It was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, she’d shaken her head and was walking away.
“I really don’t want to hear about it,” she called over her shoulder as he raced to keep up. “You’re free to hook up with whoever you want.”
“It’s not what you think,” he said, staring in disbelief when she stopped beside a black BMW as though it was hers.
From the looks of her grim lips and narrowed eyes, she wasn’t buying it despite it being true. After all the awkwardness between Heather and Layla, Mateo had ordered himself an Uber and found his way home. And while Heather hadn’t exactly applauded his decision to leave, in the end, she let him go without a fuss.
Layla sipped her coffee and lowered her sunglasses onto her nose, adding yet another barrier for him to work through.
“Do you seriously want to do this?” she said. “Because I don’t. I don’t want to keep score of each other’s conquests. There’s no point. Your life is yours to live however you best see fit. You don’t owe me anything. And you certainly don’t owe me an explanation for kissing Heather Rollins.”
“I know,” he said quietly. And maybe that was part of the problem. At first kissing Heather had felt like some kind of vindication for Layla’s kissing Tommy, and he’d enjoyed it, there was no point denying it. But later, when it was over, it left him feeling strangely off-kilter and confused about what it was he really wanted out of life. “Listen . . .” Knowing he was seconds from losing her, he reached toward her, then watched as his hand fell away when Layla turned and slid behind the wheel of the car. “I just—” He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and started again. “Valentina’s sick, and I just thought . . . I thought you should know that.”
“Where is she?” Layla propped her glasses onto her head, her gray-blue eyes searching his.
“Well, I’m hoping to get her transferred to another hospital today, but . . .”
“She’s in the hospital?” Her jaw dropped, as she shifted the car into drive. “So what are you waiting for?” she shouted. “Get in!”
A moment later, he was buckling his seat belt and settling in beside her as Layla sped down the street.
THIRTY-THREE
ENTER SANDMAN
This time, when dawn arrived, Madison was ready.
She’d spent weeks going over her plan, and though it was far from foolproof, she no longer had the luxury of delaying. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, something told her that change was in the air. Whoever had been holding her captive would eventually grow bored with the routine they’d established, and it was anyone’s guess what they’d do once that happened.
Would they kill her?
Madison didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.
A quick peek in one of the mirrors reflected back the image of a grimy, scruffy, bedraggled girl with nothing to lose, and it was entirely true. She’d gone along and played the victim too long, and where had that gotten her?
Well, soon all that would end. She had every intention of fighting her way out, or she would die trying.
For the past week, she’d forced down all her meals and endured vigorous workouts that would rival even the most brutal cross-fit class. Though she was far from the top of her game, she felt capable and strong and it would have to suffice.
A few minutes before sunrise, she wrapped her cashmere shawl tightly around her hand, arced her Gucci sandal back behind her ear, and rammed her arm forward. Punching the spiked heel straight toward a long splice of mirror, she caught a glimpse of her wild eyes and determined face as the glass shattered all around her and splintered to the floor.
With no time to waste, she picked up a wide jagged piece, wrapped one edge in her shawl to avoid cutting herself, and swept the rest out of the way. Then, with her body pressed flush against the door, she stood back and waited.
A trickle of sweat rolled down her neck as her breath flared in her cheeks. Wasn’t much longer before the lights would switch on and her captor would come, but when they tried to thrust her meal through the slot, the door would be stuck.
The move was a risky one, but it was all she had.
Her regular three-square-a-day schedule indicated they were intent on keeping her alive—at least for now, anyway. But what if she’d fooled them into thinking she’d given up? That she’d forfeited the fight and was calling for her own personal hunger strike?
At that point, they’d be forced to come inside and check on her, and that was when she planned to strike.
That was when she’d surprise them at the door and stab them with the shard of broken mirror if necessary. Whatever it took to get the hell out of there.
Glancing between the watch on her wrist and the fluorescent light box overhead, she waited for the usual daily routine to begin.
Only it was already one minute past seven and the room was still dark, no one had come. And just like that, Madison’s thoughts darkened too.
What if something had happened to her captor?