Page 4 of Laila Manning (Shadeport Crew #3)

“ L aila,” I repeated when she froze with her hand on her doorknob, refusing to turn around and look at me.

God, she was infuriating.

And perfect.

And scarred.

And flawless.

I stood in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge me. I was always waiting for those bottomless brown eyes to meet mine, and it usually took her a while, but she eventually always looked at me.

But not for long. Laila never held a person’s stare for more than a few seconds at a time.

She sighed and dropped her hand off her doorknob before squaring her shoulders like she was mustering up the physical strength to look at me.

And then she did.

And it was like every other time that she made eye contact with me.

Everything else faded away, and I was lost to the pain and darkness inside of her soul, shining through her brown and golden eyes.

“That’s better,” I said, acknowledging her effort to look at me. “Let me see your hand.”

She flicked her glance past my head to the ceiling, and her nostrils flared a few times like she was on the edge of losing her composure completely, but eventually, she raised her hand to the space between us and swallowed. “It’s fine.”

I glanced down at her hand and saw the angry red welt on the webbed flesh between her thumb and first finger and grimaced.

“That’s not fine.” She looked down at her hand and then dropped her shoulders, accepting the truth.

“Come with me,” I took her good hand, touching her for the first time while she was awake, and fought the full-body tremor that tried to lead my body into convulsions.

I pulled her behind me to my door and felt her fight my hold as I opened it and led her inside. “I have burn cream.”

“It’s fine.” She tried again, but I ignored her. It was surreal having her inside my space, but it didn’t feel wrong either. “Zeke.” She dug her heels in when we were in the center of the studio apartment, making me stop. “I can’t.”

I turned around and faced her again, noting the way her eyes flicked back and forth over the furniture inside of the space, and then to the windows on the wall on each side of my bed, and the closed door to my bathroom.

“Why?” I asked, keeping her hand in mine as she took a step back, and then another. I followed her move, keeping the same amount of space between us as she tried to retreat. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” She repeated before closing her eyes and shaking her head. “It’s too small.” Her chest rose and fell, straining against the white fabric of her uniform top. “I can’t be in here. ”

“Shh.” I tried to soothe her, but as I tried to rub her arm, she flinched and pulled back, breaking all physical contact. I tried to ignore how her reaction to my touch felt, but that was impossible.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, backing up again until she was in the doorway to my apartment. “I can’t come inside.” Her eyes were wide, and I recognized the panic building inside of her, so I didn’t chase or confront her about it.

“I’m sorry.” I held my hands up, showing I was giving up. “I’m just trying to help.”

Her lips quivered as she cradled her burned hand against her stomach, fluttering with each breath, like she was on the verge of losing all control. “I’m past the point of help, Zeke.” She shook her head again as a tear slid over the edge of her eyelashes, “I’m too far gone.”

“You’re not,” I said firmly but didn’t close the distance like I wanted to. I never closed the distance like I wanted to with her, and it sucked. “You just have to let us in. All we want to do is help.”

“I’m sorry.” She said before bolting out the door and straight through hers, turning the locks ominously in her silent wake as she once again hid from the world.

I stood in the center of my apartment, kicking myself for how I had handled her while simultaneously listening for any signs of distress from behind her door. But there were none.

There was always just silence.

From her apartment.

From her.

But I knew without a doubt that there was no silence within her soul. I knew from the times her screams cut through the night that she had no peace.

And I had no fucking place amongst her pain.

I was the devil himself .

I offered her nothing but more terror and darkness, so I needed to stay away.

I threw myself into the driver’s seat and turned the engine on as Ryker got in the passenger seat and Jed climbed in the back. Normally, riding anywhere with the only two men I trusted in the world would bring peace to my chaotic mind.

But not today.

Today, I wanted to kill something.

Someone.

“You good?” Ry asked as I tore down the street away from Lux, his strip club.

“Perfect,” I responded, ignoring the glare from Jed in my rearview mirror. “Let’s just find these assholes.”

“Proof you aren’t good.” Ry sighed, adjusting himself in the seat to my right. “You’re supposed to be my calm and levelheaded one. I can’t have two hotheaded fuck offs riding alongside each other.”

“Hey,” Jed grunted from the back seat. “I’m not a hothead.”

“Are too,” I argued, tightening my hand on the steering wheel. “I’m straight.”

“Want to talk about it?” Ryker challenged, ignoring my previous statements. “Or about whom.”

“Say her name and I’ll break all the bones in your face,” Jed warned ominously from behind me .

“I was talking about Diesel.” Ryker butted in, stopping me from slamming the brakes hard enough to send the giant asshole in the back through the windshield for even bringing her into this.

Laila.

He didn’t have to say her name, but I knew who he meant.

“I’m straight,” I repeated. “I’m allowed to want to break some skulls occasionally.”

“Hmm.” Ryker hummed, disbelieving. “Whatever you say. But the reapers are off limits, and that includes Diesel.”

I grunted.

“Is that an order, Dad?” Jed asked, “Because if he puts Laila on the back of that motorcycle again and I’m declaring war, your order be damned.”

“That we can agree on,” I murmured as we rounded the building outside of Shadeport city limits that we were planning to burn to the ground.

Much like the Reaper clubhouse, if that piece of shit ever touched an inch of Laila’s body again.

“You two are insufferable.” Ryker took his seat belt off, leaning back to get comfortable as I parked down the street. “If you two would get on the same team instead of fighting against each other all the time, you might actually do that girl some good.”

“We’re not fighting. And there is no same team.

” Snapping, the entire situation annoyed me.

“I have no claim there,” I held my hand up when Jed opened his mouth, sensing the movement without even seeing it.

“I’m not interested in one either. She sleeps across the hall from me, and I care about helping her get over the absolutely atrocious things that were done to her because she’s your sister.

” I locked eyes with Jed in the mirror. “That’s it. ”

“Good.” He declared. “Because you’re the last person she needs to get mixed up with.”

Ryker snorted and looked over his shoulder, “You say that like Zeke’s the boogeyman, Jed.” Even though he showed no other signs, Ryker ran his thumb across his lip, just as he did when stressed. “She could do worse, man.”

“She could do a lot better too,” Jed argued, annoying me even further.

“Zeke’s worse than the boogeyman.” He stared at me in the mirror again as he finished.

“The things he’s done would scare the boogeyman to death.

And that’s exactly what Laila doesn’t need in her life. Romantically or friendly-wise.”

“Message received, Jed.” I clenched my teeth and looked back out the front window.

“Are you two done?” Ryker interrupted. “Because there’s the scum bag now.

” He nodded toward the man who went by the name of Wickham.

The piece of shit was walking in broad daylight toward the nightclub he trafficked girls straight out of.

He forced them into places like the brothel where Carly ended up.

The same one Laila was a prisoner in for years too.

Right under our fucking noses. And he was going to pay for it with his life.

After we made him beg for death.