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But then we were stopping once more.
For the final time.
I knew it because the engine actually cut, then the trunk popped and I was face-to-face with Lorenzo again for what felt like the first time in days.
"Long day," he agreed, seeming to read the exhaustion on my face as he reached in the trunk, gently grabbing my arm, helping pull me out.
We were in some kind of underground parking, but any hopes of being seen were immediately dashed.
We were alone.
Once I was out, Lorenzo shrugged out of his suit jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. I thought it was an almost sweet gesture at first until I saw him buttoning it up, caching me—and my bound wrists—inside.
Then he was swooping low, scooping me up, and tucking my face into his chest, holding it there a bit awkwardly with the arm that was around my back and shoulder, blocking the fact that I was duct taped from view as he carried me in through a back door, then toward an elevator, not releasing me until the doors slid closed.
Then, surprisingly, he put me down, taking off the jacket, taking off the cuffs, and peeling off the duct tape.
"Private elevator," he told me, smirking a little at my scrunched brows. "This is it. The bound and gagged shit is over. You can get a pretty free run from here on out. Except maybe I will make sure all the knives and heavy items are stashed away," he said, reaching up to touch the side of his jaw and ear where I'd struck him with the whiskey bottle.
"So, what? I'm a house guest?" I asked, watching as he held back a smile. "What?"
"Nothing, kid. Just an interesting choice of words, is all. Yeah, go ahead and think of yourself as a house guest."
"One who can't leave," I specified.
"Obviously. And there will always be someone around to make sure that can't happen. But other than that, no more locking you up or taping your mouth shut."
"To what end?" I asked, shaking my head.
"Until your father pays what he owes," Lorenzo said, shrugging, stepping out onto the floor as the doors dinged and opened.
Because, of course, private elevators always led to penthouse residences.
There would be no hallway.
No prying eyes.
No way out.
It was a beautiful prison, though, I admitted to myself as I stepped into the open concept living space.
There were floor-to-ceiling windows spanning two whole sides of the apartment, showing breathtaking views of the city below, the light already mostly gone for the day, making me realize I had lost something like twelve hours in that trunk. No wonder everything hurt and my bladder was screaming and my stomach was grumbling.
To the right of the space was a kitchen with dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and white countertops. Directly forward was a long L-shaped sectional in a deep gray with an oversize gray and white striped ottoman, everything facing the massive TV attached to the wall, floating above a wooden console table that matched the kitchen cabinetry.
Off to the side of the TV wall was a hallway that led back. To the bed and bathrooms, I figured.
Even just the main area was a massive space. I could fit my entire apartment into the kitchen.
A part of me was impressed.
The other part was angry that I felt that way for a moment because I knew where the money for this apartment came from.
From people like my father, like me, who were indebted to them, who struggled to pay their bills each month, while they lived in the lap of luxury.
"All this seems self-explanatory," Lorenzo said, waving an arm out at the space. "Feel free to help yourself to everything in the kitchen. Save for the aforementioned knives and heavy instruments," he added, giving me a boyish smile as he moved over toward the hall. "And down here," he said, waiting for me to follow behind. And, with little other choice, I did. "We have the half bath, then the guest room. Your room," he clarified, opening the door, revealing a sleek, understated space with more dark woods, and crisp white bedding. I glanced hopefully at the window above the bed, but felt my spirits plummet when I saw that it, like all the windows in the main area, was solid. There was no exit. "You have your own full bath. Don't get too excited," he said, making me turn back and see the wicked smirk he was giving me. "There is no exit from there either."
There had to be an exit somewhere.
It was basic building code fire safety.
There had to be at least two exits.
The elevator barely counted since you couldn't use that in an emergency.
"I am across the hall," he went on, moving back into said hall, extending an arm toward his door. "And then there is the gym," he said, leading me to the end of the hall and into a space slightly larger than my bedroom, stocked with all the basic essentials: treadmill, stationary bike, a stair climber, a weight bench, and about every size free weight known to mankind. "Yeah, might have to do something with those too, huh?" he asked, and when I glanced over, his hand was rubbing across the back of his neck. "I could just lock you out of here, but I figure this situation sucks enough for you. I can't deny you a little activity now and again. Alright. Why don't you settle in? I'd offer you something to wear, but I think you'd look like an infant wearing their father's clothes if I tried to give you any pants. I can give you a shirt though. I will have things picked up for you. But I imagine you are going to want to clean up now."
