"Pay attention, Dean, and tell Marco to wake the fuck up."
He jabbed the man next to him, who paled when he saw me.
"You're a lazy son of a bitch. Do you know that? You're givenonefucking job, and you're sleeping like a baby at the breast. Sort your fucking life out," I barked before turning back to the house.
Showtime.
30
LAYLA
“Just one second!” I yelled as the pounding on the door grew louder. I felt physically sick, and no matter how much I scrubbed my skin, I could still feel Steve on me.
I fuckinghatedhim.
I wrapped the towel around me, cursing as I ran down the stairs. Steve had gone to meet my mom at the store after she called asking for a lift back.
Great timing. If only it had been half an hour earlier.
I opened the door to see four pairs of eyes gazing at me with concern.
“What the hell?” I muttered as Gretchen walked forward, scanning around me.
“Is he here? Steve?”
I stared at Zane, who wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“You told them,” I murmured as Cal stepped in front of me.
“Listen, sweetheart; we can talk about how much of a dick my son is for trying to help you later. But right now, you need to tell us where he is.” Cal’s voice was low yet demanding, and I nodded meekly.
“He’s gone to get my mom from the store; he will be back any minute,” I said miserably, fresh tears welling up in my eyes.
“Zane, take her upstairs. We’ll wait for him here,” barked Cal, as Zane moved towards me.
I backed up the stairs, not wanting him to see me cry. I grabbed some clothes from the rack, locking myself in the bathroom while I heard him sigh.
“Don’t hate me, Layla.”
The tears fell hard then.
How could he think I hated him when he was so sweet and kind?
Didn’t he know what it felt like to be hated, truly hated?
“I don’t,” I called back, my voice shaking as I tugged the hoodie over my jeans. I dragged a brush through my hair as I opened the door, staring down at the floor.
Zane was holding my shirt in his hands, a strange look on his face.
“Why is this ripped?”
Zane was quiet now, his hands shaking as I chewed my lip.
“Uh...I...”
“Layla?” he finally looked at me, and the tears fell down my face. “Tell me it’s not what it looks like. Tell me it was just rough, but consensual, sex.”
I froze when the front door opened downstairs.
