Page 76 of Silver Sinner

Trik's smirk widens. "Now why the hell would I do that?"

"Because she's mine."

"Bullshit," Trik sneers. "If you'd come to me a year ago, hell even six, then I woulda gladly signed that whore over to you. But you know what? After a long talk with my father, I've decided it's high time I embrace being a dad. Maddie needs someone other than a fucking whore to look up to, don't you think?"

Everything stops. In the half-second between Trik's admission and my complete understanding, something hurts just beneath my ribs. Layla told me Madeline's father was dead, and yet he sits before me with the ugliest fucking smirk on his face. Suddenly, keeping him away from Layla and Madeline becomes more than a desire; it morphs into a burning need in my chest. I tilt my head to the side, giving Moses the signal to prepare.

"You're not going to live long enough to ever get the chance," I growl.

"Really?" Trik slams both his hands down on the table. "You should have thought of that before you murdered my cousin. Now it's my turn to take something precious from you, cunt!"

The crack of a gunshot erases my confusion as to who the hell Trik's cousin is, as the barmaid suddenly drags a shotgun out from behind the bar and fires at Moses with the same crazed smirk on her face that Trik has.

Moses yells as the impact crashes into his chest and he flies backward, colliding with the jukebox in a flurry of sparks and broken glass. I fly to my feet, dragging my gun from my belt as panic collides with fear over Moses' motionless body, but Trik is faster.

His gun was in his lap the entire time, and he opens fire before I can take aim. Heat and pain explode through my abdomen with enough force that it knocks me clean off my feet. I collapse to the floor with a cry and roll over, finding Trik standing over me with a crooked grin.

"Don't worry," Trik hisses. "She won't be lonely with me around."

The last thing I see before darkness takes me is the gum stuck to the sole of Trik's boot before it smashes into my face.

29

LAYLA

Pierce doesn't come back that day.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't text.

His absence becomes glaring when evening rolls around and I spent two hours in the kitchen cooking up lasagna and garlic bread with a homemade strawberry pie for dessert. After burning myself twice making the glaze, the pie turns out beautifully and rests on an upturned bowl on the counter while I check my phone.

Still no reply.

The urge to text Pierce rises again, but staring at the last four unanswered messages makes my heart sink down into the dark pit of my gut. I don't want to seem needy. Pressing my lips together, I slide into the dining seat and tap on his name, then hit call.

It immediately connects with his voicemail and an electronic voice instructs me on how to leave a message.

Gritting my teeth, I hand up and place my phone down next to my empty plate. The lasagna sits in the middle of the table where it's been for the past forty minutes. The garlic bread has lost its alluring gleam from the melted butter that's now soaked completely through, and the wine bottle's lost all condensation.

Is he not coming?

Maybe it's my fault.

I told him the truth about what I was before this. Pierce is such a gentle, elegant man. I must have been dreaming to think he'd be okay dating someone who used to be a prostitute. Opening my big mouth ruined this; it must have. There's no other explanation. I move the wine bottle back into the fridge and return to my seat, once again checking my phone.

No messages.

No call back.

The weight in my gut begins to grow as I replay our last conversation in my mind. Nothing about what he said or did suggested he was unhappy and I⁠—

That's not true. Lying to myself won't help. He grew tense. I felt it and I played it off because I so desperately wanted to believe that everything was okay, but something definitely changed about Pierce and I ignored it.

As I stare at the almost cold meal, tears creep into the corner of my eyes and an emptiness opens up in my chest. I grew too comfortable with him, a man I barely know and yet thought I could trust. I brought this on myself.

"Mommy?" Madeline appears in the doorway with a yawn, her pajamas rumpled around her body as she rubs one eye.