Page 95 of Seeking Vengeance

What if I was the target?

I choke on an inhale, struggling to breathe.

Emmanuel has to know my family don’t forget an injustice.

What if he found out I’d been in Denver? What if news got back to him that a stolen purse had been discovered with my ID and a vial of cyanide that all but had his name on it?

“Who the fuck knows? This could be anything from terrorism, to attempted assassination, to sabotage against the hotel chain.” Bishop jerks his chin toward the restaurant. “But from the look of those bullet holes, it was either a warning or the person taking aim reads braille.”

I follow the direction of his chin to see the shattered windows and the pockmarked facia above the frames. All the holes are well above head level. Too high to be life-threatening.

“Get Lorenzo out of here.” Matthew pockets his cell and leans down to glide his fingers over the back of my arm, gently coaxing me to my feet.

“No,” the old man growls. “I’m not leaving until I have answers.”

“Don’t be a stubborn fool.” Matthew keeps me close at his side as he narrows his eyes on Bishop. “Go with him. Take him home to see his doctor. Make sure he’s okay.”

One of Lorenzo’s guards holsters his weapon beneath his jacket. “Or at least wait inside.”

“You’ll take him home,” Matthew demands, his face contorting with aggression. “Now.”

He’s barely recognizable. The sophistication is gone, replaced with lethal authority. Feral fury. I don’t know this man.

“I dare you to defy me,” he warns. “You may gain his anger for dragging him out of here, but I’ll kill you if he gets hurt.”

I stiffen.

He walks into me, hustling us from the outdoor dining area by the crook of my arm, not allowing them a rebuttal or me a chance to think.

I’m hurried through the restaurant and into the hotel reception, my feet numb, my ears still ringing, my panic making thoughts unclear.

“Where are we going?” I struggle to keep up as he increases our pace, dragging me past staff who run in the opposite direction, their blurring faces rushing toward those yelling for help from the restaurant. “Matthew?”

“It’s best if we get to our room. You’ll be safe there.”

I stop, needing the stillness to settle my foggy mind.

If the attack was targeting me, I’d be more safe at home. With my family. Where security is part of our genes.

With siblings already sick of your complications.

What’s more important is that I need to get to Stella. To make sure she’s all right. To ensure I haven’t put her in harm’s way.

“Layla, we need to keep moving.” He pulls me toward the bank of elevators.

“No. Wait.” I tug my arm from his grip. “I can’t stay here. I have to get to my daughter.”

“Your daughter is fine.You’refine.” He leans close, his beseeching eyes demanding me to understand. “Once we get to the room, the quiet will help.”

The confidence he exudes makes it easy to believe him. To at least trust mindlessly while my thoughts remain scrabbled.

He reclaims my hand and drags me to the elevators, my fear making me pliable. I blink in a daze as he presses the call button. I breathe shallow while more shouts reverberate off the walls and the blare of sirens approach.

We just walked out of there. A crime scene. A possible attempt on my life. Or was it his? Or Lorenzo’s? Maybe the target was the hotel and its owners.

So why does it feel like it was all me?

My mistakes.

---