Page 11 of Laila Manning (Shadeport Crew #3)

H er brown eyes dilated, and her nostrils flared as she stared up at me. “Me?”

“Mmh.” I nodded. “He gets possessive of you.”

“Why does that cause an argument?” she asked bravely, holding my gaze.

I smirked, fighting the urge to tell her how many times a day I thought about her.

Or how many times a day I envisioned her naked in my bed, head tipped back in ecstasy.

“Because he’s a cranky bastard to deal with when he wants to be.

” To avoid a bloody mess, I bypassed her, washed my hands at the sink, and thus prevented a trail of blood on the doorknobs.

I was far from patched up completely, but the biggest one was taken care of for the time being.

I headed for the door again, stopping next to her where she stayed frozen at the counter and leaned down until I hovered right above her ear.

“And he can’t stand the thought of someone like me, tainting you. ”

She inhaled quickly, turning her head so we were face to face. “Good thing you aren’t interested in me then, isn’t it?”

I chuckled humorlessly, and tomorrow I’d blame it on the amount of whiskey I drank on the way back to the mansion to numb the pain radiating through my body from a job gone sideways, but tonight I was going to indulge.

“Good thing you’re the only one who doesn’t see me for what I am. Because then you’d know that’s a lie.”

She licked her lips, “And what are you then?”

“A monster.” I replied, leaning forward, and bending her back over the counter, without actually touching her.

Because that was the flaw in everything.

She couldn’t stand my touch. “A monster with a hunger for a sweet little innocent brown-eyed girl that lives across the hall from me, screaming my name in her sex dreams, tempting me.”

Her chest collapsed as I exposed her secret out into the open and exposed myself at the same moment. “Zeke.” She whispered, and I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of my name on her lips again.

“Don’t worry.” I sighed, leaning back away from her tense body. “I’ll never touch you.” I shook my head and took a step back. “I know you don’t want me.” Although it was difficult, I walked away, leaving her because it was the right thing to do, despite the turmoil in my heart with every step.

I didn’t just lust after Laila. That much was obvious.

There was something else inside of me that was drawn to her, even though I didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand the connection between us, especially considering we didn’t know each other.

“I’m incapable of giving you anything—that includes friendship, Zeke.” She called after me. “I thought I made that much clear when I bolted from your apartment after you tried to treat my burned hand.” She shrugged sadly, “I’m too broken. ”

I stopped once again in the doorway, so close to leaving this whole situation behind me, but turned around anyway.

“I don’t need you to give me anything, Laila.

” I tightened my hand around the doorknob to keep the emotions I was feeling off my face.

“And my friendship isn’t conditional on you giving me anything in return.

I just want to get to know you. Help you. ”

“I don’t know how to.” She shook her head.

“I know nothing about you, and you don’t know anything about me, and I don’t know how to change that because I’m so fucked up, I can’t even converse with you like a normal person.

” Her anxiety was turning into hysterics as she got worked up over her failures.

“I can’t carry on a conversation with anyone for long before the weight of it literally exhausts me. ”

“I need nothing in return from you.” I repeated. “You already have my friendship. When you’re ready to let me in, I’ll listen, however you decide to communicate. And I’ll return the favor when you’re ready.”

It had been six days since I had seen Laila during the late-night kitchen incident. Six days since I laid eyes on her with my own, and not on the other side of a security monitor.

I had watched her plenty from the security footage around the mansion.

Obsession.

That’s the only word that I could put to what my fascination with her melted down to.

Obsessed. I was completely obsessed with her, and she had no idea.

She didn’t even think I was interested in her.

And in a way, that was exactly what I needed her to think.

At the end of the day, nothing could ever happen between us.

Not even counting the drama that something between us would cause for Jed, she didn’t stand to gain anything from letting me near her.

All the bullshit I threw in her direction about friendship and what I was willing to give to her without the expectation of anything in return was, well, bullshit frankly.

I wanted her.

I craved her.

I needed her.

But I’d never have her.

So, I was settling for friendship. Getting just enough to ease the consuming ache inside of me to possess her.

I’d been gone from the estate as much as possible over the last six days, trying to convince myself I wasn’t hiding from her after my drunken, loose lips hinted at how fucking bad I wanted her.

But every night when I returned, I’d look at her door and try to sense if she was inside, resting peacefully or being haunted by the monsters of her past in her dreams.

But tonight, while I was sneaking down the hallway, something on my door distracted me from her. It was a piece of paper, folded and slid between the door and jamb, waiting for me.

I flicked my glance back over to her door and caught the slightest bit of movement in the shadows under the door, showing that she was moving around by the door.

Was she watching through the peephole?

Was the note from her?

I grabbed the paper and unfolded it, instantly aware that it was Laila’s neat handwriting, and looked back at her door in confusion .

Instead of going inside my place to read the note, I stood there in the hallway and dove in. The paper was ripped out of a notebook, and there was a date at the very top.

Three weeks ago.

Skimming over the words, I realized it was a journal entry from three weeks ago.

From Laila’s journal. She took a page from her private thoughts and left it for me to read.

She was communicating with me. The only way she felt comfortable.

Dear journal,

I used to love sunsets. I remember lying at the end of my bed in my parent’s home as a kid, and watching the colors of the sky melt into a watercolor painting of vibrant pinks and oranges like a movie. It was one of my favorite things to do. Every night.

Until that night.

The night I was taken from my life and thrown into Hell at nineteen. I never watched another sunset again. The end of the daylight meant that the night was beginning, and every night brought pain with it. So, sunsets started representing pain and suffering to me, and I stopped watching them.

Until tonight.

Tonight, I sat on the manicured lawn of an estate I have no business calling home and watched the bright yellow ball of fire light the sky ablaze with orange and red streaks of beauty.

And I felt like a piece of my past was returned to me. With the simplicity of sitting down and watching the sunset for the evening, I regained a piece of my soul. A piece of myself.

Why can’t everything be that easy?

Why can’t it all happen so effortlessly?

I just want to be happy.

XO, L.

I folded the paper back in half and looked back at her door, noting the two shadows, shoulder width apart at the base of the door, as nothing but silence met my stare.

She was watching.

She watched as she gave me something she gave to no one else.

“Thank you.” I said to the door, knowing she’d hear me. When she didn’t respond or open her door, I went into my apartment and put the folded piece of paper in my nightstand drawer to read again sometime.

As I showered off the day and let the hot water relax my tired muscles, I replayed her words in my head, over and over again.

I just want to be happy .

Did she not understand how much we all wanted that for her, too? How willing we all were to help her get that.

She deserved so much more than just happiness out of life.

And I was going to make sure she got it.