Chapter Twenty-Five

Layla

There was something freeing about spending a few hours in the kitchen, baking my favorite batches of cookie bars so they’d be nice and soft by the time I came back home. A bunch of veggies were all set up in the slow cooker, ready to begin a lengthy cooking process that I would have very little to do with, which meant they would come out edible. And I’d have dinner for tomorrow along with lunch for a few days next week. It was nice, really. Helped clear my mind and steel myself for a night of nothing but sex. Nothing but a physical release.

No emotions and no goddamn stars in my eyes.

Okay maybe there were still a few lingering stars that sat on my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “Tell him how you feel.” Or crazy things like, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I ignored the voices or at least I tried to. It was just that the idea of seeing Eamon again excited me.

This was a clear-cut case of my stupid heart trying to take the reins when I’d already decided that my brain should run the show. And that was exactly what I convinced myself of when I stepped under the hot shower spray to get ready for tonight. It was crazy to even consider broaching the subject with Eamon. He’d made it beyond clear earlier with his stars in your eyes comment exactly how he felt about me developing a case of inconvenient feelings for him.

His voice had been a low, cool warning. I’m not what you want, trust me. Except he was. For some reason I wanted the fucker, or rather my heart wanted him no matter how fucked up and mean I tried to make him sound.

I picked out my clothes for the evening carefully, making sure I looked good but not like I was trying to look good for him. I wasn’t.

Okay, maybe I was.

A pair of black jeans with a sheer black top would keep it simple yet sexy. Underneath I’d wear a lingerie set that would make him sorry to see me go.

My mind swirled with at least thirty different ways he might reject me, starting with laughter and ending with blind rage. The truth was I knew nothing about Eamon and most of what I knew came from the news and the few bits of information he’d actually shared with me over the past few days.

“No one has ever died from a broken heart.”

My mom used to say that to me whenever I’d cry over not getting my way and I smiled at the memory.

It was like she showed up to drop a dollop of wisdom on me just when I needed it the most. Mom was right, no one ever died from a broken heart, at least no one I knew. If, in some alternate universe, I told Eamon that I had feelings for him and he rejected me, it’d probably hurt like hell. But my heart wouldn’t stop beating and the world wouldn’t stop turning on its axis. I might cry a little and drown my sorrows in booze and junk food for a few days, but then, I’d get over it.

I’d move on with my life.

Easy peasy.

I grabbed my black shoes with the thick black ribbons around the ankles. They were guaranteed to drive Eamon wild and that was exactly the version of him I wanted for our last night together. So yeah, I would tell him.

The bell rang as I made my way down the hall and I smiled, thinking maybe I wasn’t the only one eager for tonight after all. The closer I got to the door, the more sure I was that spilling my emotional guts to Eamon was exactly what I would do. No matter what happened, I would do it.

I would survive it.

No matter what.

I pulled the door open with a smile that quickly died when I came face to face with a very large man with carrot red hair I didn’t recognize smoking a cigar.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, Layla.”

He blew a puff of smoke in my face and I took a step back, gripping the doorknob in my fist.

“Don’t blow smoke in my face, asshole!”

He sighed and sucked in another breath. “It’s your lucky day little lady.”

Something about the guy didn’t seem right and it wasn’t just that he looked rough, with about four days worth of stubble on his cheeks or the slightly sweat stained t-shirt he wore. It was the twitchy way he had about him, the uneasiness that sat on his shoulders.

“I don’t have time for your games,” I barked at him. With a roll of my eyes I slammed the door in his face.

Correction, I tried to slam the door in his face, but his big meaty hand reached out and grabbed it, pushing it back hard enough that the edge smacked me right in the face.

“Son of a bitch!” I shrieked, a shock of pain streaking across my nose as I fell to the floor.

“Shoulda just played along bitch, now I’m gonna have to hurt ya.”

Goddamn that hurt like a motherfucker! My nose hurt so bad my eyes watered, as blood streamed out of my nose. I tried to crawl away, still feeling stunned but the big guy grabbed my ankle.

“Get off me you fat fuck!” I snarled. I turned and kicked him square in the face. Blood started oozing from the edge of his mouth, and while I knew it wasn’t enough of a blow to faze him, it still felt good to get a nice shot in.

“Come here, bitch!”

His eyes were full of rage as he stood back up and shot a creepy grin at me. His mouth was bloody but that seemed to only piss him off. I knew I was a goner if I didn’t get away.

He was still between me and the only door out of my apartment. How was I going to get away from this thug?

I struggled to my feet and reached for every ashtray, vase and beer mug decorating my apartment from all kinds of holidays and vacations, throwing each one at the big oaf as I tried to put more distance between us.

“Get! Out!”

Nothing I threw at this guy even slowed him down and I was running out of ashtrays. I chucked a lamp at him in desperation and darted down the hall, locking the bedroom door behind me.

My eyes searched the room. My queen-sized bed sat in the middle with a pink and yellow comforter. On the right was a small pine nightstand a night lamp and to the left a matching chest of drawers. It was a standard two-bedroom apartment, which meant there was no master bathroom, no other means of escape. Just the balcony through the sliding glass door.

I was just about to head for the balcony when I heard a loud crash and saw that he’d kicked my flimsy hollow bedroom door completely off its hinges.

“You fucking bitch, get back here!” His dark eyes glared at me full of anger and hate. Complete terror washed away any confidence I had. My body went limp as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and started dragging me back down the hallway.

The pain was intense as he ripped my hair out by the roots. But I wasn’t going down like this. I took a deep breath and started kicking and screaming for help!

“Let me go!”

“We could’ve done this the easy way, bitch,” he hissed, as if I owed him something.

I refused to make it easy for him to snatch me. I squirmed and kicked and screamed, whatever I needed to do to slow him down.

“Help!” I screamed. “Somebody help me! Call 911!”

He grabbed at my mouth and I sank my teeth deep into his hand until I tasted the unmistakable metallic flavor of blood.

“Dumb bitch! Be quiet!” he shouted over me, but I refused to shut up. I continued screaming my head off. I knew my neighbors weren’t the type to get involved but they had no problems calling the police for every little peep of noise they deemed too loud.

I screamed, “Help! Help!” as loud as I could, before a heavy crack on the back of my head turned out my lights and everything went black.