Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
I held Hannah’s gaze, letting her know how serious I was. “Being with me would get her killed, Hannah. You know this.”
She flapped her hands at me and made a disgusted face. “She could die slipping in the tub tomorrow morning. Don’t give me that bull. You don’t really want her. You like stringing her along, you like the fact that she’s completely head over heels for you, but you don’t want to deal with the actual work of a relationship. I get it. And, you know what? Layla’s starting to get it as well. She’s done with your shit, Mark. A guy can only stand a girl up so many times before her self-confidence can’t take it anymore.” She took a step closer and threw up her hands in disgust. “You don’t get it, do you? When you stand her up, when you blow her off at the last minute, when you pretend not to get it when she’s flirting with you—all of those things are blows to her already fragile ego. You know what her mother did to her. You—”
“Wait.” I glared at her, trying to ignore the taste of blood from my split lip. “How do you know about what her mother did?”
Her lip curled up as she gave me an annoyed glare. “You do know who I’m married to, right?”
I frowned at Leo. “You told her?”
“No,” he said with pride. “She was sneaky and found the information on her own.”
Giving me a smug smirk, she explained, “I asked Mrs. Cordova.”
The weight of the world suddenly felt like it pressed down on my shoulders. “Mrs. Cordova knows about Layla?”
Hannah snorted then walked over to a box of tissues on a side table before glaring at the broken picture frame on the floor. “Who did this!? I swear, Leo, if you don’t start fighting with your men outside, you’re sleeping on the couch!”
“Hannah,” I barked, earning a warning glare from Leo and a growl from Honey. “What does Mrs. Cordova know about my involvement with Layla?”
“Everything.” Hannah huffed as she tapped something into her phone. “And she’s known for a long time. She had a background check done on Layla when she first started buying pieces of Layla’s art years ago. You know that crazy old woman has a soft spot for survivors.”
“Yes, I know all of that. But does she know about my…feelings for Layla?”
“Oh, you’re finally admitting you have feelings for Layla. How grown up of you.” Leo moved his wife away from the pile of broken glass, despite her protests that she could clean it up. “She is aware. I mean come on, Mark. Everyone knows that the only things you do for fun are kill people and play video games with Layla. Besides, you’re not exactly subtle with your stalking.”
“I don’t stalk her.”
She gave me a look so dry, I found it hard to swallow. “Really? What about the cameras?”
“Only on the outside of her property,” I said defensively.
Leo chuckled while Hannah shook her head in mock disappointment. “Am I supposed to believe that none of them are looking inside the house?”
I couldn’t say anything because, yes, a few of them could see inside of her house.
And, yes, I could see into her house if she had her all curtains open, which she rarely did. Layla liked having sheer, feminine lace curtains on her windows. They softened the harsh desert sun and gave the house a whimsical feel. I’d fantasized about fucking her in her bedroom with the delicate, floral shadows cast by the sunlit lace chasing over her body.
What Hannah didn’t know was that I sometimes watched Layla through the video camera attached to her laptop.
Especially when she was masturbating to kinky BDSM porn.
I stretched my arms behind my back and tried to get my cramping side muscles to relax. “Back to the question at hand—what’s up with Mrs. Cordova’s sudden interest in Hannah?”
Tugging her husband down onto the couch so she could clean up his face, she said, “With Joy being seven months pregnant and not working, she spends a lot of her day sitting down. Since she gets bored easily, she started playing that computer game you and Layla are obsessed with. Horse Lords or whatever.”
“They play together?”
“A lot,” Hannah said with a significant look. “Since you’re out of the picture, Layla has the time to teach Joy the game. And Joy, who is ultra-competitive at any game she plays, got hooked. Layla even does video chats with Joy and me…without the filter and without makeup.”
Happiness surged through me for a brief moment. I was so proud of my girl; she’d come so far from when we’d met three years ago. It wasn’t just my ego when I say I helped her get there. Not only did I try to build up her self-esteem every time we talked, I set her up with a new therapist—one of the best in the world for Layla’s type of issues. Of course, I couldn’t let Layla know that, so I’d arranged for her current therapist to get a new job on the west coast that she couldn’t refuse then moved my therapist in.