Page 22 of Unholy Vows

Layla

I awoke with a start, my body stiff as if I hadn’t moved all night. I attempted to recall the nightmare I was trapped in before I woke up, but it drifted away before I could grasp it.

Groaning, I turned to my side and stretched my arms above my head. A sharp pinch radiated from my shoulder, and I winced.

I must have slept wrong and tweaked a nerve.

So much for a restful night’s sleep.

Light flitted through my heavy curtains, but I could make out the overcast sky beyond my apartment window. Another dreary day to contemplate my next move.

More than a week had passed since I witnessed Malachai bury a body, and I still had no idea what to do about it. Logically, I knew I should contact the police and report what I had seen. Yet, every time I picked up my phone and dialed the number, I couldn’t bring myself to connect the call.

Then there was the other burning question that I’d been unable to answer.

Why hadn’t Malachai come for me?

He knew it was me. He knew I was the one who had watched him as he buried his dark and bloody secrets. I was a loose thread, one that threatened his exposure.

My apprehension was unravelling me — waiting for the moment he would strike.

The unknown could be suffocating.

The needs of my body gnawed at me, and I let out a resigned sigh as I pushed myself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. My mind spun with indecision as I turned over every option.

Once I was done, I headed toward the sink but froze in my tracks. The chill of the tiled floor nipped at my bare feet, and an involuntary shiver racked my body. My heart beat wildly against the confines of my chest, and sweat beaded on my forehead despite the cold.

The woman in the mirror was a complete and utter mess. Hair mussed from sleep, with dark circles beneath her eyes. But the sight of my reflection wasn’t what stopped me in my tracks.

It was the message scrawled across the reflective plane of glass.

My breath hitched, and my stomach twisted into knots. Was that blood?

I stepped closer to inspect the message, and to my relief, I realized it was lipstick.

“Oh, thank God!”

Really Layla?

The man broke into your apartment and left you a cryptic inscription that included a thinly veiled threat, and you’re relieved because he didn’t write it in blood.

Get a grip!

My subconscious was a real bitch when she wanted to be.

I clutched the edge of the sink to steady myself. Malachai had broken into my home while I’d slept.

Again.

Silver lining — he hadn’t murdered me to keep his secret.

Which begged the question: what did he want from me?

I scanned the message for the second time.

“They?”

Malachai had written that they had it coming. There had only been one body.

Hadn’t there?

My mind moved slowly, the need for caffeine making my thoughts sluggish. Then it hit me like a freight train, and all the air rushed from my lungs.

This wasn’t his first time.

Was Father Malachai O’Connor… a serial killer?

Bile coated the back of my throat, and I fought the urge to vomit. What the fuck had I done? I was in too deep and needed to find a way out.

My heart pounded so furiously, it seemed as though it might burst. My throat constricted, and I struggled to pull in oxygen.

Pain erupted in my chest, and everything felt too tight.

I couldn’t control the trembling that had taken over my body, and I became lightheaded. I was seconds away from passing out.

Then, in a moment of clarity, realization broke through my frenzied state. I was having a panic attack… just like back then.

No, reminding myself of that time would only make things worse.

I needed to concentrate on my breathing.

Sliding down the vanity, I let the cold press of wood at my back center me.

Then I drew in a deep breath. The rush of oxygen burned as my lungs expanded.

I held it for a moment before exhaling. I repeated the action over and over until the panic clutching at my chest faded away.

Now that I had opened the door and allowed my past to cross the threshold of my mind, I couldn’t close it.

I’d tried to forget, tried to forget him .

The thin veneer of normalcy I’d carved out for myself was now closing in around me.

A reminder that I could never forget.

The memory surfaced unbidden. I’d been at a party, drinking and dancing the night away.

It was the typical college experience.

When I was ready to go, Margot had insisted she was coming with me. But I didn’t want to spoil her evening. She was having fun, and I knew she wanted to stay. So, after much convincing, Margot let me leave the party alone.

I’d been carefree as I wandered across campus, still buzzed from the alcohol. I hadn’t seen him lurking in the shadows. The memory of his gloved hand over my mouth, the other holding the sharp tip of a knife to the underside of my chin.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to banish the image. It didn’t help. The past never stayed buried for long.

I should know; I still wore the scars of that night, even though they weren’t visible.

Rising from the floor, I refocused my attention, determined to rid myself of my lingering thoughts.

I needed to figure out how Malachai had gotten in. I marched toward the kitchen to check the front door. The chair I’d wedged under the handle was still there, so he must have found another way in.

How long had he stayed, invading my space? Had it only been long enough to scrawl the message, or had he lingered? And what the hell did he mean by they had it coming?

I paced my apartment, unable to settle my roiling thoughts. What was Malachai up to? Was this all just a sick, twisted game to him? Or was it something more?

Out of nowhere, a thought struck me. Was Malachai some kind of vigilante, delivering divine justice in the name of his God?

Once the idea popped into my head, it crystallized in my mind. It was the only thing that made any sense.

My thoughts returned to him .

The man who had taken something that did not belong to him.

How many times had I dreamt of his suffering? Of finding him and ending his miserable life before he could hurt anyone else. The image of his sneering face filled my mind, only to be replaced by Malachai, bloody and feral as he dragged his blade over the other man’s throat.

An angel of death.

But Malachai’s justice wasn’t clean or righteous.

It was brutal, savage even.

And why the fuck did that notion have heat pooling low in my stomach?

There was something seriously wrong with me.

I huffed out a breath as I ran my fingers through my hair. I would definitely book that therapy appointment once this was all over.

But right now, I needed answers, and I knew exactly where to find them.