Her fear cut through me like a hot knife. I loved Lyla with all that I was. I would never hurt her. She had to know I’d never hurt her.
Without my permission, the darker side of me crept in, and the desire to sink my knife into her milky skin moved over me, taking away my breath and my will.
CHAPTER 28
LYLA
I WAS SEEING things. This couldn’t be right. Christopher Jacobs was innocent. He was the love of my life, and he was innocent. He didn’t do the things everyone said he did. He didn’t kill Sarah and Michael. He didn’t kill Carlos and the rest of the boys in the Mexican Mafia the way the inmates thought. And he definitely hadn’t sliced Douglas open and bled him out in the middle of my living room.
He couldn’t have. Especially since not thirty minutes before he was touching me sweetly and telling me how much he loved me. Not when he’d made love to me all night, holding me like I was his life and bringing me to the edge of everything over and over again.
He was my protector—my savior—he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. He wasn’t the bad guy or the criminal. He wasn’t the monster.
Then again, if he were so innocent, then why was he standing over Douglas’ dead body in the middle of my living room? Why was he covered in blood and looking down at Douglas with a smile?
“You’re X,” he whispered to no one, his shoulders tense.
My eyes moved over his body, taking in the blood on the khakis he’d put on after his shower and the red smeared all over his hands and face.
“She’s next.”
His voice was a sinister whisper. I’d never heard him speak that way before, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
“No. Not Lyla,” he begged.
It was confusing. It was like watching two different men speak.
At that moment, it hit me. Christopher Jacobs and X were two different men. My brain spun, and everything I learned in Psychology class rushed through my memory. Dissociative Identity Disorder was the medical term. Christopher had multiple personalities. I wasn’t a doctor so I couldn’t officially diagnose him with that, but it was obvious from where I stood that he was a very sick man.
“We don’t hurt Lyla; we protect her. We love her.”
My heart squeezed in my chest, being squished tightly between the love I had for Christopher and the pain of finding out that he was sick and a murderer.
His madness unraveled in front of me as he had a conversation with himself… as he debated on whether or not to kill me. He wanted me dead, and he wanted to protect me all at the same time.
His eyes moved my way and latched onto me. Pain moved over his expression, and his shoulders dropped.
“Lyla.” My name rushed from his lips in a whisper. “I’m sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me”
He dropped to his knees and the urge to go to him—to hold him—was overwhelming.
As he shook his head in disbelief, his eyes glazed over and filled with heated tears. He looked so lost—so afraid. The big, fearless man he’d always been was gone. In his place was the scared nineteen-year-old boy I’d seen in the pictures. I didn’t understand it.
The path of my tears cooled on my skin and I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. It was all too much to take in. The man I was in love with was a murderer—a monster—a sick person in need of mental health professionals immediately.
The knowledge of what was going on trickled through my brain and down my spine until it reached the pit of my stomach, making me nauseated.
“I think I killed him.”
He looked up at me in desperation, his eyes full of trust, and I had to close my eyes and look away when a single tear dripped down his cheek.
“Please, Lyla. Please help me,” he begged.
My legs moved on their own, stepping around Douglas until I was standing before Christopher. Tucked away in the back of my mind was fear. I was putting myself in the path of a brutal murderer, but I loved him so much. I couldn’t stand by and watch as he begged for my help. Not after all he’d done for me. Not after all we’d been through together. And if by some chance he turned on me and took my life, then so be it.
He fell forward, his bloodied face buried in my stomach, and I couldn’t help myself, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His body shook as he cried, his deep, manly voice breaking over his tears as he tried to talk with his face smashed into my stomach.
“Shhh,” I soothed him with closed eyes. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you some help.”