Page 74 of Devotion

If I were Vera, I’d get my fucking act together. Because if she can’t do that, if she can’t accept Layla and the role she’ll fill here… I’ll do what I have to do.

27

Layla

There’s been this overwhelming sense of dread that’s hung over me like a cloud all morning.

While I showered, while I dressed, the entire drive to the station, and it’s only grown heavier as I walk through the front doors of the building.

Hiking my bag higher up my shoulder, I try to push the memory of Martinez storming into my apartment two nights ago from my head, still hearing the threat he made before he left. I’d never seen him like that before, had never been afraid of him like I was then, but it was warranted. He was unhinged and on the hunt for revenge because his ego was bruised.

Despite the fear, I’m torn between thinking he truly meant what he said and wondering if it was just the alcohol talking. For all I know, he’s had some time to think things over and plans to apologize today for being a world-class asshole. However, I’m also prepared for things to stay exactly as they’ve been—with him being bitter and silently brooding every time I pass his desk. If huddling up with the other guys, talking shit about me is what gets his rocks off, it is what it is as long as his ass doesn’t show up at my place again. Eventually, the few people he’s bitched and moaned to will lose interest anyway, and things will go back to normal. In the meantime, I can deal with the pettiness.

And if I can’t, I’ve got no problem taking his ass to HR to letthemdeal with him.

My head whips left when I think I hear someone speaking to me, but the words are spoken too quickly to catch them. A detective I’ve maybe said two words to since starting here is grinning behind his coffee mug, avoiding eye contact as he swivels back toward his computer.

“Green light.”

I turn to the right, and I know I’m not mistaken this time. Only, the words were spoken by someone else. Another detective who’s name I hardly know, but he certainly seems to know something aboutme.

“Green light?” another voice calls out, and my stomach twists in knots as I hear it again.

“Green light.”

I hadn’t realized it before because I’d been purposely keeping my eyes to the ground, just wanting to get through today, but… they’re laughing.

Allof them.

“Green light.”

I stumble, bracing myself on the flimsy wall of an empty cubicle when I’m shoulder-checked by someone, and now the phrase seems to be coming from all directions. Some are whispering it, some have gotten bolder, shouting it from across the room. And it’s all aimed at me—their laughs, their jeering.

I glance toward my desk again, wondering if I’ll walk the last few yards to reach it, or if I should just tap out, double back toward the door.

“Green light, bitch.”

This time, the deep voice in my ear is familiar, and I’m already glaring when Martinez walks past, smiling back at me from over his shoulder.

What the hell has he done?

I’m winded, feeling like I’ll pass out from embarrassment as our former codeword to each other echoes across the room. Which means, he isn’t just telling his close circle anymore.

He’s toldeveryone.

My bag slips down to my wrist, and I admit something to myself. I’m not strong enough for this. I can’t sit at my desk all day, being taunted with those words, pretending this is all okay.

Someone catches me around my waist when I stumble again, and I’m horrified to see that it’s Stevens, flashing a menacing grin. “You can’t leave yet, sweetheart. You’ve still gotta tell me when and where?”

More laughter explodes behind me.

“C’mon, Layla. Relax, we’re just teasing ya,” Stevens adds, but I’m grateful when I burst through the doors and sunlight hits my face. My hands shake as I climb back into my car, then start the engine.

Martinez can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep getting away with treating me like literal shit.

Swiping tears from my cheeks, I drive home in a daze, wishing I’d never gotten out of bed in the first place. I rush up the stairs toward my apartment before my father can notice I’ve come back and start asking questions. I just want to be left alone.

My bag hits my floor with a thud, and I push both hands through my hair, breathing erratically as the details of my disastrous morning replay in my head.

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