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I peer over the hood of the car where Tony who’s climbing out the window himself. He’s right. He can’t possibly be with them. “No.”
“Okay then,” he says, cupping my chin in his hand and forcing me to look at him. “Trust me then.”
Having no other choice, I do exactly what he says, hoping that I’m not making a huge mistake. That the Layton I’m with now isn’t the Layton working for Frankie, but the one I’ve known all my life.
The one that would do anything to save me.
Chapter 9
Lola
I can’t stop staring at him. He’s here and alive. He’s breathing, his solid chest rising and falling beneath his grey shirt. His eyes look full of life as he watches the street and drives toward the unknown, his grip firm on the steering wheel. He looks just like I remember, sexy as hell with his dark, messy hair; tattooed body; and long, lean arms. Although his hair is the slightest bit longer, his jaw a little scruffy, and his eyes carrying even more darkness within them. Whatever he’s been up to for the last couple of years has taken a toll on him.
“Do you still have the tongue ring?” I ask, rotating in the seat to face him, my face pressed against the cool leather, my legs pulled up to my knees.
His gaze slides toward me and the intensity burning in them makes me miss a breath. Instead of answering me, he slowly sticks out his tongue, as if teasing me. The silver stud glimmers in the moonlight and I bite down on my lip. “I’m still the same person, Lolita,” he says. “Nothing’s changed except for the fact that I don’t work for Frankie anymore—I don’t work for anyone.”
“And that I thought you were dead.” I don’t mean to sound bitter but I do. “That’s different now. You seem like a ghost me… not even real.” God, he’s actually real. Right here with me. I start to choke up over it, but shove it down, bury it, not ready to go there yet.
“Everyone thought I was dead,” he explains me in a emotionless tone, returning his attention back to the road. We’ve been driving for about an hour, in what direction I’m not sure since I’ve been too distracted to pay attention to anything but Layton. “Even my parents—still do.”
“But why? Why would you fake your own death? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t?” he questions and I start to think of reasons why someone would fake their own death.
“To escape. To disappear,” I say. “But why not run away.”
He’s quiet before, his breathing calculated as if he’s battling to get oxygen into his lungs. When he finally does look at me, I can tell he’s on the verge of losing it. “You remember how you were always asking me about why I started working for Frankie?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yeah, it never made sense to me, not when he was the enemy to our families, at least I always thought so.”
“You’ve always thought that?” he questions with doubt. “That the Catherlson’s and the Everett’s were enemies?”
“Yeah… well, except for the day my….” I swallow the massive lump rising in my throat as tears start to well in my eyes again. It’s been too much of an emotional day. I need to get my shit together. `“The day my mother died and you guys got into the SUV with Frankie. I was so confused… and honestly felt kind of betrayed. But ever since then it never seemed like it was a problem again, not until a few months before… before I was kidnapped and you suddenly started working for him.”
“I had to,” he tells me through clenched teeth. “I didn’t have a choice, Lola. You have to believe that.”
“If that’s true, then tell me why,” I practically beg because I need to know so I can trust him.
He shakes his head, looking as though he’s in physical pain. “It’s so much more complicated then just telling you why I did it. It has to do with so much shit that’s happened since we were fourteen.” He turns the car off the road and into a gravel parking lot, pulling off to the side of a rundown motel where we’re hidden.
I sit up in my seat. “You mean since my mother died?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He puts the car in park, then turns off the headlights “Come inside with me and I’ll try to explain it to you the best that I can. But let me just say I don’t have the answer to everything. I’m still trying to figure stuff out myself.”
“How do I know you’re not here to kill me?” I ask, eyeing the sketchy looking building. There’s not a person in sight and it’s eerily quiet. Not to mention the thick forest within waling distance, convent for hiding bodies if needed. “How do I know that I’m not going to walk into that room and be bombarded by the Dellefontes? Or maybe you’ve take me here to shoot me—make it a discrete kill.”
He gives me a tolerant look. “And why the hell would I do that?”
“To get yourself off the hook with the Dellefontes.” I shrug, pulling off my hood and tousling my fingers with my hair as I glance around the area. “Honestly, I can think of a ton of reasons. And I have to be careful… you know how these things work.”
He exchanges a look of mutual understanding, because he does get it. Cautiousness and paranoia have been breed into us since we were born, otherwise we probably wouldn’t be living in this moment. “I understand you need to be careful… it’s good that you are.” With that he moves his hand around the back of him and takes the gun tucked in the back of his pants. He gives it to me then reaches down to his boots to retrieves his other weapon—a switchblade knife.
Boots.
Wait boots?
Suddenly something dawns on me. “You were there that night, weren’t you? That night with Tenner? You came storming in and pretty much…” Saved me from getting raped.
He gives me his knife, his fingers grazing against the palm of my hand and sending a shiver down my spine, a good kind of shiver, one that gets my blood pumping in a way it hasn’t done for since I took off. “I’ve been around a lot… been watching you for the last couple of weeks.”
He saved me that night from getting raped and I have to shut my eyes for a moment just to see past the emotions stirring inside me, ones I felt when I thought he died, ones that are hard to feel because there so potent and go against everything my mother tried to instill in me. “But how did you find me? I thought I was being careful?”
“A lot of searching,” he says, stuffing his hand into his pocket and taking out his brass knuckles, giving me the last of his weapons, giving me all the power. “I would have found you sooner, but you’re a hard person to find. Which is good, Lola. You did exactly what I wanted you to. I just wish you wouldn’t have went to work for someone that knew who you were.”
“I didn’t know he’d know,” I protest. “I thought he was just… Well, a pimp pretty much.” It feels so weird talking to him about this.
And I can tell it’s bothering him too, but he’s trying not to let it show. “I know that but…” He rakes his hands through his dark hair. “If you would have stayed away from that type of business, it would have never happened.” He isn’t making eye contact with me, instead staring out the window at the forest.
“Does it bother you that I messed up?” I ask. “Or that I was working as an… an escort.”
He shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. “You know both of them bother me… you’ve known how I felt about you since we were eighteen.” His eyes open and I expect them to be full of emotion, but they’re empty, like mine have been for the last couple of years.
I try to find words that will make him feel better, but I can’t, so my lips stay sealed. I feel guilty, something I never thought would happen. And all the emotion I shut down while having sex with all those men is starting to chip at the surface. For a moment, I feel… well, ashamed.
Eventually Layton removes the keys out of the ignition. “If you’ll come inside with me, I’ll tell you what I know.”
I stare down at his weapons on my lap. What do I have to lose? There’s nowhere else for me to go. “There’s just one more thing I have to ask you
.”
His brow crooks in surprise. “Okay.”
“That guy at the hotel… the one that… well, you know tried to… rape me… What happened to him?”
His gaze darkens and flashes with rage, not directed at me though. “Do you really want me to answer that?” He pauses as I remain motionless in the seat. “He tried to rape you, Lola.” He reaches across the car and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “And hurt you. I’m not going to apologize for what I did.”
I could ask him to tell me exactly what he did to Tenner, but honestly I’d rather not know the details. I can see it in his eyes that Tenner won’t be attacking any women anytime soon, if ever. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t even feel that bad about it.
Without saying anything else, I get out of the car with his weapons in my hands, hoping I’m not making a big mistake. Layton doesn’t say a word as he gets out of the car and walks around to the trunk. He pops it and starts digging around in it as I get out and round the back of the car, half expecting to see a dead body inside, perhaps Tenner’s. But there are just a few duffel bags. He picks up one of them up and swings it over his shoulder before moving around the side of the motel with me trailing behind. As we approach one of the room doors, he withdraws a key and unlocks the door. When he enters, he drops the bag on the floor and motions me inside without turning on the lights.
I enter with reluctance, glancing around at the unmade bed, the clothes on the floor, the wrappers and soda cans on the table, and the single lamp turned on. “How long have you been here?” I ask, turning to him as he closes and locks the door behind us.
He shrugs as he pulls the curtain shut. “Since I came to Glensdale about two to three weeks ago.” He looks around as if searching for something then hurries past me and over to the nightstand. I stand near the door, waiting for him to explain to me why he’s been around for that long and not made it aware to me until now, but all he does is start digging around in the drawer. It goes on forever, too long. Whatever he’s looking for, he’s clearly not going to find it.
“I’m waiting for you to tell me something—anything—that would explain what the hell’s going on.” I set his weapons down on the bed and make my way across the room toward him. “Layton, you have to give me something.” When he still doesn’t respond, I put a hand on his shoulder. His whole entire body jolts, surprising me. I’m not sure what’s going on or handle this. “Layton, I don’t—” My lips are silenced as he spins around and smashes his lips to mine with so much force I’m sure they’re going to bruise.
My initial reaction is to jerk back. No kissing, no lip-to-lip contact, but then I remember how much I wished I would have kissed him properly when I thought he died. And I don’t ever want that to happen again—regret something like that.
So I let him kiss me, our lips connecting, my pulse throbbing to kiss him back in a way I never have. There’s so much passion and desperation behind the kiss that something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s that he’s alive and not dead. Maybe I’m giving into my own emotions, but I kiss him back, grabbing onto him, willing opening my mouth as his tongue fights to get it.
“I’ve been wanting to do this since the last night I saw you… been dreaming about it for two years,” he whispers against my lips then the metal of his tongue ring grazes against my teeth as he kisses me deeply, fiercely, like he’s trying to steal my oxygen away. His hands tangle through my hair, drift down my back, feeling me and pushing me closer. I moan, bit his lip, slip my hands up the back of my shirt and drag my nails against his flesh, completely untamed. And I feel every part of it. Every single damn emotion pours through my body, one’s I’ve been suppressing for over a year. Passion. Anguish. Guilt. Pain. Sadness. Anger. Anger. Anger. For making me think he was dead. Before I even know what I’m doing, I pull away from him and slap my hand across his face.
“Oh my God.” I throw my hand over my mouth, my body uncontrollably trembling. “I don’t even know why I did that… I was just so… so upset over thinking you were dead.”
He places his hand over his cheek, eyes locked on me. “It’s okay.” He no you winces as his finger brush against his skin. “I deserved that. And I should have known what to expect. You are my feisty Lolita.” His lips quirk.
I want to smile back, but I feel so terrible still. “No you didn’t.” I lower my hand from my mouth and step toward him. Lifting his hand from his cheek, I look at the damage I’ve done. A bright red handprint marks his cheek. “I’m so sorry… I just… I was feeling too much… It’s been a long time.”
His gaze bores into me and I’m afraid to make eye contact with him. “I know it has.” His finger caresses my cheek. “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes.
I don’t even know what to do with what’s going on inside me. Even before everything happened, I still wasn’t the best with my emotions. And after two years in solitude from them, it’s overwhelming to the point where I’m finding something as simple as breathing complicated.
“Layton,” I say almost breathlessly. “I really need to know what’s going on.” I finally look at him and the intensity in his eyes almost makes me buckle. “Before we do this…” Have sex, because I know we’re going to. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.” But despite my words, I start to lean again, as if magnetized by him. Sex has always calmed me and being calm seems like such a good idea right now, better than anything else—being with him seems better than anything else.
He takes a deep breath his lips parting, but he’s cut off as I start kissing him again. I’ve never instigated a kiss before and this one’s pact with heat and need and I have no clue what else. A lot of things I’ve never felt before.
It starts off slow at first, our tongues tangling together. But the slow quickly heats up and suddenly I’m yanking his shirt off and he’s tearing off mine, along with my bra. His hand grips my breast while the other grabs at my waist. Every time his finger grazes my nipple, I groan,
“Harder,” I hear myself say, but it doesn’t even sound like me. I’m so used to my voice sounding empty, but my tone is radiating emotion.
I feel Layton briefly smile against my lips then he pinches my nipple harder, just like I asked. God, it’s been so long since I felt this, so long since I wasn’t just going through the motions, completely detached.
Suddenly thoughts of what I done start to creep up into my mind, how many men I’ve been with, the things I’ve done, and again I feel a flicker of shame. But I do what I’m good at and shove it down as I fumble with the button of his jeans, our lips still fastened, bodies welded together. We start to back toward the bed, stumbling over each other’s feet. Right as we reach the edge of the bed, he flips us around, so I fall on my back onto the mattress. Seconds later, he’s pulling off my jeans and panties. As I sit up and reach for him, to bring him back to me, he takes me off guard, his head dipping between my legs. I feel the flick of his tongue ring first… Good God that tongue ring. It’s driving me made. Everything he’s doing is driving me made. The way his tongue is driving me toward the edge, the way his fingers grip at my thighs, the way his nearness is making my heart slam against my chest, the way my body is responding to him, writhing, moving against it’s own freewill, but in the best way possible.
I need more.
I need him inside me.
Now.
“Layton… please…” I pant as I reach down for him.
His tongue ring flicks my flesh again before he moves away from me, slips off his jeans, and puts a condom on. Then his body is covering mine and he’s kissing me again. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as he thrusts his hips and sinks deep inside me.
That’s when I feel it.
A flicker of panic.
The intimacy of the moment I’ve shared with so many men. It was always one-sided but still… God, I never thought I’d feel so guilty over this.
I force myself to be stronger though and focus on Layton. The way he moves inside me, the way our
bodies meet, the feel of his tongue, hands, the way our chests brush together, the way my nipples harden. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever but I can feel myself getting there fast, falling into blindness, my fingernails clawing into the flesh of his shoulders, desperate to hold onto something, afraid to fall all the way.
And then I’m gone. Lost inside everything that is Layton and for the briefest, most wonderful moment, I’m free. But then I return back to reality and it all hits me at once. Before I can stop myself, I start to cry.
Chapter 10
Lola
I haven’t cried in forever and I’m not sure how to turn it off. “I’m sorry,” I say to Layton as he slides out of me with a worried look on his face. “I don’t even know what the hell’s wrong with me.”
He looks like he understands, though, and without any hesitation, he wraps his arms around me and holds me against his chest. It takes a while for the tears to stop, but finally they do. Without asking any questions, Layton lets me go and then helps me get dressed, well at least as much as I’ll let him. Then he slips his jeans and shit back on and sits down on the bed beside me.
