Page 32 of Crime Lord's Paradise

Her mother’s house was in a safe neighborhood. Lyla briefly considered getting her mom a condo, but in the end, she decided that a private outdoor space would be a great haven for her mom as she healed mentally, spiritually, and physically. She did a walk-through of the house before her mom moved in but hadn’t been back since.

The house was a one-story cottage painted a soft white. There was a tiny yard with a tree in front. Blade walked her to the door while four men brought up the back. She hadn’t brought her gun. After a nightmare like the one she had last night, she remained on edge for days after and became prone to panic attacks and even hallucinations. She didn’t allow herself to carry a weapon unless she was rock steady.

A nurse opened the door. She looked alarmed by the crowd until she spotted Lyla.

“Hi, Mrs. Pyre.”

Lyla entered the house, which was done in a very pale shade of peach, her mom’s favorite color. “How is she?”

The nurse’s eyes flicked from her to the guards before she said, “She hasn’t been eating …”

Lyla’s stomach clenched. “Can I see her?”

“Sure.”

Lyla indicated Blade should stay in the living room. She walked down the short hallway and sighed when she felt his massive bulk right behind her. He rarely listened to her. The nurse opened the door of the master bedroom, which was pitch black.

“Mom?”

No answer.

The nurse turned on the light. Her mother lay on her side facing them. Beatrice didn’t flinch when the light came on. Her feral gaze was focused on Lyla who resisted the urge to back away. No matter how many times she saw her mother, she would never get used to her appearance. Her mother’s once attractive face was permanently disfigured. Every inch of her body was covered in deep, slashing scars. Chunks of flesh were missing from her nose, cheek, arms, and legs. Her glass eye was disconcerting and because of her head injuries, most of her head had been shaved.

“Mom?”

She forced herself to move forward.

“Mrs. Pyre,” the nurse began nervously.

“I’ll call you if we need you,” Lyla said as she rounded the bed and drew back the curtains from the French doors to let in the sunlight. The room opened into the backyard, which had a tiny pond and garden.

“Get,” Blade said shortly to the nurse who hovered by the door.

Lyla turned and found Blade eyeing her mother who lay on her side facing him. Her mom wore sweats despite the warm weather. The back of her bald head was covered in deep, blunt grooves that continued down her neck and into her clothes. Lyla’s head began to buzz with homicidal thoughts as the image of her mother strapped to a bed flashed in her mind. She blinked rapidly as if that would dispel her memories or the metallic taste that invaded her mouth. She could still feel the buck of her gun as she unloaded into her mother’s rapists. Rage tripped through her veins, causing her hand to tingle and flex at her sides. Steven Vega was gone, but the devastation he left behind would never end. He’d left his mark, and she hated him for it.

“Beatrice,” Blade said, forcing Lyla to focus on the present.

No word from her mother.

To give herself time to get a grip, her gaze moved over the barren room and paused on the shattered mirror on the wall. She should have seen that coming. Even she avoided mirrors, and she could hide her scars. She took a deep breath and rounded the bed until she faced her mother.

“Mom?” She waited for a word or some movement and got nothing although one blue eye was fixed on her. “The nurse says you aren’t eating.”

Her mom could have passed for a statue if it wasn’t for that burning gaze.

“And I have reports that say you refuse to do physical therapy.”

The buzzing silence was getting on her nerves, as was the way her mother was staring at her with such loathing. Their time apart hadn’t improved her disposition. If anything, it seemed to have increased her hostility. If her mom had something to say, why not fucking say it?

“Is there something I can do?” she asked as she tried to read her mangled face.

“Get out.”

Her mother’s voice was a raspy croak. Nothing like the light, pleasing sound it had once been.

Lyla folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving until you promise to eat.”

Beatrice’s sneer was horrifying. “You think anything you say affects me after what I’ve been through?”

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