Layla
“Let us go,” I said, my voice cold, steady, “Or I pull the trigger.”
The rustle of cloth informed me that Marco’s bodyguards had reached for their weapons, but I didn’t budge.
I was done being their f*****g pawn. “Don’t even think about it. I’m not afraid to shoot.”
Marco raised a hand, signaling them to stop. His dark eyes bore into mine, his jaw tight. And still, he found the words to taunt me. “You don’t have the guts.”
“Try me,” I purred, and I shifted the gun up a little higher. “You’re a doctor. You know that if I shoot you here, you will die a slow, painful death.”
“Layla.” The low male voice behind me froze the words in my mouth, my hand on the gun. I shifted slowly to view the speaker, keeping my gun against Marco’s taut abdomen.
The man behind me, clad in the stiff
