She doesn’t blush. No smile, not even a twitch of her lips. This isn’t my Layla. “I’m sick, Blake. We’ll uh… I’ll take a rain check, okay?”
I rub my head and tug at as much hair as I can fit between my fingers. “I don’t get what’s going on. Axelle’s lying to me, you’re fucking lying to me. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
Wait, why won’t they let me in the house? A fiery rage explodes behind my ribs. My vision blurs, and I step back. “Who’s in there, Layla?” My growled words are the first thing that gets a response.
Her eyes grow wide, and her jaw falls open. “Why would you say that?” The pitch of her voice is unusually high.
“Move away from the door.”
“Blake, no—”
“Who the fuck is in there?” Fuck this. I slam into the door and stumble into the tiny kitchen.
“Blake, no.” She grabs my arm and I shrug her off easily.
Kitchen’s empty. I move to the living room, where Axelle’s standing hunched over, her elbows locked to her sides, her hands balled together tight. What in the motherfucking hell is going on here?
There’s movement from the hallway that catches me off guard. I spin around fast.
A man saunters toward me with the confidence of a fucking royal. “You lost, boy?”
Twenty-seven
Blake
I move fast and unthinking. On pure possessive instinct, I’m inches from the guys face. “Who the fuck you calling ‘boy’?” I spit my words through clenched teeth.
“Blake, no,” Layla says from the kitchen doorway.
A whimpering sob comes from Axelle’s direction in the living room.
“It’s okay, Elle. Your mother’s little toy was just leaving.” He swings his gaze from Axelle back to me. “Weren’t you, boy?”
He called Axelle, Elle. This is Stew, the cocksucker who ruined my woman’s life. The one who belittled her, embarrassed her, fucked her against her will. Rage, hot and welcome, floods my body. I’ve been waiting for this day. My fists clench, and my heart races to throw the first punch. It’s time to teach Stew a lesson.
He’s a dead man.
I put my nose inches from his, which isn’t hard. The dickhead’s my size in height and not far behind in weight. “You’ve got one chance to step outside with me. One. Chance. You pass it up, I’ll drag your ass out of here. But you and I are going to settle this man to man, whether you like it or not.”
Stew smiles and chuckles. “Oh, that’s funny. Laylay, you didn’t tell me how funny your little friend is.”
He moves toward Layla with an outstretched arm. Her body visibly tenses.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I roar.
He lifts his eyebrows. “Excuse me, but I’ll touch my wife if I damn well please.”
“She’s not your wife. Not anymore.”
“I beg to differ. I’m contesting our divorce. We’re still married.” He hooks Layla over her shoulders and drags her to his side. “I let her go for a few months so she could get her head straight. But I decided it’s been long enough.” He runs his hand through her hair, and she cringes. “It is Valentine’s Day, after all. The day for lovers.”
My head pounds, and I’m dizzy with the urge to attack. I’d knock the shit out of this guy, but I can’t. Not in front of Axelle. Fuck. Killian should be here soon. He can get her out of here. I can hold off until then.
“If you don’t mind, my wife and I have some catching up to do.” The lascivious curl of his lips makes my muscles jump to get at him.
“I’m not going anywhere. You’ll have to kill me to get alone with her.”
Layla pulls away from Stew, only to be pulled back. “Blake, please—”
“Look at you, throwing out the threats.” Stew runs a finger down her bare arm, but she doesn’t cringe away from his touch. “How about this, you leave right now or I’ll call the police.”
I bark out a laugh. “Call ‘em, fuckface. You’re the one they’ll be wrestling out of here in cuffs. City of Las Vegas doesn’t look kindly on sexual predators.”
“I’m her husband. You’re an intruder.”
“Blake, please, just go.” Layla’s pleading voice calls my attention. Her mouth is locked in a tight line, and her shoulders are set back.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m okay, but I need you to leave,” she says with a firm edge in her voice.
Has she lost her damn mind? “I’m not fucking leaving you with this guy.”
“I want you to leave.”
I shake my head. She can’t be serious. “No.”
“It’s over, Blake.” Her usually warm eyes are cold and hard.
“The hell it is.” Nausea curls in my gut.
She leans toward me, but not enough to get out from under that fucker’s arm. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to see you. Not now, or ever again. You were a distraction. Nothing more.”
I flinch and take a step back. “You don’t mean that.”
Her body leans a fraction of an inch into Stew’s. “I mean it. I’m married, Blake. Did you really think we’d have a future?”