Broken Rules: (Broken Duet #1)
Broken Rules: Chapter 19

Star: Order me a mojito, please.

Layla’s text arrived thirty minutes ago. I rise to my feet because she’s due any minute. I really fucking hope she hasn’t changed. The backless navy evening dress she chose for tonight is the sexiest yet most elegant thing I’ve ever seen on a woman.

“Is Layla coming?” Sandra asks, eyes big and round.

“She’s on her way.”

No one told them to stay in the booth, but without Layla, they lack the courage to make a move and remain seated, glancing longingly at the dance floor.

The bartender approaches before I reach the bar, wipes the countertop before I rest my elbows on it, and passes me an ashtray before I light a cigarette. He’s new. He started last night. So far, I can’t fault him.

“What can I get you, Boss?”

“Mojito.” Before I finish smoking, a glass with two fancy straws appears in front of me.

“Jesus, what the hell happened there?” He asks, gawking over my shoulder.

I follow his line of sight to replace at least thirty guys throwing punches left and right. Fights are common in Delta, but it’s usually two or three men fighting, and the security handles them within seconds. This time, my fighters’ help is needed. I turn to signal Cai, Luca, and Jackson, but they’re already on their way. Spades and Rookie follow suit.

With a cigarette in his mouth, Luca rolls up his sleeves and then knocks out the first guy in his path. He punches two more before guy number one hits the floor. He’s a pro, a merciless killer lacking inhibitions. Spades has fun dodging punches and kicking those that are already down. He prefers to fight with a weapon—a baseball bat or brass knuckles.

The crowd of onlookers thickens, but not before Jackson freezes at the top of the stairs, his body rigid, eyes trained on something out of my view. I follow his line of sight. It’s not until someone trips that I notice Layla. I’m on the move before my brain processes the information, my body in a state of instant readiness, not allowing fear to stop me when a rush of ruthless protection floods my veins.

“Don’t just fucking stand there!” I bellow at Jackson.

Four bouncers are at the bottom of the stairs. A few steps higher, Luca and Cai surround Layla, beating the living shit out of anyone who comes near her. My fists fly to the sides in reflex as I force my way through the chaos.

Even though I’m hitting blind, not daring to look away from Layla, I don’t miss once. She tries to fuse with the wall, her eyes focused as she looks for a safe way out of the mayhem. I jump over an unconscious, bloody mess and catch her hand, pulling her into my arms, shielding her petite body with mine.

“You good, Star?” I ask, checking her over for injuries.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Instead of fear, her voice is full of irritation. “I couldn’t move.”

My erratic pulse slows for a second before it picks back up as my right hand, entangled in her hair, replaces something wet. “Fuck! You got hit?!”

Her eyes lock on my hand, and she turns ashen, trembling as if it’s an arctic winter.

“Layla!” I shake her harder than intended. She’s holding her breath, mindless animal panic in her eyes. “Breathe, Layla. You need to breathe, baby… in and out…” She nods, sucking in a harsh breath, fearful eyes trained on mine. “Good, again.” I inhale deeply, urging her to do the same.

Once her panic lessens, she opens her mouth to speak, but all she can manage is one word, “Blood.”

I read her lips more than hear the word. Thirty guys fighting didn’t scare her, but blood stripped her courage in a blink of an eye. I wipe my hand on the edge of my shirt and tuck it into my trousers.

“You’re okay.” I cup her face, looking into those steel-gray irises. “You’re okay, baby. Come on, I’ll get you out of here.” I say, lifting her into my arms.

We climb the stairs, passing the few guys that still stand. Security, along with Cai and Jackson, ends the brawl while Luca takes out his frustration on a broad, unconscious gym-goer. He pummels his fists into the guy’s face as if it’s a speedball used in boxing.

I place Layla on the sofa in my office, still pale, eyes on my trousers where I tucked the crimson hem of my shirt. “Look at me.” I take her cold, trembling hands in mine. “Are you feeling faint?”

She snaps out of the trance, inhaling deeply. “I’m sorry, I can’t look at blood. I panic.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

She jumps, startled when Luca barges in. He stops in front of her while I brush her hair away to check the damage.

“You got hit?! Shit!” Luca bends down to get to her eye level, his fists resting on the coffee table. “Who hit you?”

“A better question is, what did he hit you with? This doesn’t look good.” The last time she got hurt, I had a hard time controlling my temper. This time it’s different. I’m still worried, still furious, but watching over her puts my mind at ease.

“He aimed at someone else. It was an accident, Luca,” she says, her voice close to normal. “And I’ll be okay, Dante.”

“I don’t give a fuck if he wanted to hit you!” Luca bangs his fists on the table. “What did he look like?!”

It does nothing to scare Layla but a lot to piss me off.

I smack the back of his head. “You’ll regret this when you’re throwing up your teeth on the pavement.”

“They all look the same,” Layla says, ignoring the powerplay. “Tall and ripped.”

The door swings open again, and all my people walk in.

“You need stitches,” I tell her while Luca sulks on the couch. “We’re going to the hospital.” I glance at Spades. He had things to take care of, so he didn’t join us at the club until thirty minutes ago. “How much did you drink?”

“A few sips at most.”

“Good. You’re driving.”

Layla stands, pale again. “We’re not going anywhere. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine.” She fists my jacket, resting her forehead on my chest.

If the cut wasn’t as deep, I’d patch her up myself, but this can’t heal on its own. “Not this time. You need stitches.”

She hesitates for a moment. “But you’re coming with me.”

“I won’t let you go or out of my sight.”

Once in the ER, I walk on Layla’s left, blocking her view of the patients. There’s enough blood around to do a few transfusions, and I don’t feel like witnessing another panic attack. A girl sitting on the floor by the vending machines can’t be much older than Layla. Her face looks as if someone battered her with an iron. An older man hurls into the trash can while nurses rush around, patching up minor cuts.

We pass two police officers standing to the side with a group of bulky guys who must’ve arrived from Delta. I look at every one of them as if I can telepathically replace the one who hit my girl. I’d tear him apart bit by bit.

A nurse frowns at us from behind a tall reception desk when we head straight for the door leading out to the ward. “Where do you think you’re going?” She holds out a wad of papers. “You need to fill this out.”

“Pretend you can’t see us.”

“Excuse me?” She jumps out from behind the desk, blocking the way. “Who do you think you are? There’s a line. Fill this in, or I’ll call security.”

“My name is Dante Carrow. You can shove those papers, you-know-where. Security will kick you out of here well before me. This,” I point to Layla, “is my girl. She needs a few stitches. Doctor Carrow will take care of her in two minutes. Stop me again, and you’ll wave bye-bye to your job before you can say what.” Giving the woman no time to react, I drag Layla behind me toward the elevators. Once again, my stunt goes unnoticed. “No comments?”

“Compared to Frank, you’re almost polite.”

“I know you’ve seen your share of similar situations, but I expected you to step in.”

“I’ve been taught to keep my mouth shut.” She shrugs, watching the numbers change on the screen above the door. “I only object when someone might get hurt because of me.”

Dr. Carlton Carrow, dressed in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging over his neck, waits for us in the doorway of his office. At first glance, he’s like any other doctor. He isn’t, though. He’s a surgeon and my cousin, which makes him pretty fucking unique. Whenever one of my guys is shot or battered, Carlton puts them back together.

“She needs stitches,” I say, shaking his hand. “Some fucker split her head open at the club.”

Layla mumbles her name like a timid school girl switching schools in the middle of the semester. She sits on the bed, hands in fists, eyes closed even before Carlton gets anywhere near her.

“She can’t handle the sight of blood,” I explain. “And while we’re here, we need to get her on birth control.”

“One thing at a time.” He checks the wound and cleans the dried blood, grabbing a hemostat. “Three stitches should be enough. You’ll feel a bit of pressure.”

Layla stills, frozen like a statue. The fear etched into her expression cuts me so deep I feel like my lungs are filling up.

I wheel a chair from the desk to the bed and take her hands in mine. “How was the party?”

She starts breathing again but clutches my hands so hard she cuts off circulation. “Julij apologized for Dubai and has been on his best behavior. We had fun.” A smile on her lips tells me she can easily imagine my surprise. “I know. I didn’t expect it either. Turns out he tried to woo me back then.”

“Uh-oh,” Carlton smirks.

“No, it’s not like that. He’s over it, I think.”

“Are you telling me you spent the evening babysitting a guy who’s in love with you, and you had fun?”

She smiles again, relaxing a bit. Too bad my mental well-being gets the kicking.

“Jealous, are you?”

I ghost my lips over her knuckles. “Not at all.”

Carlton fake-coughs, sets the hemostat aside, and moves on to clean the stitched area.

Julij’s not one of my enemies. We only met six months ago when I visited my mother in New York. Nikolaj hunted me down and invited me for a drink. He wanted us to work together behind Frank’s back, but while they remain business partners, I want nothing to do with the New York King.

Thanks to my partners from Detroit, or their chemist, to be precise, I supply the best coke on the market. More addictive than street shit and less lethal, which means more long-term customers. That’s what Nikolaj would love to get his hands on. I’ve got a good thing going with the V brothers from Detroit, and easy access to the ports from Atlantic City, so Europe’s within my reach. New York’s closer, sure, but it means working side by side with Frank which won’t ever happen, so I shot Nikolaj down.

Julij joined the meeting, acting as if he owned the goddamn state. He was hitting on the waitresses, snapping his fingers at Nikolaj’s men, and looking down at me despite being a fucking newbie in this world. I wasn’t thrilled that Layla had to deal with him tonight, but she has a knack for putting people in their place. I wasn’t too worried before the party. Now, knowing she likes the brat who’s apparently in love with her, I want to dislocate his jaw.

“All done,” Carlton says. “I put dissolvable stitches in, so no need to come back. Keep it clean, and don’t use a brush or sleep on that side. You wouldn’t want to pull the stitches now, would you?” He looks at me. “Where the fuck were you when she got hit?”

Layla jumps to her feet, arms akimbo. “I don’t need a nanny, thank you very much.” She rolls her eyes at the skeptical look on Carlton’s face. “I can take care of myself.”

He cocks an eyebrow, taken aback by all her sass. “Feisty like her daddy. A bit of supervision won’t do you any harm. You’re in the middle of a war, Layla. It’ll be best if someone’s always watching over you.”

We’ll need to come back some other day for the contraceptive pill. I steer her out of the office before she starts hissing. Carlton will go down like a house of cards if he tries to argue. I pat his shoulder and close the door behind us.

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Star.”

“I know, but—”

“But you don’t like it when people treat you like a clueless princess. I know, but sometimes it’s better to let them say what they want.”

She crosses her arms with a frown. I’m ready for a snarky remark, but instead of snapping, a satisfied grin twists her mouth. “So, you’re jealous?”

She’s so adorable, sexy, and fucking irresistible when she holds her bottom lip between her teeth. I push her against the wall, and my teeth replace hers. We’ve spent so much time together this past month that seven hours without her mouth, scent, and closeness are more than I can handle.

“I am a very territorial man, and you are the most prized of my possessions. Jealous doesn’t begin to cover it.” I kiss her forehead. “How sore is my pussy, baby?”

She rests the back of her head against the metal wall of the elevator. “Sore enough that you can forget about round two tonight, baby. I want a hot-water bottle and a big bucket of ice cream.”

“Done. We’ll stop at the store on the way home.”