Savage Wounds: A Masked Stalker Vigilante Mafia Romance (Kayla's story) (Messina Crime Family Book 4) by Lilian Harris

Author:Lilian Harris [Harris, Lilian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KAYLA

Light drips through the slits of my eyes, my arms stretching above my head. And for a moment, I’m not sure where I am and why it’s so bright in here. As I open my lids and blink around the room, I realize I’m not home.

It’s then I remember I’m in A’s home. In his bed.

I shoot up to a seated position, realizing he isn’t here, but my clothes are lying neatly on the foot of the bed.

I fell asleep here! Shit. How did I manage to do that? One second, I was lying in bed; the next, I’m waking up in the morning. The clock on the wall reads eight.

Chris must be going insane, searching for me. Probably called Michael and they have a search party looking for me.

But then the very thought infuriates me. I’m a grown adult. I can sleep over at anyone’s house. I don’t need to sneak around. I’m not a teenager.

With a harsh exhale, I flip my legs out of the bed and find my cell on the nightstand, waiting there with a bottle of water and a note.

I pick it up, and warmth instantly fills my limbs.

I like knowing you think about me even as you sleep. You said my name so many times. I just lay awake beside you, listening to you. You entice, babe, even when you’re unconscious.

Come downstairs. I made you breakfast. Your favorite.

-A

Babe.

That word…it does so many things to me.

A smile pulls at my mouth, but then the sudden realization hits.

Wait a minute. My eyes pop wide.

He slept next to me? I said his name in my sleep? And…he knows my favorite breakfast? How…

He’s been watching you. That’s how, you idiot. What part of stalker is hard for you to comprehend?

I get to my feet, quickly slipping out of his shirt before putting on my clothes, then head down the stairs. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hits my nostrils. And suddenly, I’m a little less peeved with my stalker. I mean, he made coffee. And breakfast. After breaking out those assholes from prison and letting me kill them. I say he gets a major pass.

His back is to me as soon as I step into the kitchen, his muscles rippling and flexing beneath his black hoodie as he stands in front of the stove, flipping something on it.

Hope springs to life that maybe he forgot his mask and I’ll finally learn who he is. But as soon as he turns around, holding a plate with a burrito on it…

Fuck me. That thing isn’t even scary anymore. It’s funny now. The entire fact of this masked man making me breakfast would make the outside world think I’ve gone mad.

But, I mean, let’s be real. I kinda have.

I give the plate a glance. He does know my favorite breakfast, doesn’t he? I don’t even need to bite into it to know he made me an egg-and-cheese burrito with avocado. It’s what I eat every single day.

Pulling a stool before the counter, I settle onto it and place my cell down.

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