Page 20 of Unholy Vows

Layla

I woke to an empty apartment, wearing nothing but Malachai’s bruises.

The sheets still held his scent: smoke, sin, and something else that was dangerously addictive. My whole body ached, marked by his teeth, his hands, and the metal bite of the restraints. Every sore muscle was a reminder of where he’d been.

Where I’d invited him in.

But now he was gone.

No note. No promise of more. Just the ghost of him, lingering like a warning I knew I should heed, but wouldn’t.

I sat in the silence, letting reality sink its claws into my tender flesh. I wasn’t merely being hunted — I was being played . And if I didn’t act soon, I’d end up swallowed whole by the game.

Day had given way to night as I considered everything I had learned about the man hunting me.

Admittedly, it wasn’t much, but I had a plan to change that.

I was going to turn the tables on the Unholy Father.

I was going to stalk my stalker.

But sitting in my car across from St. Augustine’s, desperate for a bathroom, I had a revelation.

I had no fucking clue what I was doing.

A moment later, the doors to the church swung wide, and I sank low in my seat as I watched Malachai emerge. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, and my car was hidden in the shadows, but I couldn’t risk him noticing me.

He was dressed casually in dark jeans that clung to his powerful thighs and a black leather jacket that stretched over his broad shoulders.

Which reminded me — that asshole owed me a jacket!

I also noticed his clerical collar was conspicuously absent.

Couldn’t have God looking down on him as he entertained his depravity, now, could we?

Malachai walked with purpose, his long strides eating up the distance between the church and the bustling Boston nightlife.

I had to move.

Wherever he was going, he was going on foot. I could trail him in my car, but that would look suspicious given how slow I’d have to drive. The only other option was to follow him on foot, and if I didn’t decide soon, I’d lose him.

This whole stalking business was harder than he made it look.

Hand on the door handle, I was about to get out and chase after him when Malachai stopped beside a sedan. It was a dark shade of grey, or maybe it was blue. Nice, but not overly flashy. The kind of car that would easily blend in with the many other vehicles traveling the streets.

Malachai unlocked the sedan and settled into the driver’s seat.

He pulled out of the parking space, and I quickly started my engine before pulling into traffic as I followed him.

We drove through the busy roads of Boston as I oscillated between keeping my distance and speeding up whenever I thought I was about to lose him.

It’d be a miracle to make it through the night without him spotting me.

Malachai stopped at a red light. The sign ahead pointed toward a shipping terminal. When Malachai’s car turned in that direction, I followed him, my brows creased in confusion.

What would a priest need at a shipping yard?

I parked my car outside the property and watched as Malachai entered through the front gates. The place was deserted. Rusted shipping containers sat in haphazard stacks, lit by a lone lamppost that flickered sporadically.

The entire setting made me shudder as unease washed over me.

Malachai parked near the far end of the yard, but he didn’t turn his engine off. Instead, he opened the doors of one container and then reversed his car into the space.

What was he up to?

I didn’t have long to contemplate my thoughts, because the doors opened once again, and Malachai drove his sedan out of the container. He paused briefly to seal it shut behind him, and then he was driving back the way he had come.

I trailed after him as he headed toward the outskirts of the city. Then, my surroundings snapped into focus.

I knew where he was going.

A warning flared to life inside my chest, telling me something wasn’t right. Malachai had proven himself to be a liar and a criminal. What more could he be capable of?

“You already know,” my inner voice taunted.

A shudder ran through me as my thoughts turned to Vaughn.

What the hell was I doing following a man like that into the dead of night?

As the cemetery came into view, I trembled as the memories of my last foray into these woods assaulted me. Malachai drove past the wrought-iron gates, and I watched as his taillights disappeared from sight.

I couldn’t risk driving my car into the cemetery. He’d see my headlights, and the game would be up. Instead, I parked down the road and followed him on foot. My boots crunched against the gravel, and I cringed at the sound as it pierced the quiet of the night.

As I reached the top of the small hill, I inhaled a deep breath, promising myself I would go running in the morning.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and a chill crept down my spine as I ventured deeper into the shadows.

Then I spotted him.

The beam of Malachai’s headlights illuminated his tall frame, and he seemed to be…

Digging?

I inched closer, careful not to make any noise that would alert the predator to my presence.

The rhythmic sound of the shovel scraping against the dirt surrounded me in the stillness. He was digging up a grave. A fresh one, judging by the mound of displaced earth that was still loose and dark.

Malachai’s muscles strained beneath his tight black t-shirt, his leather jacket nowhere in sight. His movements were precise and efficient, leading me to believe this wasn’t the first time he’d buried his secrets.

There was a strange intimacy to the moment, and it held me captive against my will.

When Malachai dropped his shovel to the ground and wiped the sweat from his forehead, I made a mental note to book an appointment with my therapist. Watching him dig up that grave had turned my core molten, and I was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign.

Malachai headed to his car and popped the trunk.

My pulse raced, and icy fear churned my stomach as I saw what he was carrying.

A body.

He lifted the lifeless form with a quiet grunt, cradling it in his arms as he carried it to the open grave. Malachai lowered himself to his knee and then unceremoniously dropped the lifeless form into the waiting hole.

I’d fucked up.

I was in way over my head, with no idea how to escape the mess I’d created. Panic overwhelmed me, and I watched in horror as he picked up the shovel and began to fill the open hole.

I needed to get out of here.

Moving slowly, I backed away from the scene unfolding before me. Something moved over my foot, brushing against the sliver of exposed skin where my jeans met my boots.

I couldn’t stifle the gasp that escaped me as I watched a snake slither across the ground, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.

That small intake of breath was enough to give me away.

Malachai’s head snapped up, and his brilliant blue eyes locked onto me.

“Layla?”

My heart lurched in my chest as he dropped the shovel and stepped toward me.

I didn’t hesitate. I turned and ran.

The towering headstones blurred around me as I sprinted down the path. Sweat coated my skin, and I was panting hard, but I pushed myself to move faster. I didn’t dare look back. I could hear his footsteps closing the distance between us, and I couldn’t let him catch me.

Not this time.

The gates loomed ahead, and with a burst of speed, I rushed through them.

My lungs were burning, crying out in agony, and begging for a reprieve.

But I didn’t stop. My car came into view, and I sprinted toward it as I fumbled with my keys.

My hands trembled so violently that I almost dropped them.

Finally, I unlocked the door, threw myself inside, and re-engaged the locks.

With my chest heaving, I gripped the steering wheel tightly, not bothering with my seatbelt as I pulled out onto the street.

My eyes darted to the rearview mirror, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw him standing at the top of the hill. He didn’t move to chase me, only tilted his head to the side as he studied me.

The action had my whole body vibrating with fear.

Then he tipped that fucking imaginary hat at me before he turned and strode back toward the cemetery.

This wasn’t over. Far from it.

I’d invited the devil to play, and he was only getting started.