The moonlight hits Layton’s face, his strong features, his silvery eyes looking black, but I can picture the real color, have it memorized inside my head. “Of course I am. You didn’t think I’d let the Dellefontes get me that easy, did you?” He winces as he stand up, his hand on his injured man parts.

“But Glady said… she said…” I shake my head, wanting to scream. “You were dead. Eighteen months ago she said my father told her you—”

Someone slams against the door so forcefully it rattles the entire house and I jump forward straight into Layton, more skittish than normal, but I think it’s from the shock.

“It’s okay.” He steadies me with his hands. “We’re going to get you out of here, Lolita.” He calls me by my real name, which used to bother the shit out of me, but right now I could care less.

Something snaps inside me, breaks, like a rubber band, the only thing that was holding me together. “Why are you here?” My voice is off pitch as I nod my head in the direction behind me. “And them too. What the hell does Frankie want with me… I always though it would be the Dellefontes.”

Layton glances over my shoulder at the door then looks me directly in the eyes. It feels like my head is swimming… I can’t even think straight… he’s alive.

“We need to get you out of here.” His hands slide down my arms and he grips a wrist in each of his hands, caressing the skin like he used to do all the time. Just like when we were growing up, I feel safe even with all the danger around me. So safe. So at home.

So alive.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks slamming into my stomach and knocking the wind out of me. I thought he was dead all this time and I was hurting more than I wanted to admit. But it was all for nothing. All that pain… for nothing?

“Wait a minute.” I attempt to slip my hand out of his, because I need answers, like the reason that he’s here and breathing, but he only grips tighter and forces me to follow him into my room, scooping up my bag in the process. “You need to tell me what’s going on.” I struggle to get free but Layton is way stronger than I am. “Layton, I thought you were dead... none of this makes sense.”

He gives me a sympathetic look, his silvery eyes mixed with anguish. “I know. And it’s been killing me for the last eighteen months… I swear it has…. But it needed to be done.” His eyes plead for me to understand, but how can I when I have no clue what’s going on.

We stare at each other silently as I try to read him, but it’s too dark to see what’s really going inside those eyes, what lies behind all the sadness. I used to be able to read him better, but I can tell he’s purposefully shutting me out.

There’s a cool breeze blowing in from the broken window on the wall near my bed. “Did you break in here?” I stare down at the glass on the floor, trying to collect myself.

The corners of his lips quirk and for a second his old playful attitude slips through, despite it being an inappropriate time. “How do you think I got in? Walked through the walls?” Then without warning, he gets behind me and shoves me forward.

I stumble and land on the bed, but scurry to my feet and whirl to face him. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but you better start—”

A crash from inside the house makes both our eyes widen and my grip on my gun tighten.

“Out the fucking window, now Lolita,” he demands and then pushes me again. “I promise, when we get to someplace safe, I’ll explain everything to you.”

My back hits the wall right beside the window and I elevate my gun at him. There are so many things I want to say to him, but footsteps and voices get closer, I know I have a choice to make. Just like I did when Frankie took me to that warehouse two years ago and showed me the video of my father—let him die or kill. I chose to kill and right now I’m choosing to trust Layton enough to jump out the window.

Spinning around, I tuck my gun into the back pocket of my jeans, tug the hoodie over my head, and without any hesitation, jump out the window and into the night. It’s not a far fall, so it doesn’t hurt that much, but I do lose my balance and end up falling on my hands on knees. As I get to my feet, someone falls to the grass beside me, landing with a hard thud and a grunt. I immediately aim at them and run forward, getting my feet underneath me. Once I’m upright, I spin around and hold the 9mm steady.

“Okay, start talking,” I demand to Layton as he gets up and brushes some grass from the sleeve of his jacket, still holding my bag. I know we’re not in a safe place right now, but I still don’t trust him. When I left, Layton was working for Frankie and it was never explained why. For all I know this could be another kidnapping trap. Perhaps he could be luring me into the shadows so the rest of the men can get me. Or maybe he’s the one sent her to make the hit on me. “Oh God… are you here to get me?” I stumble back from him. “Are you the one sent to put the hit on me?”

His lips part in shock. “What… no.” His expression swarms with perplexity as he matches my steps, stealing back any distance I attempt to take. “Look, I’ll explain in the car.” He extends his hand for me but I wrench back and dodge out of his reach. “Lola, you can trust me. Deep down, you know that.”

I shake my head, looking around the empty parking lot. “You have to give me something. I haven’t seen or heard from you in nearly two years, I thought you were dead, and then suddenly you show up with them.” I swing my gun up toward the window where Tony Madman Makafee, a man who aided in my kidnapping and tranquilized me, is looking out the window at us. He raises his gun as Layton’s fingers enfold around my arm and then he takes off toward a car parked near the street, the sound of the fire chasing after us.

“Does it seriously look like I’m with them, Lolita?” he calls over his shoulder as he hunkers down behind a car, pulling me down with him.

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.

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.