts, waist and hips. His fingers dance over my inner thighs, teasing but not quite touching where I ache for him most.

"So responsive." He chuckles darkly. "Even when you're at my mercy, helpless and exposed, your body sings for me, doesn't it?"

I want to deny it, but the evidence of my arousal glistens between my spread legs. Kaden cups my sex possessively, pressing the heel of his palm against my clit. Sparks ignite my nerve-endings and I arch into his touch with a desperate moan .

"That's it, my little captive," he encourages, rubbing firm circles that make my toes curl.

His fingers delve into my slick folds, two digits pumping in and out, curling to hit that magic spot inside. I try to angle my hips, to force him deeper.

My head falls back as Kaden finger-fucks me relentlessly, his thick digits stretching me wide and delving so deep. Slick, filthy sounds fill the air, blending with my needy whimpers and his sinister amusement. He adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of my clenching pussy, his thumb mercilessly circling my clit.

"Look at you, dripping all over my hand like the greedy little slut you are," Kaden growls. "I bet you're fantasizing about my cock right now, aren't you? Imagining me filling up this tight cunt, fucking you so hard you forget your own name."

My brows come together.

That isn't right. Kaden's never called me those things before.

Redirect the narrative.

With my forehead smoothing, I demand my dream to rewind.

"You're nothing but a filthy whore," he spits out viciously. "Getting off on being tied up and used like the cheap slut you are. I always knew you wanted this, wanted to be put in your place by a real man."

His fingers twist cruelly inside me, and I cry out in pain mingled with unwanted pleasure. "Bet you've been gagging for my cock since the moment you laid eyes on me. Well guess what, you're going to choke on it before the night's through. I'm going to fuck your slutty holes until you're a ruined, sobbing mess. "

Kaden's venomous words slice through the haze of lust, so jarringly out of character that I freeze.

This isn't a dream.

The stinging bite of the cables, the acrid smell of hot metal, the hellish red glow—it all crashes into me with a sudden, sickening clarity. This is real. I'm not in control.

A cold sweat breaks out across my skin as my heart rate skyrockets. I twist against my bonds, desperately trying to free myself, but it only makes the cables cut deeper, turning my struggles into a mockery of my earlier writhing.

With a sense of creeping dread, I crane my neck to look at my captor.

He steps into the red light, revealing a face I hate all too well.

Emmitt Dawson.

"Surprise," he drawls, beady eyes gleaming. "Bet you didn't see this coming, did you?"

"Dawson?" I rasp out, my throat dry and an awful taste scraping against my tongue. "What ... what are you doing?"

He laughs, continuing to circle me. "Did you really believe you could interfere with my plans and get away with it? That I wouldn't find out about your pathetic attempt at corporate espionage?"

Dawson smirks, clearly relishing my confusion and fear. "Oh Layla, you have no idea how long I've waited for this moment. To see you helpless and at my mercy, after all the trouble you've caused."

He pulls a small glass vial from his suit jacket, the liquid inside glinting as he shakes it. "A powerful sedative, courtesy of my associates. One little prick and you were out like a light, allowing me to arrange this delightful tableau."

My stomach turns as hazy memories surface. I was one button away from dismantling Morelli's AI tech forever, until the lights went out, a hand came over my mouth, and there was a sting in my neck…

How could I have been so careless, so blind?

"Why are you doing this?" I whisper.

He leans in close, his acrid breath washing over my face. "You never even felt it, did you? Too caught up in your ridiculous fantasies about the Scythe having your back. Yes, we know he's with you. Well, I have news for you, sweetheart. He's not coming to your rescue. No one is."

It takes all my mental energy to ignore the awful fluttering of panic in my chest and keep the conversation going so he can't do worse things to me.

"Why would you work for the Mafia? You're the son of a millionaire. You made this company a success. You don't need Morelli."

"You're such a dumb cunt. Fuck , it feels so good to say what I really want to you without all that HR bullshit. You have no idea how the real world works, Lay. Money and power are the only things that matter. And the Mafia? It has both."

"Morelli's dying. Did you know that? You've chained yourself to a man whose empire won't survive without him."

Dawson grips my chin, forcing me to meet his cold, dead eyes. "Who said I was working with Morelli?"

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Dawson's nails cut into my cheeks, forcing my lips to purse and saliva to overflow.

"That's right. Get your mouth nice and lubed for me, bitch. Morelli isn't at the top anymore. You fucking whore, you really thought you could stop me? That your stupid little cyber tricks could take down an operation a decade in the making?"

He releases my face with a cruel shove, making me swing in my bonds. The movement sends shock waves of pain radiating through my strained shoulders.

"Morelli's time is almost up, but his legacy? That lives on. And I'm going to help carry it forward into a glorious new era. With that AI tech, we'll have the world's governments, militaries, corporations, all dancing to our tune."

"You're insane," I choke out.

Dawson rakes his gaze over my naked, bound form. "Not to worry, baby. You'll be lucky if I let you live long enough to witness it. But I do get to take my time with you while the auction goes on upstairs."

Dawson reaches for his belt buckle with a leering grin. "When I'm done, maybe I'll let Morelli have a go at whatever's left. Give the geezer a proper farewell."

I wrench my mouth open to scream. The pain is too real, Dawson's sour scent too pungent. This is my reality now. Betrayed, alone, and about to be brutalized in the cruelest way imaginable.

Just as Dawson frees his dick, the server room doors explode inward with a deafening bang. Shards of metal and plastic rain down, sparks flying from destroyed circuitry.

Through the smoke and debris, a figure emerges, clad in sleek black tactical gear, a matte onyx mask obscuring his features. Twin green slits blaze with unholy fury as the Scythe stalks forward.

Dawson stumbles back, his small, thick dick bobbing. "Fuck me. The Scythe himself. Guess I should be flattered."

Kaden advances on Dawson. "Your first mistake was thinking I wouldn't come for her."

Dawson scrambles to tuck himself away.

"You're too late," he sneers. "The AI is already?—"

Kaden ignores him. "Your last was laying a finger on what's mine."

Dawson barely has time to raise his fists before Kaden's on him, a flurry of precise, brutal strikes raining down.

Dawson staggers back, blood spraying from his nose and mouth. He spits out a tooth, lips curling into a feral snarl. "You think you can stop this? It's already done! That AI is going to make me a god!"

He fumbles for the gun holstered beneath his suit jacket, but Kaden is faster. In a blur of black, he disarms Dawson and slams him against the server racks with bone-crushing force. Components shatter and spark.

Kaden catches Dawson's arm, wrenching it behind his back until the joint pops with a sickening crack. Dawson howls, crumpling to his knees. Kaden twists his arm farther, forcing his face to the ground.

"Look at her," the Scythe commands. "Look at what you did to her."

Through tears of pain and humiliation, I lock eyes with Dawson's bulging, bloodshot ones. His face is a ruin, his nose crushed and lips split, yet still he leers at my exposed body like a rabid dog eyeing a fresh steak.

"Should've heard the way she moaned for me," Dawson slurs through a mouthful of blood. "The slut loved every second of it."

Kaden's fist connects with Dawson's jaw in a brutal uppercut, snapping his head back. Teeth and blood splatter across the floor.

"You don't get to speak to her," Kaden snarls, punctuating each word with a vicious blow. Dawson's head lolls, barely conscious, yet still he grins through his broken mouth.

"Too late," he gurgles. "Already had my fingers in her sweet cunt."

Kaden's entire body goes rigid, a chilling stillness settling over him like the calm before devastating lightning strikes.

His grip on Dawson's mangled arm tightens, leather gloves creaking.

"Say that again." Kaden's tone is a low, deadly purr .

Dawson, even through the haze of agony, has the audacity to chuckle wetly. "You heard me. Fingered her till she was dripping all over my knuckles. Would you like to smell them?"

Kaden moves, blurring until he's not Kaden anymore. He's the black harbinger of death.

His hands clamp around Dawson's head, one gripping his hair, the other digging into Dawson's mouth and hooking his bottom teeth. With a roar of pure, unbridled rage, Kaden pulls Dawson's jaw out of its socket.

Dawson's scream cuts off abruptly as Kaden rips his jaw completely free with a grisly tearing of flesh, sinew, and bone. Blood spurts from the gaping wound, spraying across the Scythe's mask and chest.

He tosses the mangled jaw aside. It hits the floor with a wet slap, the remaining teeth scattering like gory dice.

Dawson gurgles and chokes, drowning in his own blood as it pours down his mutilated neck. His eyes roll wildly, bulging from their sockets as he claws at his ruined face with his one good hand.

But the Scythe isn't done.

He seizes Dawson by the hair, wrenching his head back at an impossible angle until vertebrae pop and crunch. With his other hand, he plunges armored fingers into the gushing ruin of Dawson's lower face, hooking them under the tongue and ripping it out by the root with a brutal yank.

Dawson convulses, a high, thin wail escaping through his windpipe as the Scythe slams Dawson's head against the unforgiving metal of the server rack again and again, until the sickening crack of his skull splits the air. Bits of bone and brain matter splatter across the humming machinery, gore mingling with sparking wires and crushed circuitry.

Dawson's body spasms, limbs jerking in a macabre death- dance as Kaden releases his ruined head. It lolls at an unnatural angle, eyes bulging and glassy, jowls hanging by threads of torn flesh. The Scythe steps back, chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His tactical suit is drenched in blood, droplets sliding down the black mask like ruby tears.

For a long, tense moment, he stands over Dawson's mutilated corpse, a dark avenging angel painted in viscera. Then slowly, so slowly, he turns to face me.

Pinned beneath that ferocious gaze, I feel stripped bare in a way that has nothing to do with my physical nakedness. It's as if he can see straight into my battered, quivering soul.

His heavy combat boots crunch through the grotesque debris. I quail instinctively, my abused body trying to curl in on itself despite the biting restraints.

For a heart-stopping moment, I fear the Scythe's bloodlust hasn't been sated, that he'll turn that brutal strength on me next.

A whimper escapes my raw throat as he looms over me, one gloved hand reaching out...

And then, with a gentleness that unmoors me, Kaden cradles my tear-streaked face. The coppery scent of blood mingles with the warm, familiar scent of leather as his thumb brushes over my bruised cheekbone.

"Layla."

My name is a broken whisper.

Kaden's touch is impossibly tender as he trails his fingers down my face, tracing the paths of my tears. The brush of leather against my sensitized skin sends involuntary shivers through me, and my mouth trembles with his name on my lips.

His other hand reaches for the cables binding my wrists, snapping them effortlessly. Each loop of cable falls away, and with it, a small measure of the crushing terror that had gripped my heart.

Kaden works in silence, his hands steady and sure despite the fine tremors that wrack his powerful frame.

As the last of the restraints fall away, I pitch forward, muscles too weak and traumatized to support my weight. But Kaden is there to catch me, enfolding my abused body in his strong arms. He holds me close, cradling me against the solidity of his chest as if I'm the most precious thing in the world.

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. "I failed. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you?—"

"Shh, it's okay," Kaden soothes, his deep voice fluttering the hair at the top of my head. "Your bravery is one of the many things that draws me to you."

I feel small and fragile in his powerful embrace, but also impossibly safe. Protected.

I burrow into his chest, desperate to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

He strokes my hair with a trembling hand. "I've got you, Wraithling. I won't let anyone hurt you, ever again."

The words are both vow and prayer, whispered like a benediction against my temple. I clutch at him, fingers digging into Kevlar, terrified he'll dissipate like smoke if I let go.

"I'm sorry," I rasp, throat raw from screaming. "I shouldn't have come here alone. I thought I could handle Dawson, that I could stop the AI launch, but I—" A damaged sob wrenches from my chest. "I was so stupid..."

Kaden lowers us both to the floor, settling me in his lap as he leans back against the server rack.

He starts to remove his mask, until I reach up with shaking fingers.

The mask comes away under my hand, revealing the face I' ve come to know so well. Those piercing blue eyes, now bloodshot and glistening with unshed tears. That proud, aquiline nose, flaring with each ragged exhale. Those sensual lips, usually quirked in a sardonic smirk, now pressed into a thin, bloodless line. And that jagged hook of a scar, a silver river on a flawless face.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip as his gaze roams over me, his eyes twin pools of torment as he takes in every cut, every bruise, every smudge of grime and blood. His throat works as he swallows hard. "I'm so sorry. I failed you when you needed me most. I don't expect you to forgive me, but please, let me help you now. Let me take care of you, in whatever way you need."

Kaden's voice breaks on the words, a hairline fracture in his usual iron control. "I swore to protect you, to keep you safe from the monsters in my world." His hand fists in my hair, clenching almost painfully. "When I saw what he did to you, what he was about to do..." A shudder ripples through his powerful frame. "I have only felt such fear, such blinding rage, once before. The thought of losing you, of being too late..." He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing as if in physical pain. "It unmade me."

I reach up to touch his face, my fingertips grazing his scar. "But you weren't too late."

His eyes snap open, blazing with a ferocity that steals my air. "I will always come for you, Layla. No matter what. No matter the cost." His grip gentles, hand cupping the back of my head. "It's taken me too long to realize that you are everything to me. I'd scale the heights of heaven, rip the wings off angels and use their feathers as a bed for you to dream on. I'd dive into the depths of hell, steal the devil's horns, and crown you queen of my underworld. That is my promise to you."

I'm so filled with emotion, my throat is too clogged to respond. How could I form what I'm feeling into words, anyway? It's too much, so much, that I give him my soul through a kiss, instead.

My lips mold against Kaden's, soft and pliant, seeking to convey all the things my voice cannot. He responds with a groan, his mouth slanting over mine, tongue delving deep to stake his claim.

The taste of him floods my senses, whiskey and smoke, danger and devotion. I cling to his broad shoulders, fingers digging into muscle as he devours.

It's a kiss of absolution, of forgiveness for perceived failures and unspoken fears. It's a kiss of gratitude, of awe at the lengths he would go to protect me, to avenge even the slightest harm done to me. It's a kiss of possession, claiming him as mine just as surely as I am his.

The harsh clang of metal on concrete jolts through both of us, and we pry apart.

Kaden's arms tighten around me as his head snaps up, eyes narrowing to slits.

Slow, mocking applause echoes through the ruined server room. A man in an immaculate suit emerges from the remaining smoke, stepping over Dawson's amputated jawbone.

He surveys the scene with a cold, assessing gaze, taking in Dawson's mutilated corpse and my bruised, naked form cradled against Kaden's blood-soaked chest.

" Brava ," he drawls, still clapping. "Quite the performance. I must say, I'm impressed."

Kaden tenses, coiling beneath me like a snake tightening its scales.

"Morelli," he snarls.

Morelli smiles, a razor-blade slash of white. "Hello, Kaden. Or is it Scythe now? I can never keep it straight. It's been too long."

His gaze flicks to me, trailing over my nakedness with a proprietary air.

"I must say, when Dawson proposed this little scheme, I had my doubts." Morelli strolls forward, heedless of the blood and entrails staining his handmade Italian leather shoes.

"But he was right," Morelli says, his voice gravelly from years of cigars. "Dangling the auction as bait for both of you. It was inspired." He chuckles, a sound like gravel in a meat grinder. "His present condition notwithstanding. You see, Kaden, in my line of work, you learn to read people. Their weaknesses, their ... pressure points." His cold eyes flick between Kaden and me, calculating. "I've seen empires rise and fall. Built a few myself." His gaze lifts over my head and snags on Kaden, a cruel smile forming on his lips. "Buried more than a few daughters, too."