I’ve been in a couple of them over the last couple of years. This one looks similar: cots, boxes of food, jugs of water, weapons, supplies, and the light is coming from a lantern in the middle of the room, which I’m assuming Solana lit.
I set Lola on one of the cots while Solana strolls over and starts looking around at the cans of food on the shelf while slipping off her leather jacket.
“It looks like it’s been a long time since someone’s been down here,” she remarks, running her fingers along a layer of dust.
“That’s a good thing. It means more people don’t know about it.” I smooth my hand over Lola’s head, wishing things could stay exactly this way. But deep down, I know she’s going to wake up. And I’m eventually going to have to tell her the whole truth, not just about our past, but about my family’s, Frankie’s, her mother’s.
I’m worried she’s never going to talk to me again. I’m not sure I can handle her out of my life once more. It nearly killed me the first time.
Chapter 5
Lola
When I open my eyes, I have no idea where I am. In a bed, yes. Where, I have no idea. It feels warm around me, like I have a blanket over me, and the air smells like wood and damp earth.
There are people talking somewhere, so I don’t dare move. I simply lie there, stirring in my own panic. Finally, after lying there for an eternity, I open my eyes. The light stings, and I blink several times until my vision comes into focus. I’m in some kind of storage room with no windows and a lot of shelves with canned goods on them.
I make out Layton and Solana sitting in fold up chairs not too far away from me, their guns on their laps, having an intense conversation.
I discreetly reach around to get my gun out of my jeans, but it’s not there. As slowly as I can, I then move my arm down to my boot and draw out my knife, knowing it’s going to be useless against their guns. Then I take a deep breath, and before I can back out, I throw the blanket off me and spring up from the bed.
When my clunky boots hit the wooden floor, they both look over at me. Solana seems unsurprised, but Layton appears uneasy.
“Lola, just calm down and let me explain,” he says, putting his hands up, eyeing the knife in my hand.
“Five seconds,” I tell him with the knife pointed out in front of me.
“Five seconds, and then what?” Layton asks, gradually setting his gun on the floor.
“Five seconds to give me a good explanation as to why the fuck you tranquilized me and what the hell is going on. And if you can’t, I’ll slit your throats and run.” I’m being a little overdramatic. I know this, but I need answers.
Layton struggles for words. “Lola, I … We need to … You and I—”
“Oh, for the love of God.” Solana tosses her gun to the side, gets up, and crosses the room in three long strides. She grabs the knife out of my hand and chucks it to the floor. “He tranquilized you because you’re easier to save when you’re passed out. And what’s going on is that you have Frankie Catherlson, the Defontelles, and the Everetts all wanting to kill you. So, congratulations. You’re probably the most wanted woman in mafia history.”
“The Everetts?” Baffled, I glance over at Layton in shock. “Is that true? Does your family want to kill me, too?”
He reluctantly nods as he gets up from his chair and takes a few cautious steps toward me, the floorboards creaking under his weight. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I didn’t know how.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I say, wondering what part Solana plays in all this. Layton said she was sent to kill me, but she hasn’t. Why? Furthermore, who sent her if there’s three of them who want me dead? “I mean, I understand why the Defontelles want me dead … And Frankie, I guess. But why your family?”
“For the same reason as Frankie’s.” He spits Frankie’s name venomously.
“For revenge on my father?” I ask, and he nods. “What does your father have against mine? I thought they got along for the most part?”
“They don’t … At all. They haven’t for a long time …” He trails off, shaking his head as he closes the space between us. There are bags under his eyes, his hair is sticking up all over the place, and he looks strung out. “Lola, I lied about why Frankie’s men are after you. I was afraid to tell you the real reason since my family is a part of it, since they have a hit on you. I didn’t think you’d trust me, especially after all the lies already.”
“A part of what, exactly?” I look from Layton to Solana, who shrugs.
“Don’t look at me,” she says, backing away. “It’s his job to tell you.”
“But it’s your story,” Layton tells her. “You should be the one—”
“I don’t want to talk about what happened to me,” she cuts him off, fire momentarily flaming in her eyes, emotions so powerful I feel them in my own gut.
Anger. She’s angry.
She picks up her gun and her jacket then heads for the stairs. “I’m going to check on things. Have fun, kids.” With that, she leaves Layton and I alone as she trots up the stairs and disappears.
“Are you the one who’s going to do it?” I pick up my knife.
Layton looks appalled by my statement. “What? No. God, Lolita, I wish you’d quit saying that.” He rubs his hand down his face then releases a stressed breath. “Can I at least hold you while I tell you?”
I pull a wary face, shaking my head. “You know that’s never been my thing.”
“I know, but I need it right now.” He extends his hand toward me. “Please.”
I eye his hand for a while then finally take it. He laces our fingers together then guides me toward a chair. When he sits down, he pulls me onto his lap.
“You remember the day your … mother died?” he starts, wrapping his arms around my waist. “And how the Defontelles, the Catherlsons, and my family were all there at your house?”
I nod. “How can I forget? It was one of the worst days of my life.”
“Well, they were there for a meeting.” He brushes his fingers through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “A potential business offer for your father, but he wouldn’t take it because of your mother.”
“What kind of a business offer?” I glance at the stairs where Solana disappeared. “I’m guessing it has to do with Solana and that school she was sent to.”
His body stiffens. “That’s not really a school, so much as a warehouse to breed … murderers, assassins—whatever you want to call them.”
My jaw drops. I’ve heard a lot of shit in my life, seen a lot of bad stuff—death, murder, dishonesty, back stabbing—but this? This is disgusting.
“Wait a minute. When
you say breed, what exactly do you mean?” I think I already know, and it makes me sick just thinking about it.
“I mean, they take young children and train them to be killers.” He pauses, and I can hear his pulse hammering. “They breed, meaning they have women there who are being kept against their will to have children with good bloodlines who are to be raised in that environment. Then, when they get old enough, they sell them off.”
My stomach churns, and I’m worried I’m going to throw up all over Layton.
The fact that my father sent someone to that place—sent Solana there, my half-sister, my flesh and blood—is sickening. The fact that he could do that makes me wish I really am an Anders and nothing more. It makes me wish I could drain the Anelli blood from my body.
“Why do they do this?” I ask then shake my head. “Never mind. I already know. For the money. It’s always about the money.”
“There’s a lot of money in it, yes.” He stares at me momentarily before shutting his eyes and leaning into me. “I want you to know that I didn’t know about this until I went to work with Frankie. It nearly killed me knowing … The things they made me do … The things I saw … It was killing me inside.”
“I know it was.” I smooth my hand over his head, remembering how I noticed how different, how burdened he looked after he started working for Frankie. “I saw that it was.” I smooth my hand over his head for what feels like hours while he breathes in and out.
Finally, he pulls away to look at me again, his eyes a little watery. “Run away with me.” There’s desperation in his eyes, a silent plea.
“What?”
He sits up and cups my face between his hands. “Run away with me. We can start over. I’ll keep you safe. Please tell me you trust me enough to run away with me, like you told me you would when we were fourteen … God, I wish I would have just done it. Things would have been so different if I’d just done it back then.”