27
Lyla
The stench of raw fish floods my nose, and I can barely feel my fingers the room is so cold. My head is pounding so I keep my eyes closed. Soon my memories all come flooding back, and I remember I’ve been taken. The last thing I remember is the SUV door opening, and I tried attacking the man. He was twice my size and grabbed my ankle as I kicked and screamed. Finally, he pulled me close enough to hit me on the head with the bottom of his gun.
I slowly open my eyes, careful not to move. I’m lying on the cold cement floor, and it’s dark and icy. A few minutes past with no other sounds but my breathing, I think I’m alone, so I get to my feet and look around. There is a small light down on the other end of the room, but there are shadows of things hanging from the ceiling between here and there, Tuna, I think. I make my way behind the racks and step carefully toward the light.
Suddenly, a door opens behind me. I turn to see a familiar face stepping in. Darren Henry, the cocky-ass pretty boy from my yoga class, wearing the same red shirt he was wearing when he grabbed me in the crowd of paparazzi; it makes sense now, except it doesn’t.
That son of a bitch, why would he do this? I’m so mad I’m not thinking straight and go after him, fists swinging. He’s not that much taller or stronger, and I land a good punch to his nose and left eye, but he grabs me by my wrists and turns me around, locking my back against his chest.
“Hello again, Lyla. It’s so nice to see you,” he whispers into my ear, his harsh breath brushing along my cheek and only making me want to kill him more. I kick back at his shins and scream, but I’m stuck. He laughs as he jerks me out of the locker and takes me through a house. I catalog everything I see, not sure it will help but it keeps me from panicking.
The floors are dark hardwoods with red-and-gold rugs; matching gold sconces on the walls light our way down a large hallway. Antiques litter the sides as we pass and finally turning a corner, two big bodyguard-looking men in tight black t-shirts stand outside a door. They open it, and I try one last time to free my arms, but in my struggle I push back on him. and I think I feel this loser’s dick digging into my back like he’s getting some sick pleasure out of this whole thing. The door opens to a large room with more dark wood and red rugs; a huge desk sits near the back where a man with white hair and a white beard sits looking down at something.
Darren pushes me forward but doesn’t let go of my wrist. Instead, he kicks a chair around and pushes me down into it. Someone must have handed him duct tape because the next thing I know, he’s taping my hands. I kick at him, hoping to knee him in the face, but he soon captures each foot and tapes me at the ankles to the legs of the wooden chair. I growl a little in frustration and defeat. He turns me to face the old man who still sits silent at his desk, not even sparing us a glance.
The doors behind me close but still he stays stoic, working on a tablet. It’s an eerie quiet, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m terrified of what will happen when he speaks so I stay quiet.
It feels like an hour has gone by when the door swings open again and turning my head, I see the two men that were outside the door hauling in none other than Howard Stapleton. The man responsible for destroying my life. His nose is bleeding, and he has cuts and bruises everywhere I can see, but I would recognize that potbellied bully anywhere. His t-shirt is ripped, and he’s not wearing any shoes.
They tape him to the chair next to me, and his head hangs down in defeat. I almost feel sorry for him, but in all honesty, if I weren’t tired up, I would still take a swing at him myself. Since I can’t quite reach, I cock my head back and spit on the side of his face. He doesn’t even move, and I wonder if he’s conscious or not.
“Interesting way to say hello to your partner, Ms. Turner.” The old man finally speaks, and I recognize his voice from when he called me. With this kind of manpower, I’m surprised he did it himself.
I don’t know what he wants me to say so I keep quiet, glaring daggers at him. Trying to act tougher than I feel.
“Now that I have your attention, I expect you to take me seriously. Howard here learned the hard way and I’m hoping you are as smart as I think you are,” he tells me while looking at me expectantly. Again, I have no fucking clue what to say so I nod, just agreeing.
“Good. Now, Mr. Stapleton, I am glad you have decided to accept my invitation. I have had to look extremely hard for you, and I am a very busy man. Imagine my surprise to find you in California with your partner in crime here.”
“What?” I ask and look to Howard for answers and denial. He can at least try and help me out of this now, but I have no way of knowing if he can hear us. Darren comes around and picks his head up to face him by pulling his hair. He only coughs, and I can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. Darren starts yelling in his face, demanding answers until the old man raises a hand.
“My friend here and his family have graciously lent me their beautiful residence, and Darren has been so helpful in tracking you both down. I appreciate everything, but if you would excuse the three of us, please,” he tells Darren and waves him out of the room. I can tell the psycho doesn’t want to leave and is enjoying the blood pooling at Howard’s feet a little too much but he obeys. When the door closes, the room is silent except for Howard’s wheezing.