Page 8 of Crime Lord's Paradise

You bear my mark, Lyla. What does Pyre think of that? I hope he thinks of me every time he touches you. The almighty Gavin Pyre brought to his knees by little old me.

She deliberately replayed her memory of crushing Steven’s bones with Lucifer’s shield. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt them anymore. “Fuck you, Steven.”

Her scars were nothing compared to her mother’s. Steven’s men slashed Beatrice’s skin to ribbons. Not an inch of her had been left untouched. It had been touch and go with her mom after one of her surgeries, but she had pulled through. Her mom was in significant pain and would be for the rest of her life. She lost one eye, and there had been significant damage to the other. Her mother’s world had been shredded to pieces. Lyla had no clue how to be there for her mom, but after today, she knew it was best she kept her distance.

The crushing guilt was a physical weight on her chest. She couldn’t catch her breath. She tilted her face up to the ceiling and focused on breathing past the panic clawing at her throat. A useless tear slid out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t change the past. All she could do was get through the present and focus on the future.

When she had herself back under control, she averted her gaze from the mirror and finished her nighttime routine. Maybe she should take a page out of Carmen’s book and dye her hair or something, a declaration of a new beginning. Once Carmen found out Vinny had been avenged, she dyed her hair red and celebrated by partying her ass off. She wished she could be more like Gavin and Carmen. Gavin acted like the events in Hell never happened. He was as cool as a cucumber and slept like a baby while she was plagued by panic attacks and nightmares.

After she dressed in a nightgown, she walked into the room and found Gavin standing in front of the window, talking on his phone in Spanish. She went to check on Nora and collected her gun and clothes from the chair Gavin left them on. She rested her chin on the side of the crib and watched her daughter sleep. Her heart clenched. Nora was the best thing that ever happened to her. Locked in that cell in Hell, she thought she’d never see her daughter or Gavin ever again.

She chanced fate by stroking Nora’s soft cheek. “You’re safe, baby. Mommy’s here.” And she would do whatever it took to ensure Nora had a long, full life, even if it meant killing her father or anyone else who stood in her way.

Once more, she paused to love on Beau and Honey who were curled around each other. All of them had been through a lot. It was time for them to heal.

When she walked back into the master suite, Gavin was still on the phone. She set the gun on the nightstand and climbed in the bed on her side. She burrowed beneath the covers, comforted by the sound of his rumbling voice. There had been more than a few nights when Gavin was forced to work at night. Whether it was for the casino or underworld, she didn’t know. All she cared about was that he came home to her whole and healthy.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck. The stupid shower invigorated her. She wasn’t remotely sleepy. She stared at the ceiling as her fingers tapped on the blanket.

It’s your fault your father is dead!

She flinched as her mother’s accusation slid through her mind. It was her fault, all right. She pulled the fucking trigger… and she would do it again if she had to. As usual, the thought of Pat made her sick. She tensed, ready to make a run to the toilet. If Pat hadn't made a side deal, maybe her mother would have been saved from this horror. She rolled and buried her face in the pillow and tried to think of anything but him.

Gavin climbed into bed when he ended his call. She turned toward him as he sat up with his back against the headboard and stretched out his legs.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Nothing major.”

That could mean anything, but she didn’t push. She tossed an arm over his leg and rested her head on his thigh. It took less than three seconds for his hand to land on her hair, which brought up her earlier thought.

“I want to dye my hair.”

His fingers paused. “What color?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe a nice brown or something.”

No response.

She looked up and saw his frown. “You’re lucky I don’t want pink hair.”

“Fuck that.” His fingers sifted through her hair. “I love your natural shade.”

“I know. Maybe a haircut, then.”

“A cut?”

She snickered. “It’s not the end of the world, Gavin.”

“I’d rather let you dye it green than cut it.”

“Fine,” she said, knowing that wasn’t the end of it.

“Are you really thinking about green?” he asked a minute later.

She shrugged.

His fingers slipped through the strands. “Talk to me before you do anything.”

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