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My chest tightens, and my heart races at the thought of Layla being in Cynthia’s shoes.
The Compass Killer.
At first, they thought Cynthia’s death was a copycat, but now, with the presence of more bodies, they are no longer at that angle. They aren’t studying Cynthia close up anymore. They don’t care about her or the people who were in her life. Now, they only care about the serial killer.
That’s what the news is saying, at least.
According to the news, the cops aren’t giving many details, but to call him the killer means the women were sliced.
My hands clench again, and my limbs start to shake.
I need to calm the fuck down.
Layla stirs, and I stop pacing. I’m probably going to wake her with the way I’m acting. I need to get some fresh air.
What time is it?
One o’clock in the morning.
Fuck it.
I pick her up and carry her to her bed.
Once I put her down and tuck her under the covers, I grab her keys.
Then I’m in the foyer, opening the door, locking it, and leaving.
It might be one in the morning, but the need to walk the streets and calm myself is overwhelming.
I have no direction in mind, so I just head to the left. Cars pass. No matter the time, the city is alive.
There aren’t too many people out and about, though. I would have thought that since it’s a Friday and the start of the weekend, it would be busier. But I guess there are no clubs or bars around this area.
My arms hang by my sides as I leisurely walk the streets. Each block helps to regulate my pulse.
But then I hear it.
A scream.
And the blood in my veins pumps faster.
Heavier.
Where is it coming from?
Up a few feet ahead is an alleyway, and I pick up my pace. When I make the turn, I see a woman being manhandled in the alley.
“Get the fuck away from her,” I bellow, and the moment the little shit takes me in, he’s running off, scared.
“Thank yo—” the woman starts to say, but she sways on her feet and then faces me.
Her eyes are smudged with leftover makeup, and her clothes are disheveled. She looks as high as a kite. “T-Thank y-you.” Her words come out slow and sloppy. Yep. She’s definitely wasted.
I don’t have time for this shit. When she goes to thank me for the third time, probably because she doesn't remember the last two, I wave her off.
“Get your shit together, because I won’t be there to stop the next guy.”
I’m pissed and annoyed. I took this walk to calm myself down, and now, I’m even more annoyed.
Starting to walk more, this time, I don’t pay any attention to the side roads. I just keep my head straight and go as far as I can until I lose this anger.
When the sun peeks from behind the buildings, I know it’s time to head back to Layla.
A smile spreads across my face. Just thinking about her calms me down.
I’m pretty far away, so I take out my phone and make a phone call to a business associate who owes me a favor. A big one.
“What?” Sleeping and pissed, I don’t know what I was expecting from Matt, but here we are.
“I’m cashing in your debt from saving your ass on the LA job you dropped the ball on. Wake the fuck up.”
The groan he gives me can’t be missed. “Fine, what do you need?” Matt grumbles.
“I need your house.”
“I was planning on going—”
My footsteps halt. This fucker better not give me a hard time. “Going nowhere,” I inform him. “You were planning on going nowhere is the only answer I want to hear.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere, Cain.”
“Good, I’m glad we got that settled. Have it cleaned.” I don’t bother waiting for him to object. He will do what I ask.
He owes me, after all.
I am not a man to go against.
Matt knows that better than anyone.
33
Layla
“Layla.”
I hear my name, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. A part of me thinks I’m still dreaming, but when I hear, “Layla, it’s time to get up,” the baritone voice has me fluttering my lids open.
I lift my hand and rub my eyes, allowing myself a moment before scanning the room.
Is Cain still here?
Or was last night a dream?
Sitting upright, I spot Cain standing across from the bed by the window that faces the courtyard.
He’s dressed in gray sweats and no shirt as he leans against the wall, arms crossed as he watches me.
I allow myself to ogle his body; each muscle on his chest is cut like rock. No one should look this good in the morning. I’m sure I don’t.
“I’m up.” I groan, and he saunters over to me, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress.
“Morning.” He inches closer, his gaze heavy on me. It makes me feel warm and tingly with how close he is.
