Chapter Twenty-Seven

Layla

Waking up in a strange, dark room was not my idea of a good time, especially when I’d planned to spend the night screaming the name of a hot mobster. But in general, I didn’t like waking up with no fucking clue where I was, how I got there, and most of all, who brought me. Oh, and I was tied to a fucking chair.

Luckily a flashing light just outside one of the curtains told me I was at some kind of cheap motel. Based on the stench in the room and the flashing neon lights, it was probably the kind that charged rooms by the hour.

“Hello? Hello?”

Why in the hell did I speak out loud? The room was completely dark, and other than the TV blasting from the rooms on either side of me, there were no other sounds. Was I alone? I thought of the big, sweaty son of a bitch who pushed his way into my apartment. Was the angry hulk standing behind me, watching and waiting for his opportunity to strike? Or was he just an errand boy and someone worse awaited me? I wondered if Eamon had something to do with this.

Luckily no one answered my call.

I needed to move quickly and quietly, first by figuring out how in the hell to free my hands. I squeezed my eyes shut, tugged as hard as I could, ignoring the pain in my arms as they strained behind me, and waited for the cold metal bite of handcuffs. But it never came. Instead I felt hard plastic dig into my wrists as I jerked to get free.

“Dammit,” I hissed. Zip ties. I might not have been the smartest girl on the block, but I knew when zip ties were involved, it was likely a serial killer was around, which meant I was in big damn trouble. I let out a low breath.

Okay think, Layla, think.

I had to find a way out of here. My head throbbed like the world’s worst hangover. I blotted that out and squeezed my eyes shut tight until I saw bursts of color like a pain-filled fireworks display. Then slowly, the pain subsided and I snapped my eyes open to focus on the dark room.

By the flashing light outside the window, I could see a chair exactly like mine, a table with a cell phone, and when I twisted just so, I saw behind me at least one bed. I assumed the room had a bathroom, but I couldn’t see it. My chair was positioned in the center of the room so all I could see clearly without turning myself into a pretzel was the window and the door.

No doubt trouble waited for me on the other side of the door, but if I could just get to the window, maybe I could escape. I closed my eyes and held my breath, listening for sounds of movement inside and outside the room, anything that said someone was about to hurt me. I heard nothing. Somehow, I managed to get to my feet and stand hunched over with the chair strapped to me. I walked two steps before a wave of pain was back, dizziness crashed over me, and I had to stop. The chair and I slammed back onto the floor, the impact hitting me like a wrecking ball.

I remembered getting hit, but I didn’t know what he’d used. A hammer? The butt of a gun? Whatever it was, it made my head throb like a jackhammer. Making all that worse, I couldn’t seem to stand more than a few seconds before my legs turned to limp noodles.

Okay Layla, get up and do this.

I sucked in several deep breaths and let them out slowly before I stood up again and moved another few feet toward the window before I collapsed to the floor again. As soon as my ass hit the seat, the doorknob turned and seconds later the thug appeared in the doorway.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

The big fat ginger grinned. “Unfortunately that’s not on the menu. Yet. But you are a pretty little thing.”

I bit back a shudder. This guy had already shown a love of violence.

I snarled, “Why am I here?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that one of the two men in my life right now had to be involved somehow. If I could get my hands on Eamon or Dad right now!

“Don’t worry Layla,” he grunted. “I have no plans to hurt you.”

He stepped inside the room and walked over to my chair. Up close, I could smell the sweat, beer and stale cigarette stench coming from him. He traced a finger down my jawline, and I thought I would gag, recoiling out of his reach.

“You already hurt me or is beating up on women some kind of sick foreplay to you?”

He shrugged and took a step back, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He popped one in his mouth in that practiced way of a lifelong smoker.

“You had to be difficult.”

“Right. And when strangers come up to your door blowing stinky smoke in your face, you just let them in, right?”

This guy was full of shit but everything about him said low-level gangster. I’d seen enough movies to spot one and this guy was nowhere near as polished as Eamon, which meant he wasn’t on the same level. At least I assumed so. Then again, I was new to the mobster world and maybe the movies had gotten it wrong all these years.

“Doesn’t matter.” He lit the cigarette and took a long satisfying pull before blowing all the smoke in my face.

“Asshole.”

“You’re here now,” he said, like I hadn’t said a word. “You won’t get hurt as long as you behave.”

I could just imagine what he meant by behave.

“What the fuck is going on? Tell me why I’m here!”

“You’ve got fire. I can see why he likes you.”

“He? He who? Who the fuck is he?” I wanted to know but I was as terrified as I was curious, and terror won out. “Are you going to kill me?”

He smiled behind his scruff. “Not if I don’t have to.”

Which wasn’t exactly a definitive answer, was it? I could only glare at the jerk who seemed to be having a lot of fun at my expense.

“What does that mean?” I wished I didn’t sound so scared. I knew that put me at a disadvantage.

“You’re leverage and that’s all you need to know. Now be a good girl and I won’t have to hurt you. No matter how much I might want to.”

This time, the thug ignored my attempts to outrun the brush of his hand down my cheek, his smelly hand making me retch.

A phone rang and the ringtone sounded oddly familiar. The guy lifted a phone off of the table and held it up to give me a good look at it.

“Hey,” I said, more outraged now than scared. “That’s my phone!”

He grunted again, this time into the phone. “Hello?”

His face tugged into a smile that shaved about ten years from his haggard face. He laughed just a little too loud and too fake.

“It’s good to hear from you too, Connelly.”

Connelly? Eamon? That answered the question to which man was responsible for my current dilemma. This night really hadn’t gone how I planned.

No, not at all.