Page 10 of Unholy Vows

Layla

T he fucking asshole left me. He almost choked me to death, used me to get his rocks off, then discarded me in the dirt.

I hadn’t been able to sleep last night as I stewed in my raging emotions, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

To think the man was a priest! A fucking priest!

I cringed and hastily made the sign of the cross. I wasn’t into religion, so I didn’t know the etiquette. Either way, I wasn’t about to risk God smiting me for offending his disciple or whatever he was.

Honestly, God should be pissed at him, not me.

And I knew it was him.

He’d concealed his Irish accent, but he’d slipped up when he called me Little Sinner. I could never forget how erotic those two words sounded as they mingled with heaving breaths and cardinal sin.

“God, if you are up there, please smite him for being an inconsiderate asshole.”

Fuck. Now I was pleading with a deity I didn’t even believe in. I was a goddamn mess.

My frustration was beginning to boil over. The apartment felt too… suffocating.

I abandoned the idea of getting any work done.

Reece and his self-aggrandizing ass would have to wait.

I grabbed my keys off the hallway table as I strode toward the door. Some fresh air would do me good, and my pantry was so bare I’d be ordering takeout for dinner if I didn’t replenish it soon.

As I stepped outside, the icy breeze stung my face, and I bowed my head to ward off the wind.

“I could use my jacket right about now,” I huffed, as I wrapped my arms around myself.

The streets were busy as I rushed by. People talked on their phones, blocking out the world as they headed home for the day. It was a stark reminder of why I quit the nine-to-five desk job and became a freelancer.

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store flickered as I stepped inside. Above the door, the bell jingled. The sound usually felt cheerful, but today it grated on my nerves.

I grabbed a basket and hurried through the aisles.

Bread. Milk. Eggs. Butter.

As much as I tried to pay attention, my mind continued to wander, replaying last night’s events on loop. I could almost hear his modulated voice in my ears, feel his touch on my skin, and between my thighs. I shivered and then cursed my body for reacting to the mere memory of him.

The man was clearly unstable. I would be a fool to entertain him for a second time.

I half-heartedly scanned the selection of meats in front of me, trying to decide between pork and chicken, when I felt it. The faint prickling sensation at the back of my neck slowly intensified as my awareness grew.

It was the unmistakable feeling of unseen eyes watching me.

I froze, and the hairs on my arm stood on end. As I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze frantically searched the aisle.

There was no one there.

I shook my head and picked up the chicken.

Last night had left me on edge, making me paranoid.

Yet, the sensation didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger.

When I finally reached the produce section, my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t grip my basket properly. I forced myself to take a deep, slow breath before releasing it.

As soon as I dragged my focus back to the task at hand, I dug through the offering of vegetables, grabbing potatoes, carrots, and beans. My fingers were just closing around a cluster of tomatoes when I saw it.

My breathing hitched, and my chest tightened as I fought the urge to scream. A man stood at the end of the aisle, leaning casually against the shelf and wearing a grotesque mask of twisted features and red horns.

It was him. It had to be.

Refusing to be intimidated, I took a step forward.

He tilted his head, studying me with eerie familiarity.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

The voice startled me, pulling my attention from the masked voyeur. A young man wearing the store’s familiar uniform stared back at me, concern etched into his features.

“Ah, yes. I’m fine. Just got lost in my own little world for a moment,” I said, waving him off.

The worker surveyed me carefully before he nodded and returned to his task. When I glanced back toward the masked stranger, he was gone.

My heart raced as I quickly finished collecting the rest of my groceries. My eyes swept every corner, but he was nowhere in sight.

Where had he disappeared to?

The cashier chatted away happily as she scanned my items, but I heard none of it. I simply nodded my head and forced myself to smile wherever it seemed appropriate.

I needed to get out of the store; I needed to breathe.

Once I’d paid for my shopping, I hurried out the door and let the frigid air fill my lungs, grounding me.

Plucking my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Margot’s number. It rang three times before she finally picked it up.

“Bitch! It is about damn time,” she screeched.

I had to pull the device away from my ear to avoid permanent hearing loss.

“Hi Layla, it’s lovely to hear from you.”

“Don’t you sass me, woman! You can’t tell me you had a scandalous hookup with a fucking priest and then ghost me.”

Right.

I’d forgotten about my ill-advised confession to her after the church incident.

“We didn’t hook up,” I defended.

On second thought, given I was just about certain Savage Hunter was the priest I had met at Saint Augustine’s, that was no longer true.

But I wasn’t about to tell Margot that.

“Yeah, because finger-banging yourself while the priest on the other side of the confessional rubs one out isn’t a hookup.”

I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

“You’re so crass.”

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em, babes.”

Her laugh was sardonic, not apologetic in the least.

“We are tabling that discussion. I need your advice.”

“Ooh, spill.”

“I think someone has been following me.”

I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth.

I didn’t want to tell Margot about The Wild Hunt, or the fact that I had met a complete stranger in the woods so he could fuck me. She would be understandably pissed about my lack of self-preservation, and I could hardly blame her.

“Like a stalker? Wait, is it the good kind or the bad kind?”

“There’s a good kind?”

“Of course there is! Good would be a hot stalker priest. Bad would be some ugly dude who wants to wear your skin.”

“Right. But if the dude who wanted to wear my skin was hot…”

Margot paused as if considering it.

“Oh my God, Margot! You are the absolute worst!”

She cackled down the line, and I fought the grin that attempted to break free.

“I’m kidding. The skin-wearing type is a definite non-starter.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“Why do you think you have a stalker, anyway?”

“I didn’t say I had a stalker. I said someone was… you know what, it doesn’t matter. The point is, a man in a mask was at the convenience store, and I swear he followed me.”

“Ooh, kinky.”

“Be serious!”

“Okay, okay. Who do you think it is? The hot priest? Wait, what about Reece?”

“Reece?” I repeated, furrowing my brows.

“Honestly, Layla, I love you, but you are so oblivious sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“The guy is obviously obsessed with you. Who else turns an email into a meeting just so he can ogle you?”

“Ogle me?”

“Or spend time with you, whatever. All I’m saying is, the dude’s suss.”

“I don’t think it’s Reece,” I said. In fact, I knew it wasn’t. “What should I do?”

“Do you believe this person will hurt you?” she asked.

All traces of her earlier teasing had disappeared.

Only in ways I enjoy .

Then I remembered how he had almost choked me to death, and I started to doubt my assessment.

“No,” I said, not sure if I was trying to convince her or myself.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. Enjoy the attention.”

“Jesus Christ.”

As I rounded the last corner, my building came into view.

“I’m nearly home, Margot. Thanks for all your sage wisdom.”

She cackled maniacally, and I shook my head, unable to stop the smile spreading across my lips.

“That’s what friends are for.” There was a brief pause before she continued. “But if it turns out to be your priest —”

I groaned.

“Goodbye, Margot.”

Her laughter was the last thing I heard before I hung up.

Despite feeling much better after my chat with Margot, I still locked the door behind me and then double-checked it for good measure.

Safe.

I was home, and I was safe.

My mind kept trying to wander, but I busied myself with unpacking my groceries and preparing dinner. The familiar routine helped to ease my frayed nerves, and when I was done, I felt much more settled.

I could almost chalk the whole thing up to my overactive imagination.

Almost.

A small, persistent voice inside me warned this was far from over.

After eating, I headed to the shower, eager to let the hot spray undo the tension coiling tight between my shoulder blades. The scalding water worked its magic, and I felt myself relaxing.

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging up the mirror and cocooning me in warmth. When I was done, I reached out to shut the water off, but I hesitated. Unease crept over me, and I waited, straining to hear any indication that I was no longer alone.

I was being ridiculous.

I’d locked the door and checked it twice. No one was getting inside my apartment.

Turning off the water, I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body. I padded across the floor to my bedroom and pulled out my sleeping tee. The fabric was threadbare, but it was impossibly comfortable.

I contemplated doing some work before bed, but dismissed the idea. My head wasn’t in it, and I knew it was pointless. I turned to climb into bed, but froze. Sitting on the edge of my mattress, illuminated by the soft glow emanating from the bathroom, was the mask.

Panic clenched my chest like a vise. I rushed to the front door, finding it locked tight. Then I checked the windows, but they were all shut and secured in place.

How the fuck had he gotten inside?

I chewed my thumbnail as I glared at the mask. Fear gave way to frustration, and I marched back into the kitchen and grabbed a chair from the dining table. I dragged it over to my front door and wedged it under the doorknob.

“Good luck getting in now, dickhead.”

As I walked into my bedroom, something inexplicable urged me to look out the window. I drew the curtains apart and peered outside. My gaze landed on a figure standing beneath a large tree, his face hidden in the shadows.

I didn’t need to see his face to know it was him.

The glow of tiny embers flared brightly before a cloud of smoke surrounded the man’s head. He didn’t move or show any signs of discomfort. He simply watched me, watching him.

I didn’t know what possessed me, but the urge to fuck with him hit me square in the chest.

My hand slowly traced its way down my body until I reached the hem of my nightshirt.

Teasingly slow, I lifted the shirt to expose my naked pussy underneath.

My fingers dipped inside, and my thumb lazily worked my clit.

As the pleasure built, I threw my head back, giving in to the sensations I was creating.

My breathing turned harsh, and I forced myself to return my gaze to him. I watched as the tiny embers flared to life before dimming, each inhale coming faster than the one before.

I was getting to him.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I rubbed my clit with frenzied need as I brought myself to the edge. My free hand darted up, cupping my breast above the fabric and pinching my nipple.

And then I was falling.

My orgasm crashed into me, and I continued to fuck myself as I rode out my pleasure.

Once it was over, I gathered my release with my fingers and painted a message just for him.

Fuck. You.

I swear I could see his smirk, despite the darkness.

Then, just like the previous night, he tipped his imaginary hat to me and walked away.