Slay (Storm MC 4)

Shit, I needed to concentrate on Phil.

In that momentary lapse of concentration, he punched me twice. I stumbled back, shocked at this turn of events. No one ever distracted me when I was dealing with shit like this.

“Fuck,” Merrick swore, and he and Ben fought to restrain Phil again. Merrick eventually held Phil back by his arms and scowled at me. “Get your fucking head in the game, Blade.”

I glared at him. “It fucking is.”

“No, it’s fucking not, asshole.”

Ben interrupted us. “Ladies, let’s just get this done and then you two can bicker as much as you want. Yeah?”

We both scowled at him. “Fuck you, Ben,” Merrick muttered.

“Enough!” I roared, and punched Phil hard in the gut. “Tell me you’re gonna fix this shit, Phil. I’ve let you off every other fucking time you’ve screwed us over, even that time you had the shit beaten out of my men, but this time I’m not letting shit slide.”

And there was the look I was searching for. The one that told me he would do what I wanted. It was the look of terror mixed with resignation, and it usually meant my opponent just needed one last bit of encouragement before they gave in.

I looked at Ben. “Call Onyx and get him over here. I think he and Phil need to have a little chat.” Onyx was the guy you called when you needed shit taken care of. People thought I was a crazy motherfucker. I had nothing on Onyx.

Phil’s eyes started blinking and I could have sworn he shit himself. “No! I’ll fix it, Blade.”

I shook my head. “Call him,” I said to Ben.

Looking at Merrick, I said, “Restrain him until Onyx gets here.” I picked up my knife and started to head for the front door.

“What the fuck, Blade? You’re leaving?” Merrick asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got shit to get back to,” I answered him without looking back. I was focused on one thing only.

Getting back to Layla.

Chapter Seventeen

Layla

I took the night off.

After Donovan left to take care of his shit, anger consumed me, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus on work. So I locked myself away upstairs and stewed on it.

Annie had retreated into her bedroom so I sat alone. Never a good thing when you’re angry. But I craved it tonight. I wanted to be angry. Kind of like when you’re sad and all you want is to lose yourself in sad songs.

Donovan leaving me when I thought we were spending the night together had brought up old feelings of rejection by my parents. Stupid, I knew, especially after I’d told Donovan only last night we had to unlearn the expectation of rejection. It seemed this would be harder than I thought if my reaction tonight was anything to go by.

I ignored his five phone calls.

He’d been gone an hour and a half when the first call came. They’d continued to come every five minutes or so, with the last one over ten minutes ago. I guessed he’d given up, and that began a new round of anger.

God, could I be any more fucked up? I didn’t want him to call, and yet, when he stopped trying, I wanted him to keep trying. I drove myself mad with my crazy behaviour.

Fuck, this was a good reason to stay single. It had to be a better option than sending yourself mad with stupid expectations. Expectations you knew you shouldn’t have but that you couldn’t fight.

“Layla!”

Donovan.

I stood and watched as he stalked into my lounge room with a look of fury on his face. He stopped a little over two feet from me, his eyes boring into mine. “I’ve been calling you.”

“I know.”