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“I’m watching the news.”
“Why?”
“As you know, I don’t want to work for Concept and Space forever.”
“And . . .?”
“I want to investigate the death of Cynthia Richards,” I spit out, and his jaw tightens at that. “I’m hoping it could lead to another position. One I want.”
“This isn’t your story,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“It could be. Don’t you see that—”
“No.”
He’s angry. Is it because he knows her more than he lets on?
He said Cynthia was someone who wanted to live in The Elysian, but is there more?
“Cain, did you know Cynthia? Was she someone to you? We never talked about why she was always around—”
“Can’t you just leave anything alone?” He walks away from me, his long legs eating up the space with little effort.
He starts to pace, his fists clenching.
There is more to the story with Cynthia. I can tell.
“Did she mean something to you?” I ask again. “You can’t deny that we ran into her a lot. It’s just odd, and she was always acting strange. Is there something I should know? Were you—” Why is this so hard? “Were you two sleeping together?”
“You have no clue what you’re talking about. And because of that, you need to fucking drop it.”
I stumble back.
In the time I’ve known Cain, I have seen him tense with his employees. I have heard of his temper from his assistant, but never has he used that kind of language, nor has his anger been pointed at me.
I shiver.
All the stories are true.
Cain Archer is what they say.
I feel my body shake.
My arms cross over my chest to comfort myself.
Then, as Jekyll replaces Hyde, Cain moves toward me, pulling my trembling body into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Layla. I was asleep . . .” He places a kiss on my head. “And I just woke up. Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m saying when I’m asleep.” He kisses my temple. “I haven’t been sleeping well. Not without you. I miss you.” Kiss.
And then he’s lifting up my chin.
His fingers on my trembling jaw. “I’m so sorry for scaring you.” He places a kiss on my nose. “It will never happen again. Please forgive me.”
“I’m okay. But Cain, if it does . . . I won’t be here. I understand you were sleepwalking. But never again. If that means you go see a sleep doctor, so be it.”
“I’m sorry.” His lips find mine, soft as I remember in our sweet moments. “How can I make it up to you? Anything you want to do this weekend, I’m all yours. Let me make it better.”
“It’s fine, Cain,” I say.
“We can spend the whole day doing anything you want. Whatever you want to do.”
“I just want to get out of the city and head to the shore, but since that can’t happen, I’d settle for a day in bed.”
He smirks and kisses me again. This time, his mouth opens, ready to consume me, and I surrender to my need for him.
32
Cain
I shouldn’t have come. I should have left well enough alone and not tempted myself. But here I am, playing with fire, and I just got burned.
My past has come back to haunt me, and in turn, I hurt her.
She plays it off like I didn’t, but I did.
The worst part, I was lost at the time.
The darkness inside me took over. It was like I was in a trance, and only when I snapped out of it did I realize what I had done.
Walking back and forth across her small living room hasn’t sated the beast. It’s still roaring up inside me.
Anger.
Fear.
The idea of Layla being like one of those girls.
My knuckles turn white from how tight I am making fists.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
Right now, I need to keep my head in the game. No distractions. Stay focused on building. Instead, I’m pacing her living room, trying to calm the fuck down.
Layla Marks is an unexpected plot twist.
Turning to face her, I cock my head to the left and take her in. She fell asleep on the couch.
I look down at her. She’s so small, so fragile.
Someone could hurt her—snap her in half—and she wouldn’t even be able to put up a fight.
In sleep, she’s peaceful, and for a moment, I wish we could stay like this forever. It won’t happen.
It can’t. My life is too . . . it’s not even about my life. It’s about her. She’s too pure, too good for me.
Even without me in her life, she needs to be protected.
The idea of me leaving and her being in this city alone has my heart thumping harder in my chest. Girls like Layla can easily get swallowed up in New York City. Like the woman in the news.
Layla could be one of those girls.
She’s not much different than the victims. Petite, blonde, fair skin, and light eyes. The only difference is the age.
