Page 33 of Depraved

Layla

Iwatched as my mother's tears fell silently, each drop another weight added to the crushing guilt in my chest. The steaming mugs of coffee Sarge had brought us sat untouched on the side table.

"I'm so sorry," Claudia whispered, her voice raw. "If I had known... if I had searched harder."

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. "It wasn't your fault, Mom. You couldn't have known."

But even as the words left my lips, a part of me—that angry, wounded child I'd buried deep inside—wanted to scream at her.Why didn't you look harder? Why didn't you find me?The rational part of me knew it wasn't fair, that she had truly believed I was dead.

Claudia reached out, her hand hovering uncertainty over mine before settling on the arm of the couch instead. "When they told me you were alive, I couldn't believe it. After all these years, hearing what you've been through..." Her voice broke on a sob.

I closed my eyes, memories flashing behind my eyelids. The dank, cramped shipping container. The leering faces of men twice my age. The sickening realization that my body was no longer my own.

When I opened my eyes again, my mother was watching me with a mixture of horror and heartbreak that made my chest ache. I took a deep breath, forcing the memories back into the dark corners of my mind where they belonged.

"It wasn't all bad," I said, surprising myself with the admission. "Raul saved me, in his own way. Gave me purpose, taught me to be strong."

Claudia flinched at Raul's name, her eyes hardening. "That monster. He stole you from me, turned you into a killer."

I shook my head, feeling a sudden urge to defend the man who had shaped me into who I am. "No, Mom. Raul didn't turn me into anything. He wasn’t the one who kidnapped me. He just gave me the tools to survive in a world that had already tried to break me. He offered me the chance to leave once, and I refused. I was in too deep to ever pretend I was just some normal girl."

I reached for my coffee, needing something to do with my hands. The mug was warm against my palms, grounding me in the present. "I know it's hard to understand. Hell, sometimes I don't understand it myself. But Raul became the closest thing to a father I had."

Claudia's face crumpled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "And what about yourrealfather? What about me? We mourned you, Layla. We had a funeral. An empty casket, but still, we thought you were gone forever."

The mention of my father sent a jolt through me. In all the chaos of the past few days, I hadn't even thought to ask about him. "Is he..."

Claudia shook her head, her voice soft. "He passed away five years ago. Cancer."

I nodded, feeling strangely numb. The man I remembered as my father—with his booming laugh and gentle hands, was little more than a faded photograph in my mind now. His death didn't feel real, just another loss in a long line of them.

"I'm sorry," I said, the words feeling hollow and inadequate.

Claudia reached out again, this time finding the courage to take my hand in hers. Her skin was soft, unmarred by the calluses and scars that covered my own hands. "Oh, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry for."

I pulled away, unable to bear the tenderness in her touch. "You don't know what I've done, Mom. The people I've hurt, the lives I've taken. If you knew..."

“And I don’t need to know,” she said firmly. “All I need to know is that you’re alive, healthy, and happy.”

I huffed out a humorless laugh. “I wouldn't call myself happy, but I’m alive and healthy.” My eyes flitted to the door of the kitchen.

As if on cue, but mostly because they were probably listening in, the others began filtering back into the room.

Alex sauntered in first, his usual cocky grin firmly in place as he sprawled across an overstuffed armchair. The leather creaked beneath his weight, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence. River followed close behind him, his eyes connecting with mine briefly.

Sarge positioned himself near the window. His bulk blocked out most of the fading sunlight, casting the room in deeper shadow. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking incredibly intimidating. If he wanted to put my mom at ease, this wasn’t doing it.

Sarah and Gage came in last, Sarah shooting me a glare, which I met with a smirk. The bruising on her neck was darkening. Gage’s eyes met mine, and suddenly it felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out.

For a moment, I was transported back to countless nights spent tangled in cheap motel sheets during a mission, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin as he whispered wicked things to me in the dark. Of stolen moments in the little guest house, fucking on the desk or against the bookshelves.

The memory of his phone call echoed in my mind, each word etched into my brain like a tattoo. His voice had been raw, desperate as he'd laid bare the extent of his deception—and the lengths he'd gone to protect me.

But why? Why would he want to protect a criminal, regardless of these feelings between us? Surely they didn’t override years and years of training and oaths to uphold the rule of law.

My fingers twitched, itching to reach for the gun holstered at my hip. It would be so easy to end this, to put a bullet between those eyes and be done with it.

Thou shalt not suffer a narc to live.

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