Authors: T. E. Sivec
I push back my fury as I hear a quiet, painful moan come from her lips.
“That’s it, Layla. Come on, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
Before I can say anything else, the squeal of tires causes me to jerk my head up away from Layla, and I see a black SUV slam to a stop on the street right in front of us. I reach behind me for my gun when the passenger window slides down and Finn yells out to me.
“Come on! Let’s go! Get her in the car before the cops get here and this place is a fucking circus. We’ll go back to her cabin and call them from there.”
I know the right thing to do would be to wait here so we can give our statements and Layla can get medical treatment, but Finn is right. In about five seconds, that club is going to empty when the news starts spreading, and every single person in there is going to be hovering over Layla, taking pictures and asking questions, not caring for one minute that she was just attacked.
Taking one last look at the hordes of people already gathering on the sidewalk, I curse under my breath, slide one arm under Layla’s neck and the other under her knees, and scoop her up into my arms, rushing over to the backseat of Finn’s vehicle. Getting inside as quickly as I can, I situate Layla on my lap, cradling her to me as Finn guns the engine and takes off down the street, narrowly missing a parked car.
“WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?” I yell at Finn as he weaves in and out of traffic. “You were supposed to be watching her. You are NEVER to let her out of your sight. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
My body is vibrating with rage as I think about what could have happened to the woman lying in my arms. She’s sweet, beautiful, smart, and funny, and in just one minute, her life could have been snuffed out. I can’t help but take my anger out on the one person in her life that is supposed to protect her.
“I don’t know! Fuck! I turned my back for one minute, I swear. I saw you come up behind her on the dance floor so I figured she was fine,” Finn rambles nervously before his guilt turns to fury that matches my own. “Where the hell were YOU?You were standing right there next to her! How the hell did she get outside alone?”
Not that I owe this guy any fucking explanation, but I give it to him anyway so he will shut the hell up.
“She stormed off and made her way through the crowd before I could stop her. I got people out of my way as fast as I fucking could. That guy must have been standing there, watching, waiting for her. She wasn’t out that door for more than thirty seconds before I got outside.”
I ignore my own anger with myself; directing it towards Finn is easier. I should never have said what I did, done what I had to her. I should have kept my cool and remained professional.
Thinking back to earlier in the evening, standing in the shadows watching her dance with all those men all night long filled me with an emotion I'm not used to—jealousy. No one should get to be that close to her, touch her, and hold her. No one except me.
A guttural roar almost slipped out when the last guy put his hands on her hips. Without thinking about what I was doing, I stalked across the dance floor and shoved him away, but not before leaning in close to him and telling him that if he so much as looked at Layla again, I would wipe up the dance floor with his bloody face.
I’m silent in the back seat of the car as I process those last few minutes on the dance floor and how every cell in my body screamed for me to just pull Layla against me and kiss her. Kiss that sweet, smart ass mouth and just forget about all of the reasons why it's a bad idea. Holding her soft, warm body against mine instantly flooded me with need, and I was hard as a rock as soon as she pushed her ass into me. I told her it was all just to prove a point, but that was a lie. I wanted her close to me. I wanted to touch her, taste her.
So I did.
And now I’m completely fucked because one taste of her skin isn’t nearly enough.
I feel her squirm in my arms and lower my head to look at her as she slowly starts to wake up. I see flashes of her face illuminated by the street lights outside as we rush through traffic and watch as her eyes slowly blink open and come into focus.
“Ow.” She winces and her hand comes up to cup the side of her face with the nasty bruise and small cut on it.
“We’re almost home Lay, hold on,” Finn tells her, glancing quickly over his shoulder to check on her while he maneuvers the SUV into another lane.
Her chin quivers and I watch the streetlights cast sparkles in her eyes as they fill with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, staring up at me. “That was so stupid. I shouldn’t have gone outside alone. I know that. I know better.”
A tear escapes from one eye, and I watch it slide down one cheek, mesmerized by the path it takes over her skin. Keeping my palm against her uninjured cheek, I use my thumb to wipe away the wetness.
“Shhh, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have pissed you off. I’m old enough to know that you never tell a sexy woman you only wanted to dance with her to prove a point,” I tell her softly, trying to lighten the mood.
It does the trick. The shame and guilt disappears from her face as she lets out a short, watery laugh.
The car comes to a quick stop, and I pull my gaze away from Layla to look up, noticing we’re parked right out front of the biggest, most luxurious home I’ve ever seen.
Sweet mother of God. This is what they call a cabin? What the hell do they call a mansion? A shack in the woods?
The back door opens and Finn reaches inside trying to pull Layla off of my lap. I shove his hands away, not ready to let go of her just yet, and not trusting Finn to keep her safe, even if it is just to help her walk to the door.
“It’s alright, I’ve got it,” I tell him irritably as I slide out of the car, hugging Layla’s body to mine and hefting her up higher in my arms as I make my way across the driveway to the front porch.
Finn doesn’t say a word, but I can sense the fury pouring out of him as he slams the car door closed behind me, and I can hear him breathing angrily through his nose as he follows, pounding his feet on the stairs behind me.
He brushes past me, his shoulder purposefully bumping into mine as he reaches the front door and punches in the security code to disarm the alarm. The door clicks to let us know the alarm is off, and Finn opens it, holding it wide so I can enter with Layla. My feet come to a stop as Finn hits a few switches to the right of the door, and the living room is bathed in soft, white light.
Layla’s house is definitely a cabin of sorts. The walls and ceiling are paneled with natural grain cedar, and the floor is smooth and shiny hardwood, but that’s pretty much where the similarities to a
log cabin
end. The living room has vaulted, twenty-foot ceilings with a giant wagon wheel light fixture hanging down in the center, each spoke holding an electric lighted candle. The wall directly across from where I’m standing is nothing but framed windows from floor to ceiling, with a gorgeous view of the fields, valleys, and forest that make up her backyard. Despite its size, the room is homey with dark brown, well-worn leather furniture, throw pillows, and a few unfolded blankets tossed over the backs. The floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace that takes up half of the wall to my left adds to the warmth of the home. Its mantle is filled with pictures of Layla as a child, Layla and Finn, and one of a teenage Layla holding a guitar next to a man I assume is her father.
“Stop gawking and put me down,” Layla speaks up from my arms as she catches me staring around the room with my mouth open.
“Sorry,” I apologize with a laugh as I walk her over to the leather sectional in front of the fireplace and set her down gently. “I’m not used to hanging out with famous rock stars that live in palaces.”
I kneel down next to the couch and take both of her hands in mine, turning them palm up so I can inspect the damage she did when she fell.
“This is not a palace and I’m not a rock star,” Layla insists with a grimace as I turn her hands this way and that to try and make sure there isn’t any glass imbedded in them.
“Really? So, everyone you know has a 1958 Gibson Les Paul hanging on their wall in a glass case...signed by Jimmy Page?” I'm completely floored and can't even comprehend what I'm looking at. “Obviously, I'm hanging out with the wrong people,” I reply with a chuckle as I glance over at the guitar above the fireplace that my eyes immediately zeroed in on when I set her down on the couch.
“The cops and EMTs will be here in about twenty minutes,” Finn states, coming up behind me and shoving his phone into his back pocket. “They’re finishing up statements at the club.” I can hear the guilt in Finn’s voice, and part of me wants to turn around and finish our argument from the car and ask him again what the hell he was thinking taking his eyes off of Layla for even one minute.
Layla looks over my shoulder and up at Finn, her face softening with a smile for him. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I was an idiot. I should never have left the club by myself,” she reassures him softly.
I don’t share the same sentiment, so I keep my mouth shut and continue checking her hands and knees for glass and to make sure the bleeding has stopped, which it hasn’t. I’ve never seen someone bleed this much from a few little cuts and scrapes.
“What did the guy want? What did he say to you? Did he do anything else to you?”
I watch the color drain from Layla at Finn’s rapid-fire questions, and I want to stand up and shove my fist into his face. She swallows roughly a few times, and her eyes blink back more tears as Finn continues his interrogation. If I didn’t know any better, I would think he sounded like some crazy fan instead of her friend. Someone who just wants the dirty details and gossip instead of making sure his friend is okay.
“Did you get a good look at him? Recognize his voice?”
I finally stand up and turn to face Finn, our noses practically touching, the tightness in my eyes and my face hopefully warning him that I’m about two seconds away from beating his ass if he doesn’t stop.
“I think Layla needs a break. At least until the cops get here. She shouldn’t have to go over this more than once,” I tell him.
I can see the war of emotions on his face: rage, resentment, jealousy, shame. They’re all right there for me to witness as he tries to keep himself in check and not make a scene in front of Layla.
“I’m going to go get you a few wet towels for your cuts and scrapes, see if I can stop the bleeding, and a bag of ice for your cheek,” I tell Layla without taking my eyes off of Finn.
Once I’m satisfied he’s finished grilling her, I step around him and head for the massive staircase next to the kitchen, hoping it will take me to a bathroom.
As I finish wringing out a couple of small towels a few minutes later, I hear the door slam closed downstairs and a raised voice carrying up the stairs. Grabbing the towels, I go out into the hall and look down over the balcony above the living room to see Eve standing next to the couch glaring down at Layla with her hands on her hips, her posture rigid.
“What the hell were you thinking, you stupid, stupid girl? Have you even seen your face? How in the hell are you supposed to do a photo shoot tomorrow for the cover of InStyle when you look like shit?” Eve berates Layla.
My blood boils when I hear the words coming out of Layla’s mother’s mouth, and I quickly turn and head for the stairs.
“I swear to God you are WORTHLESS! You see what happens when you don’t listen to me? Things get ruined. You ruin everything. Now I’m going to look like an idiot when I have to call the magazine and reschedule the shoot,” Eve states as I make my way to the bottom of the stairs.
“Jesus, wash that shit off of your hands and legs for God’s sakes before anyone gets here and sees you looking like this.”
I waltz up behind Eve, reach around her, and quietly hand Layla one of the wet towels, giving her a reassuring smile as I do so.
Eve jumps when she realizes she isn’t alone in the house with Finn and her daughter and quickly turns around and pastes a fake smile on her face.
“Mr. Marshall! So good to see you again, I didn’t realize—”
“No, you didn’t realize,” I deadpan, cutting her off. “Layla is fine, by the way. I’m sure she appreciates your concern for her well-being. The guy who attacked her only dragged her by her hair and punched her in the face so hard that she passed out. I got a few good punches in, but he took off before I could apprehend him. That’s what you were going to ask next, right? If we caught the guy who jumped your daughter right outside of a club packed with people?”
We stand there staring at one another, and the tension is so thick in the room I might be a little uncomfortable with it if I gave two shits what this woman thinks of me.
“Finn, could you go outside and greet the police officers when they get here?” Eve asks, breaking my stare and walking around me towards the kitchen.
She busies herself making a pot of coffee, running water into the carafe, and rummaging through cupboards for mugs and coffee grounds, completely ignoring the fact that I just called her on her bullshit.
Finn spares one more guilt-ridden glance towards Layla before turning and walking out the door. Walking over to where she sits on the couch, I go back to my earlier position of kneeling in front of her on the floor and take the wet towel from her hands. I begin softly patting the cuts and scrapes on her knees to try to get them to stop bleeding, pausing and wincing with her every time she takes in a painful breath when I touch a particularly rough looking spot.
“You shouldn’t have done that. You’re on her shit list now,” Layla says softly, not looking up from what she’s doing.
“I couldn't care less what that woman thinks of me,” I reply, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Eve can’t hear us. “It’s disgusting that she cares more about your appearance than what could have happened to you out there.”
Layla shrugs and I notice the mirth in her eyes from a few moments ago when I teased her about the size of her home is now completely gone. Her shoulders droop and her head hangs low, the sparkle in her eyes, despite what happened to her earlier, replaced by dullness and resignation.