Page 26 of Unholy Vows
Layla
“ L ays, don’t look now, but there’s a guy on a motorbike outside, and he’s watching you.”
I twisted in my seat to peer out the window, and caught sight of him — helmet still on, visor up just enough for me to see the sharp line of his jaw and the unmistakable smirk curving his lips.
“God, Layla,” Margot chastised. “I said, don’t look.”
I could hear the eye roll in her tone, and I grinned.
“What was the point of telling me if I wasn’t supposed to look?”
“You were meant to look, I just thought you’d be more subtle.”
I felt the rumble of the engine through the glass, a warning… or a promise. He tilted his head, eyes still locked on mine, and slowly ran his thumb across his lower lip.
A slow, delicious shiver washed over me, and heat pooled deep in my belly.
“Holy fuck, Layla, is he waiting for you?”
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated on the table, making me jump.
Unholy Father: Look at you, already so eager, and I haven’t even touched you yet.
Malachai.
Another message came through a second later.
Unholy Father: I’m going to turn your ass black and blue for giving your ‘come fuck me’ eyes to another man.
My fingers flew across the keyboard as Margot stared out the window with heart eyes.
Layla: I knew it was you.
Unholy Father: Nice try.
Unholy Father: Outside. Now.
“Who are you texting?” Margot demanded, her gaze darting back to where Malachai still waited on his motorbike.
I lifted my gaze to meet hers, and a broad smile spread across her face. It was the type of grin she got whenever she had a deliciously bad idea. Like the time she told me to teach Malachai a lesson.
“Do you know him?”
I grabbed my phone and shoved it into my jacket pocket as my heart hammered away inside my chest.
“I don’t not know him.”
“Oh my God, Layla! That is literally a morally grey love interest with a tragic backstory and questionable principles sitting on that motorbike, isn’t it?”
Tragic backstory? What the hell was she talking about?
Margot clapped her hands while she bounced in her seat, unable to contain her excitement.
“We are no longer just in a cafe,” she continued. “We are in a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, dual POV, stalker romance, and you are the FMC he is going to ruin and then worship.”
She leaned in closer, her eyes alight with anticipation.
“If he’s ever called you ‘little dove’ or talked about ruining you, I swear I will combust!”
Did Little Sinner count?
My cheeks heated at the memory of the last time he whispered those words.
“That’s it, Little Sinner. Swallow your absolution.”
When Margot pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of me, I arched a brow in confusion.
“Never mind me,” she grinned. “Just documenting the moment I watched my best friend get kidnapped by a plot twist in leather.”
“There is something seriously wrong with you, Margot,” I deadpanned.
“Hey,” she said with a pout. “Don’t yuck my yum.”
“Don’t yuck your what?”
She waved her hand in dismissal and glanced back out to where Malachai waited.
The low rumble of the bike sounded again, and a moment later, my phone vibrated in my jacket. I fished it out and peered down at the screen.
Unholy Father: Don’t say I didn’t warn you…
My head jerked up just in time to see Malachai’s wicked grin before he slammed his visor down and pulled out into the Boston traffic.
When I returned my gaze to Margot, she had her elbows propped on the table, while she rested her chin in her palms.
“Swoon.”
“Seriously, Margot? You’re supposed to be looking out for me, not fangirling over the guy stalking me.”
“I am looking out for you,” she argued. “Well, I’m looking out for your vagina. Fuck, at least tell me the sex is earth-shattering.”
A small smirk tugged up my lips, and Margot gasped.
“I fucking knew it!”
“Come on, crazy lady,” I said, as I stood and pulled my jacket on.
Margot chuckled as she jumped from her seat and did the same. We paid the bill, still laughing, before heading for the exit. The bell above the cafe door jingled as we stepped outside. I barely had a moment to catch my breath before Margot pulled me into a tight hug.
“Text me when you get home. And if he shows up at your place with those sexy, murder-eyes… I expect a full report.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re deranged.”
“I am living vicariously through you, Layla, and as my best friend, you have an obligation to have the most amazing sex of your life, if only so you can tell me about every dirty little detail, preferably in HD, shortly thereafter.”
“Go home, wench,” I chuckled as I gave her a light shove.
Margot blew me a kiss before she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
I pulled my jacket around me to ward off the wind and headed in the opposite direction.
My thoughts returned to Malachai. Merely thinking of him felt like a sin.
He had burrowed under my skin.
And God, that smirk.
My body instantly heated as though it hadn’t learned its lesson.
It had. It just didn’t care.
“That’s it, Little Sinner. Swallow your absolution.”
The rough edge of his voice filled my mind, and I could feel the phantom tug on my hair as he held me in place.
The city noises dragged me back, and I stopped at the crosswalk, breath catching as the red hand blinked in defiance.
When the light finally changed, I crossed the road in a hurry, eager to get back to my apartment. The rest of my walk home passed in a blur of car horns and indecent thoughts.
I hated how easily he slipped into my bloodstream. It put the control firmly in his hands. And a man like Malachai O’Connor didn’t just abuse power; he devoured it, twisted it, made it bleed.
By the time I reached the front steps of my apartment building, my palms were clammy, and my nerves were frayed.
What did Malachai mean when he said, “ Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
Nothing good, I was sure.
Unlocking my front door, I stepped inside. The air felt different somehow.
Thicker. Charged.
Like he’d been here.
I paused in the entryway as I listened for… something. But all that answered was silence, heavy and unyielding.
My feet carried me to my bedroom without conscious thought, and I pushed open the door to find…
Rose petals?
Scattered in a careless trail from the threshold to my bed, blooming in a sea of crimson on my sheets. They were soft and delicate, completely out of place in my small, dim apartment.
An amused grin split my face.
Rose petals were hardly the threat he thought them to be. A card sat propped against my pillow, and as I moved closer, I could make out the blood-red wax seal, pressed with the imprint of a serpent.
My brows furrowed as I picked up the card and turned it over in my hands. It wasn’t like Malachai to be so… romantic.
If breaking and entering could be considered romantic.
Another question for the therapist I didn’t have.
I flipped the envelope over and retrieved the card.
The dip in my brow deepened. What the hell was he talking about?
My thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock, sharp and deliberate, making me jump.
Was that him?
My pulse surged as I crossed the room and headed for the front door. With my hand on the doorknob, I hesitated.
What if it hadn’t been Malachai who left the note?
But there was no one else it could have been.
I cracked the door open an inch and sighed in relief.
Leather jacket. Black helmet in hand. A smirk only he could wear.
“Miss me, Little Sinner?”
His voice was rough and low, but it was his eyes — God, his eyes that burned through my flesh like he’d been starved of me — that held my attention.
Shaking myself out of my stupor, I thrust the card into his chest. “What are you playing at, Malachai?”
He took a step closer, one boot landing just inside the doorway. “I warned you,” he whispered. “And now I’m here to collect.”
“I’m talking about the poem.”
Malachai’s gaze flicked to the card I held. His fingers snaked around my wrist, and he pulled my hand away before tugging the note from my grip.
His eyes narrowed, and his gaze darkened as he read the message.
Once.
Twice.
When he snapped his head up to look at me, an uneasy feeling twisted my gut.
“This wasn’t me, Little Sinner.”
I inhaled sharply, and my hands trembled as my pulse raced.
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”