Page 49 of Black Heart

I blink, momentarily taken aback by the rawness in her tone. Even so, I press on, my anger flaring, ripping open old wounds. “Yet you live here, in his shadow. Why?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she retorts, her voice choked with emotion. “Fictional worlds in books are better than fathers, anyway.”

“Watch your mouth,” I bite out, stopping only once we’re inches apart.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” She looks up at me, her blue and brown eye narrowed, but a tremble to her lips betrays her bravado.

I stare down at her with an intensity that has her stepping back involuntarily against the bookshelf.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me or my father,” she snaps, her voice quavering despite the fire in her eyes.

I lean in closer, relishing the hitch in her breath. “You’re right. I don’t give a shit about your daddy issues. But I do care about you getting in my way.”

Her gaze darts to my lips before meeting my eyes again. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Is that so?”

Without warning, I slam my palms against the bookshelf on either side of her head. She winces as several volumes topple to the floor. “Doesn’t seem that wayto me.”

Layla swallows hard, her cheeks returning to that beautiful, rosy red. But she tips her chin up. “Do your worst, then. It’s nothing I haven’t survived before.”

A twinge of something unfamiliar stirs beneath my rib cage. I examine her face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way her chapped lips tremble. She looks exhausted. Haunted. And much too young to wear such disillusionment.

Blinking away the alien sensation, I shove off the bookshelf and turn my back on her. “Stay out of my way, and there won’t be a problem. For either of us.”

I stride for the door to grab my remaining boxes, but her voice stops me cold. “How did she die? The girl you couldn’t save?”

My breath stalls. My shoulders go rigid. And a deep black void takes the place of my thoughts.

“That has to be what drives you,” she stupidly continues on behind me. “Because you carry your guilt like a shroud. It’s in the way you move, the way you speak ... and the way you can’t stand to see me reading about happy endings.”

My hands fuse to my sides, knuckles turning piercing through skin with restrained fury. I don’t know what’s more infuriating: her audacious assumption or the fact that she’s so close to the truth.

“Or maybe you’re just jealous that a bunch of fictional characters are capable of finding the love that you can’t.”

I turn, slowly, my gaze scorching with a warning. A threat.

“Oh, you are so full of hypocritical shit.” She releases an acrimonious laugh.

I snarl, an explosion of pent-up anger detonating in my chest as I storm toward her, forcing her to backpedal until she’s pinned against the wall. Heat radiates from her body asmine presses against her, my voice a resonant snarl in my throat. “You know nothing about me.”

Her breaths come thin and fast, her eyes wide but steady in the face of my rage. “I only know what you’ve shown me.”

My hand flies to her throat, gripping tightly as my fury blazes unabated. “And what’s that? That I’m just some heartless killer?”

Her lips part, but no words escape, fingers clawing at my hand as she gasps for breath. But dammit, it’s the distress shimmering in those contrasting eyes that snuffs out my anger like a gust of wind extinguishing a flame.

I let go abruptly, stepping back as if burned. She slides down the wall, massaging her throat.

But those incredible eyes of hers remain bright when she rises, pushing off the wall and standing despite being cornered. “You’re just a broken man trying to find solace in his retribution. But here’s the truth: it won’t bring her back.”

Every nerve-ending in my body howls in denial, but instead, I find myself closing the distance between us until we’re pressed together, my hands finding their way to her shoulders.

“Exactly,” I snarl with enough force that she blinks in surprise. “So don’t forget your place. You are nothing but a tool to me. Nothing but bait. Remember, I’m the one with the gun here.”

Layla grips my wrist, her nails biting into my skin. But it’s her piercing stare that adds to my scars. “Then use it on me already.”

Red tinges the edges of my vision. But with a monumental effort, I force my fingers to relax.

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