Jessie Keane - Ruthless

Layla gulped. ‘What?’

‘You talk too much. You always have. But you want to go on chewing this over, fine. Only let’s take it somewhere more comfortable.’

Layla felt her heartbeat pick up. She was staring into his eyes.

‘Like… where?’ she asked.

‘Two bedrooms. One through there, one through there.’ He indicated two doors. ‘Pick one.’

‘Wait a minute. So you’ve skipped the date and now you’re going straight on to the seduction ?’

Alberto gave a smile. ‘Time’s a little tight.’

‘What is it? What’s going on?’ Now he was frightening her.

Alberto bent and picked her up in his arms. Layla let out a small shriek of surprise.

‘No more talk,’ he said. ‘Which one?’

‘That one,’ said Layla, throwing caution to the four winds.

‘There’s something you forgot to tell me,’ said Alberto.

‘I thought you said no more talking?’ sighed Layla.

It was nearly an hour later. She didn’t want to talk or even think. This was… heaven. She was lying naked in a four-poster bed in a sumptuous suite, and Alberto was here beside her. What else could anyone possibly need?

Precious.

Her heart seemed to contract and her stomach turned over.

Oh God. Precious was dead. It was as if the earth had shifted under Layla’s feet. Her friend, the one real friend she had, was dead, and now… Alberto had seduced her. She thought of Precious, beautiful, laughing, generous and bright. If she could see Layla, lying here with him, she’d be cheering. And maybe, somehow, she could. Who knew?

Layla felt her eyes fill with tears, but she blinked them back. She turned, cuddled in close against his chest, feeling his warmth, his strength.

‘It would have helped to know you were a virgin,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Her eyes flickered open and she stared at him. ‘That.’

The reason she was still a virgin was because no one had ever come close to Alberto, in her eyes. She’d had a few dates, but they’d gone nowhere. Maybe she was just that dull, old-fashioned thing, a one-man woman. She’d felt the same way about friendship. It had to be the real deal or she didn’t want to know.

Precious had been the real deal. Now she was gone.

‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ she said. ‘And by the time I could have told you, well… it was too late.’

Alberto turned towards her, propping himself up on one elbow, running a hand down over her face, brushing back her loose dark hair. His eyes met hers.

‘I’m so sorry about your friend,’ he said. ‘From what I saw of her, she seemed a very special person.’

‘Yes. She was.’ Layla’s eyes filled with tears again and he pulled her close, held her.

‘Shh,’ he murmured against her hair and she sobbed helplessly, the grief overflowing again in an unstoppable tide.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, kissing her brow. ‘The bastard who did it – we’re going to get him. OK?’ He pushed her head back, looked at her tear-drenched face. ‘Layla. You believe me?’

Layla gulped, wiped at her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe you.’

If anyone could catch that bastard, it was Alberto – and her dad.

Layla stiffened.

Oh God. Dad.

What would he make of this?

No. She couldn’t think about that yet. Her mind baulked at the very idea of explaining this to him. She gazed at Alberto. Couldn’t believe he was here, like this, with her. But he was.

‘I love you,’ she said, linking her arms around his neck. ‘Kiss me.’

Alberto kissed her, long and hard and slow. His hand dipped lower, cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing slowly, maddeningly, over the nipple, teasing it into hardness. Layla groaned.

‘Did I hurt you?’ he asked, his hand dipping lower, lower, until she gasped.

‘No. A bit.’ It had hurt, but she had been tense, expecting it to. It wasn’t his fault. And as he had just pointed out, she hadn’t told him she was a virgin, and she should have.

‘It’ll be better this time,’ he said. ‘Lie back…’

He was caressing her gently, firmly, until she was liquid with longing, gasping with need. Then he mounted her again and she felt him, amazingly hard but silken, pushing into her easily this time, filling her. She clung to him, ecstatic. Nothing had ever felt so right.

‘Jesus,’ he moaned against her neck, thrusting desperately. His eyes met hers and he kissed her, their tongues playing. ‘Jesus, Layla…’ he gasped against her mouth.

‘I love you,’ she panted. ‘Alberto, I love you so much.’

‘I know,’ he said, and came, pushing into her so hard she could barely breathe. ‘Oh, Layla, baby, what the hell are we going to do…?’

About what? she wondered.

There was joy in her heart, and overwhelming sadness… and now there was fear, too. Not for herself, but for him.

So the game was up. Kath the mother had phoned him in panic, the fucking idiot.

‘Help us! Carter’s here and he’s beating up Junior. You said he wouldn’t get into trouble over this, you promised. ’

As if he’d lift a fecking finger on Junior’s behalf. The little cunt was caught: no use to him now. It was time to up the stakes. No point pussy-footing around. He had one loyalty, and that loyalty was crying out for vengeance.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.

Well, today vengeance would be Rufus’s, too. He’d waited too long for this. With Orla dead, what did he have to lose? It was time to get on and do it, and then at last he’d be revenged and his poor beloved could rest in peace.

Tone picked up Junior’s car within the first quarter of a mile. It was a ratty little Ford in graphite blue, old and rusted, billowing out grey smoke from the exhaust, leaving a trail that made the job easier. He followed it through traffic, edging ever closer.

‘Don’t lose him,’ said Max.

‘I won’t.’

Max glanced at Molls, now crouched silent in the back seat. ‘He been seeing much of this bloke, this Rufus?’

Molls shook her head.

‘The truth,’ said Max sharply.

She gulped fearfully and nodded. ‘Yeah. A lot.’

Max felt the rage rise up again, nearly choke him with its ferocity. This was Annie’s cousin’s boy, someone she’d looked out for since he was a kid, furnishing him with jobs and no doubt with extra cash when he needed it.

He stared at Molly in disgust. He barely knew this girl, or her brother. Kath, the mother, was dog-rough; Max didn’t even want to look at her, never had. He reckoned Molly was cut from the same mould as her mother. She could pull men now, but what few looks she had would quickly fade, the same way her mother’s had, helped along by booze or drugs or binge eating till she ended up the spitting image of Kath.

‘Fuck!’ said Tone loudly as the lights changed. He slammed on the brakes. Molly slipped off the back seat and thumped to the floor. Junior’s old Ford was chugging away into the distance.

‘Jump the lights,’ said Max.

Tone didn’t question it. He edged out, jerking the Jag to a halt when a car shot past within inches of the front bumper.

‘Holy shit !’ yelled Molly, scrabbling back up on to the seat.

Cars honked their horns. There was a squealing of brakes, accompanied by yells of fury. Tone put his foot down and the Jag shot through the steadily moving line of traffic across the junction, at the head of which was the old blue Ford.

Cutting in and out of the traffic, Tony continued edging closer to the little car up the front. At the next set of lights, Junior pulled away again. Max didn’t have to say a word this time, Tone put his foot to the floor. Then he spotted the cop car parked up at the side of the road, and stopped.