Page 43 of Red Dreams

“Okay,” she breathes, her hands coming up to grip my wrists. “Okay. We'll find a way.”

I lose the barest distance between our lips and capture hers in a kiss that says everything I can’t vocalize. Layla releases my wrists and tangles her fingers in my hair as she pulls me as close as humanly possible, our bodies molding together like two halves from a severed whole. I’m crushing her body against mine as if I could absorb her light through sheer force of will.

After pulling away slightly, I stroke her hair before guiding her head to my chest. The beat of my heart syncs with hers as I wrap an arm around her waist possessively.

“What about Ethan?” she asks with such desperation, it makes me want to tear the world apart just to ease her pain.

“I have it under control,” I assure her, and for the first time, I realize I mean it.

Not just for Layla’s sake but for mine as well.

My daughter’s next move will be to burst in here with Ethan, furious with us for not ceding to her control. And I will meet her madness with my darkness. It’s high time I face her not as her father but as her equal.

With my free hand, I trail my fingers down Layla’s arm, sending a shiver coursing through her body. Her breath hitches, and I find myself grinning at the effect I have on her.

It might be the last time I do.

I trace my fingers along the delicate curve of her neck, relishing the way her pulse quickens under my touch. She arches into me, a soft moan escaping her parted lips as I dip my head to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

Just as I reach up to massage the back of her neck to further soothe her, the door to the suite slams open with a resounding bang.

Layla tenses in my arms, both of our heads turning to find Cassie standing in the doorway with a deep frown on her bright red lips.

“You motherfuckers,” she spits, dragging a bloodied and bruised Ethan into the room by the collar of his shirt.

A desperate sound comes from Layla. She tries to lurch forward, but I keep her locked within the safety of my embrace.

“It’s okay, Layla,” Ethan says through a split lip and broken teeth. “I’m okay.”

A rock forms in my throat as Layla chokes back a sob.

This kid has been beaten to hell while facing down a psychopath, and his first instinct is to comfort my woman. Mychest constricts, the foreign sensation of guilt eating away at my battered soul.

Cassie's eyes narrow dangerously as she takes in the sight of Layla and I, still wrapped in each other's arms despite the chaos she's unleashed. Her grip on Ethan's collar tightens, causing him to wince.

“Well, isn't this cozy,” she says. “I go through all the trouble of arranging this little reunion, and you two are still making googly eyes at each other like a couple of lovesick swans. It's almost enough to make me gag.”

She tosses Ethan to the floor, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Layla tries to break free again, but I hold her fast.

“Cassie, please,” Layla begs, her nails digging into my biceps. “You’ve made your point.”

Cassie scoffs. “I’m nowhere near my point, kitten.”

She crouches down next to Ethan, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back. He groans in pain, his one good eye struggling to focus. Cassie must have gone berserk on Ethan the minute I smashed the monitor, and that ugly feeling of guilt in my stomach won’t go away.

“I almost feel sorry for you,” Cassie says to Ethan. “Caught in the middle of this family drama. But then I remember how eagerly you jumped in to protect poor Layla over there, and my sympathy for you just … evaporates.”

She releases his hair with a shove, rising to her feet and turning her attention back to us. “I have to admit, I'm impressed. I thought for sure my stunt with Ethan would be the final straw. That Layla would finally see you for the monster you are, choose Ethan, and turn her back on you for good.”

Layla's jaw clenches, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “No matter what you do, I will never turn on him.”

“Oh,spareme,” Cassie groans. “Bonds are made to be broken, just like bones. Why don’t you take a seat at the table, Ethan?”

When he doesn't move fast enough, Cassie kicks him in the ribs. The sight makes Layla jerk against me.

I adjust my grip, sliding my hand to her hip in a way that appears possessive but actually pins her in place. My daughter's eyes track the movement. Something ripples across her face—disgust? Envy?—before that broken-doll smile returns.

Ethan pushes himself up on shaky arms. Blood drips steadily from his nose, staining his torn shirt.

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