Sins & Secrets (15 page)

“Lola, open the door!” Layton yells from the other side. “It’s not what you think!”

I back away from the door until my back bumps the sink. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking so how can you possibly know that.” I glance around at the bathtub/shower, the sink, and then at the window, which is way too small for me to fit in. Nowhere to go.

As Layton continues to bang on the door and yell at me, I sink to the floor and rest my head back. I’m not even sure I’m tripping on the tattoo so much as the pile of lies and secrets the two of them dumped on me. All these years, my entire life, is nothing but a lie. I’ve known this for a while, but didn’t realize the vastness of the secrets hidden in the Anelli family. It makes me wonder just how many more there are.

But I think the real thing that gets me more than the secrets, the thing that’s clawing at my skin, is that I’m here right now, in this place, the crappy person that I am, the person who kills and fucks men for a living, because I had to settle a debt my father got into with Frankie because he what? Wanted to hide Solana? Because my mother cheated on him with his brother, who he doesn’t like? That’s why all this shit happened? Because of that. It’s bullshit.

As I’m stirring in my own anger, the door suddenly bursts open. Layton stumbles inside the bathroom, shaking his head, while I remain calm on the floor.

“How long have you known about all of this?” I ask as he catches his breath. “About Solana and my father—her father. How long?”

His mouth sinks to a frown. “I… For a couple of years… pretty much since I started working for Frankie. Well, at least about Solana. I didn’t know the whole story though until… until the day I technically died.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I rise to my feet, loathing how hurt I am that he kept so much from me. It reminds me of why I shut down so much. “We were best friends—why didn’t you just say something. I wouldn’t have told anyone.”

Looking torn, he glances over and then steps all the way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “It was more complicated than that, otherwise I would have.” He takes a step toward me then another and I have nowhere to go since I’m already pressed up against the wall. “That day I started working for Frankie was because I had to, Lolita. My father made me.” There’s so much hatred in his eyes. “They’d made a bargain a long time ago about it… out of all the people, it had to be Frankie Catherlson.” He dares another step toward me and then another until he’s right in front of me. “That day your mother died I learned that it would happen eventually—that eventually I’d work for Frankie. That the Everett’s and Catherlson’s would join each other and unite their bloodlines. It’s part of the reason why I decided to fake my own death Lolita… the things Frankie was making me do… what he was going to make me do… I couldn’t do it anymore…” he trails off then blows out an exasperated breath, his hand coming down on the wall beside my head. “That night—the night we killed. Frankie set you up. And I knew about it.” He yanks his fingers through his hair and lets out an exasperated breath, eyes blazing with self-hatred “God, I fucking knew that you were going to walk into that trap. I was told to let them kill you, punishment for your father getting into debt with Frankie. But I couldn’t do it… couldn’t lose you… never can…” He reaches out and grazes his finger across my cheekbone, sending warmth throughout my body. “I can never let the girl I love get killed.” He swallows hard, his breath faltering. “So I stepped in and… well you know the rest. They put a hit on me when they found out, but thankfully I found my way out, thanks to Solana.”

My brows knit. “What does Solana have to do with this?”

“A lot,” he says as his hands spread across my cheek. “But I think it’s better for her to tell you… it’s her story… the things she went through… what your father did to her to keep her hidden… Lola, she’s had a rough life and that tattoo… it has to do with it so just let it go for now.
Please
.” He gives an elongated pauses, his eyes searching mine. “Tell me you forgive me. I need you to forgive me.”

I’m not sure if I should be angry with him or not. He knew that night that I was walking into a trap and didn’t warn me, but he also saved me, just like he did tonight. “I feel like my head’s going to explode… This is so much to take in Layton. And you know me enough to know I don’t do well with the whole emotional stuff.”

“I know.” His gaze never wavers from mine. “And I have to be honest, there’s more to it than what I’m telling you—more that I’m not even sure of… but right now, we’ve got to get you out of here and someplace safe before Frankie’s men find you. Solana says there’s a safehouse nearby we can go to until we can figure out where to go next.”

Safehouses was create by a group of ex-mafia men who needed to hide out from being hunted. That’s the thing with the world we live in. Once you’re on the bad list you usually stay on until you’re dead, so the odds of us walking out of this alive look grim, unless we keep running.

“Solana says, huh?” I question with a hint a jealousy in my voice that makes me cringe.

He gives me a strange look. “Are you jealous? That doesn’t sound like the Lolita I know.”

“It must be the trauma,” I say sarcastically. “Or maybe the bump on my head from the other night is making me crazy.”

“I already told you, Solana helped me out.” He moves his hand away from my face and touches his chest. “Helped me fake my own death. And I think she’s here to help you if the deal between her and I still stands, which it seems like it does since she hasn’t killed you yet.”

My brows dip even lower as confusion sets in deeper. I reach for Layton’s shirt and lift it up until I can see his chest. He lowers his hand and lets me examine his skin… the small circular scar on his lean chest, right near the tattoo of his family’s crest, a circle enclosing Greek-like symbols. In the heat of the moment, I hadn’t even noticed the scar. “You were shot?” I gape at him. “When you said fake your death I thought… well, I’m mot sure what I thought, but Id didn’t think it meant you were actually shot.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It was the only way we could pull it off. But it’s okay—I’m okay. It missed all major organs and arteries… Solana has a very good aim and now all I have is a scar.”

“
She’s
the one who shot you? Good God.”

He sighs, cover his hand over mine, which is still pressed against his chest. I can feel his heart beating under my palm, steady, calm. “Lola, I know you want to hear all the answers, but we really need to get to the safehouse. You have two very powerful mafia families after you—you’re not safe here so close to a town and the public.”

“Wow two hits.” I force a hollow laugh as I absentmindedly trace the scar on his chest. “I guess I should feel honored or something.”

“Lolita…” His voice drifts off as he leans in toward me. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You know that, right?” His eyelids drift shut as he leans into kiss me. And I want to let him, but I’m afraid I’ll start crying again, my mind still on emotion overload. I feel just as cold inside as the day I first ran. I wonder when I’ll be warm again—if I’ll ever be warm.

So I turn my head and he ends up kissing my cheek, his lips brushing against my flesh, warming up the cold in my body for a flickering instant. “I can’t kiss you right now,” I teller him softly. “I’m already fighting an emotion breakdown and your kisses seem to bring it out more… make me feel too much.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asks, slanting back and looking me in the eyes.

“Good and bad,” I say truthfully. “I’m glad you’re alive… glad you’re here… but it makes me feel… sort of guilty about what I’ve been doing over the couple of years. And I’m not used to guilt. Never been my thing, you know.”

“I do know.” His voice is soft, caring. “Lola, what you did… I’m sure you had to do it, right? To survive.”

I shrug, guilty knots winding in my stomach. “Yes and no… It wasn’t just that.” I can barely look at him. “Honestly, I did it because I liked it—liked how it made me feel on the inside.”

He presses his lips together with so much force the skin around his mouth turns white. “How did it make you feel?”

I glance at him with wariness. “You seriously want to know?”

He nods, but doesn’t look so certain. “I want to understand what it was like for you these last two years—
need
to understand. Because all I have is that picture of what I walked in on when I went into the hotel room and saw you like that.” He squeezes his eyes, looking as though he’s in pain. “God, when I heard you scream, I thought I was going to find you dead.”

“It wasn’t always that way. Most of the time it was fine.” I don’t want to tell him the real reason why I did it, too ashamed, but when I open my mouth, it sort of spills out. “I did it because it made me numb—I didn’t have to feel death on my hands. You know as well as I do that sex was always sort of a weird euphoric thing for me. Well it started to be a self-numbing thing after everything happened, like taking drugs without the drugs.”

“Lolita,” he says my full name again, the sound rolling off his tongue like honey. “I’m sorry… I wish I could have found a way to tell you all this sooner... But I wasn’t even supposed to see you now… I’m supposed to be dead… but I had to see you. That night in the motel, later at the house when you were out looking at my car.” He drifts toward me again. “Tonight. I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

I stare into his silvery eyes, remembering all the things we used to be, remembering how it felt when I thought I’d never look at him again, touch him again, kiss him again.

“Oh my God, fuck it.” I drop the gun and then I’m smashing my lips against his, kissing him with so much passion I nearly bite his lip. And he kisses me back with zero hesitation, scooping me up in his arms. I wrap my legs around him and hold onto him with one hand while my other drifts downward.

“Lola,” Layton says between kisses as I undo the button of his jeans. “I need to tell you something else… something really important…”

“Then tell me.” I know I should stop and listen to him, but I can’t bring myself to do so, not ready to break the connection.

I nip at his bottom lip as I grind my hips against him, eliciting a groan from his mouth. His hands wander to my breasts, down to my hips, as he nips and bites at my lips, my jawline, my neck.

“I want you inside me again.” I practically beg him again, not sure if I’m seeking sex for all the right reasons, but I can’t stop myself from wanting it. “Please, Layton.”

I feel him smile against my lips. “I’ve never heard you beg like that, but that’s two times in one night. I must be good.”

“And you’ve never returned from the dead before.” I rock my hips against his, growing impatient, but a grin slips through. “You’re such a cocky bastard.”

“Hmmm….” His fingers tangle through my hair as he press a kiss to my jawline. “Maybe I should drag this out more… see what I can get out of it.”

My smile broadens and I realize how long it’s been since I’ve genuinely smiled. But this is Layton I know, the one I grew up with before everything was tainted, before our friendship was torn apart, before I killed, before I ran, and that one could always get me to smile.

“I’d like to see you try.” I decide to act like the old Lola for a moment, even though I’m not sure who that is anymore.

He lets out this deep throaty groan and then his fingers are slipping under my panties and are about to slip into me and I’m practically panting in anticipation.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hate to break up the pornshow in there,” Solana says through the door. “But we have a huge problem.”

“I’m going to kill her,” I gripe as Layton slips his fingers out of me, leaving me high and dry.

His silvery eyes look a little dazed as he wets his lips with his tongue. “Lola, you should get to know her—she’s your sister.”

He might be right but at the same time I’m not sure if I want to, considering everything.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“We have company,” she says and bangs on the door again. “So unless you want to die while fucking, get out here. Now.”

Shaking my head, I pick up the gun from off the floor. “God, I don’t want to kill again.” My breath falters from my lips, knowing that I just might have to, if we’re walking into an ambush.