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Elington immediately raises his hands, his eyes widening as he stammers, “I-I’m s-sorry…. I just… It’s that… why do you have a gun?”
I assess him over with suspicion, not trusting him one little bit. “Who do you work for?” I move toward him, forcing him to back up against the wall. “Did Reagan put you up to this? Is he setting me up? What’s your real name?”
“E-Elington.” He’s nervous enough that I can tell he’s probably never had a gun held to him or else he’s a damn good actor.
“How did you know I was on the stairway?” I ask, reducing the space between us as I inch closer to instill more fear and hopefully break him down if he’s hiding something.
“I… I was heading down to…” His eyes keep flicking to my gun and fill more and more with fear. “I was just… I can’t… I was heading down… t-the s-stairs and saw you and…” He breathes heavily, gasping for air. “I just wanted to see what it was life.” The words rush out of him as he leans back against the wall, trying to get as far away from me as he can.
I lower my gun to my side. The guy can barely talk when his life is threatened and it makes him even less suspicious. “You just wanted to see what what was like?”
“Sex… I just wanted to see what it was like but I didn’t think…” He sucks in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to my weapon. “I just want to go home,” he pleads. “Can I go now?”
“I need to see your wallet first,” I tell him and then don’t even bother waiting for him, stuffing my hand down his pockets until I find his wallet.
His eyes are practically bulging out of his head. “I-I don’t have that much money on me,” he stammers. “And I’m not rich.”
“I don’t want you’re money.” With my freehand, I open up the wallet and read his driver’s license. “Elington Burliford, 45455 Peach Tree Rd.” I look up at him. “How long have you lived at Peach Tree?”
“Um… I-I…” He sucks in a breath, trying to pull himself together. “About two years.”
“You go to college?”
“Y-yes.”
“And why can’t you get laid?” I ask, digging through his wallet. He barely has anything—a few credit cars, a gift card, a condom, and thirty-five bucks. “Go to a party or something. It’s easier than hiring an escort.”
“I’ve tried,” he says. “N-no one will even talked to me, let alone have sex with me.”
I look him over more closely; decent clothes, normal appearance, nothing weird or anything, but then again, the guys I’m running from know how to blend in when they need to. “Are you always this nervous around women?” I wonder. “Or is it just me?”
He swiftly nods. “I have a s-social anxiety disorder.”
Okay, now I just feel bad. And I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, which means I’m screwed. I’ve messed up big time and Reagan is going to be so pissed. He’ll use this against me—tell me he’s turning me in. If I were my father, I’d tie Elington up and threaten him until he gave in and swore he’d never tell. If he did, I’d track him down and kill him. It’s what the Anelli’s are known for. But I’m technically not an Anelli. I’m an Ander, my mother’s maiden name, another reason this Everson guy could quite possibly be my real father.
I give him back his wallet. “Alright, Elington. Today is your lucky day.”
“Okay… why’s that?” he asks, putting his wallet back into his pocket, his fingers trembling.
“Because the next time you go up to a woman, to talk or whatever, you can think of this moment and the concept of being nervous will seem silly,” I tell him. “Trust me, after today, everything’s going to seem easier than the time you tried to hire an escort.”
He doesn’t appear as if he’s buying it, but nods anyway. “Can I go now please?”
“Yeah, go ahead.” I move aside and motion for him to get a move on.
He takes off running so quickly that he trips down a few steps. But it doesn’t slow him down. He gets right back up and sprints up the stairs until he’s burst out the bottom door and into the outside.
I put my gun away and take my time going down the stairway, wondering where to go from here. Back home? To the Dusky Inn to talk to Reagan, see how much trouble I’m in if Elington reports me. Maybe I could talk to Nyjah, see if he knows about all this and if maybe he could help me.
“I should have been more careful,” I mutter to myself as I push the door open. The lights flip back on as I’m stepping out into the alleyway and light up the pavement in front of me. I let the door slam shut behind me and wrap my arms around myself as the cold air nips at my skin. It’s late, after midnight, the moon bright, stars shining against the dusky sky, so quiet, so peaceful. I wish things could just stay this way, right here, right now. That I didn’t have to move forward and deal with the things I’m facing. I should have been more careful, come up with a better alias, made Layton’s sacrifice more worth it.
With the limited numbness inside me, I almost start to cry thinking about him. I haven’t cried in a very long time and the sensation feels strange and kind of alarming.
But I manage to suck back the tears and head to the right toward the street, but stop dead in my tracks at the sight of what’s at to left my left at the end of the alley. Parked near the trashcans and hidden in the shadows is an oversized SUV with tinted windows.
“It could be just a normal SUV,” I whisper to myself as I move quickly for the street. “I’m just being paranoid.” I start to jog. “Just being paranoid…” I take off running. “Just being—” The headlights flip on and beam brightly against my back. I don’t give myself time to hesitate, running as if my life depends on it. Tires screech against the pavement behind me as the car drives forward.
I reach for my gun as I near the street, but right as I’m about to leave the alley, another vehicle pulls up and blocks my exit. It’s not an SUV, but a plain black car with no tinting, just like the one I saw in front of my house the other night. Light trails into the windows from the lampposts lining the street and nearby buildings and I can tell there’s only one person inside the car, but their face is just a shadow beneath the hoodie pulled over the head.
Is that the guy from out front?
They start to lean over for the passenger side door, which is closest to me and that’s when I notice the gun in their hand. I step back from the door, hurry to the side, then jump onto the hood of the car and barreling across it and hop into the street. Then I take off toward the corner, telling myself to look forward—don’t look back. But when I hear a loud crash and the sound of voices from close behind me, I can help but glance over my shoulder. The SUV has side swiped the car and dented in the door. I don’t stop. Only speed up more, especially when a group of large men hop out of the SUV, all dressed in dark clothes and packing. When I make out a few of their faces though, my heart does slam into my chest.
Frankie Catherlson’s men. What the hell? Why are they here? I don’t get it… don’t understand. I’m not stupid enough to turn around and ask them, though. Whatever the reason they’re here, can’t be good. So I run like I’ve never run before until I’m several blocks away from the hotel. Then I flag down the first cab I see and only breath freely when I’m in it and the door is shut.
“Where to?” The cab driver asks, looking over his shoulder at me with a smile on his face. But his grin immediately drops when he catches sight of my face. “Miss, are you okay?”
“Yeah… I’m fine,” I tell him breathlessly, wiping the sweat from my face. “Just take me to 49005 West Gray Street,” I sputter out my apartment address, but then wonder if I should go somewhere else. But I need to go back and at least get my money and a couple of other important items, like my identification before I try to take off. God, but how far am I going to make it now that they’re here?
With no other choice, I let the cab driver forward toward my apartment, letting myself look through the back window only when I know I’m going to be able to get away. But what I see makes me wish I ne
ver looked in the first place. Because standing in the shadows, at a distance, watching Frankie’s men chase after me, is someone I never thought I’d see again. At first I think he’s a ghost because that’s the only way I can be seeing him. I figment of my imagination. My ex-best friend. The man who saved me. The man who for the last eighteen months I thought was dead.
Layton Everett.
Chapter 8
Lola
Layton Everett. Layton. Layton. Layton.
“He’s supposed to be dead… I don’t understand it?” I whisper to myself as I pace the floor of my living room. It’s dark inside because I know better than to turn the lights on. I’ve changed into a hoodie, jeans, and boots and my hair is pulled into a ponytail. My bags are packed and waiting by the front door, my money and ID’s in them. I should leave right now. Walk away. But I can’t stop thinking about Layton. He’s here and alive. I know for a fact I saw him. I’m desperate to find out, desperate to see him again, desperate to understand why in the hell my Aunt Glady told me he died eighteen months ago. Desperate. Desperate. Desperate. And that desperation is keeping me in the living room instead of moving me toward the closet cab. I know if I stay here long enough, Frankie’s men will find me. And then what? I’m not sure why they’re here but it can’t be for any good reasons.
With my gun in my hand, I peer out the blinds, looking down from my second story window for any signs of mafia men lurking out there. But there’s nothing but cars in the parking lot and darkness—not a single person in sight.
“Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” I need to see Layton again or at least understand, otherwise it’s going to haunt me. So I do something I thought I’d never do. I dial my Aunt Glady’s number, hoping she can enlighten me, but her line has been disconnected. “Dammit!” I kick the wall then huff out a few frustrated breaths. I wait about ten minutes longer in the silence of my home, them give up and force myself to leave. Staying here means getting caught. And getting caught means God knows what. I can try to get a hold of Glady when I get somewhere safe… see what’s going on.
Even though it kills me, I pick up my bags and sling them over my shoulder, then depart through the kitchen and toward the back door that’s, taking measured steps. As I’m reaching for the doorknob, I hear voices from the other side. Son of a bitch. I back away from the door, the gun out in front of me, my other hand clutching onto the handles of the bags. They start banging on the door, like they’re going to break the damn thing down. I whirl around to run, not even sure where I’m running too, but slam into someone with a rock solid chest—the guy with the hoodie. It’s dark, so I can’t see their face, but I can tell from the height and build that it has to be a guy. Instinctively my knee shoots up and collides straight in between his legs, crushing his man jewels.
The guy hunches over, grunting in pain. “God dammit, Lolita!”
I almost drop my gun. Fall to the ground. Stop breathing. I do end up losing hold of my bags and they fall heavily to the floor. The men are still slamming against the back door of my house, making a shitload of noise, but it seems quiet through it, my body hitting some kind of eerie calm.
“You’re alive.” My voice is a whisper, stunned into a state of shock by the sight of the guy I thought I’d lost forever.
The moonlight hits Layton’s face, his strong features, his silvery eyes looking black, but I can picture the real color, have it memorized inside my head. “Of course I am. You didn’t think I’d let the Dellefontes get me that easy, did you?” He winces as he stand up, his hand on his injured man parts.
“But Glady said… she said…” I shake my head, wanting to scream. “You were dead. Eighteen months ago she said my father told her you—”
Someone slams against the door so forcefully it rattles the entire house and I jump forward straight into Layton, more skittish than normal, but I think it’s from the shock.
“It’s okay.” He steadies me with his hands. “We’re going to get you out of here, Lolita.” He calls me by my real name, which used to bother the shit out of me, but right now I could care less.
Something snaps inside me, breaks, like a rubber band, the only thing that was holding me together. “Why are you here?” My voice is off pitch as I nod my head in the direction behind me. “And them too. What the hell does Frankie want with me… I always though it would be the Dellefontes.”
Layton glances over my shoulder at the door then looks me directly in the eyes. It feels like my head is swimming… I can’t even think straight… he’s alive.
“We need to get you out of here.” His hands slide down my arms and he grips a wrist in each of his hands, caressing the skin like he used to do all the time. Just like when we were growing up, I feel safe even with all the danger around me. So safe. So at home.
So alive.
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks slamming into my stomach and knocking the wind out of me. I thought he was dead all this time and I was hurting more than I wanted to admit. But it was all for nothing. All that pain… for nothing?
“Wait a minute.” I attempt to slip my hand out of his, because I need answers, like the reason that he’s here and breathing, but he only grips tighter and forces me to follow him into my room, scooping up my bag in the process. “You need to tell me what’s going on.” I struggle to get free but Layton is way stronger than I am. “Layton, I thought you were dead... none of this makes sense.”
He gives me a sympathetic look, his silvery eyes mixed with anguish. “I know. And it’s been killing me for the last eighteen months… I swear it has…. But it needed to be done.” His eyes plead for me to understand, but how can I when I have no clue what’s going on.
We stare at each other silently as I try to read him, but it’s too dark to see what’s really going inside those eyes, what lies behind all the sadness. I used to be able to read him better, but I can tell he’s purposefully shutting me out.
There’s a cool breeze blowing in from the broken window on the wall near my bed. “Did you break in here?” I stare down at the glass on the floor, trying to collect myself.
The corners of his lips quirk and for a second his old playful attitude slips through, despite it being an inappropriate time. “How do you think I got in? Walked through the walls?” Then without warning, he gets behind me and shoves me forward.
I stumble and land on the bed, but scurry to my feet and whirl to face him. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but you better start—”
A crash from inside the house makes both our eyes widen and my grip on my gun tighten.
“Out the fucking window, now Lolita,” he demands and then pushes me again. “I promise, when we get to someplace safe, I’ll explain everything to you.”
My back hits the wall right beside the window and I elevate my gun at him. There are so many things I want to say to him, but footsteps and voices get closer, I know I have a choice to make. Just like I did when Frankie took me to that warehouse two years ago and showed me the video of my father—let him die or kill. I chose to kill and right now I’m choosing to trust Layton enough to jump out the window.
Spinning around, I tuck my gun into the back pocket of my jeans, tug the hoodie over my head, and without any hesitation, jump out the window and into the night. It’s not a far fall, so it doesn’t hurt that much, but I do lose my balance and end up falling on my hands on knees. As I get to my feet, someone falls to the grass beside me, landing with a hard thud and a grunt. I immediately aim at them and run forward, getting my feet underneath me. Once I’m upright, I spin around and hold the 9mm steady.
“Okay, start talking,” I demand to Layton as he gets up and brushes some grass from the sleeve of his jacket, still holding my bag. I know we’re not in a safe place right now, but I still don’t trust him. When I left, Layton was working for Frankie and it was never explained why. For all I know this could be another kidnapping trap. Perhaps he could be luring me into the shadows so the rest of the men can get me. Or maybe he’s the one sent her to make the hi
t on me. “Oh God… are you here to get me?” I stumble back from him. “Are you the one sent to put the hit on me?”
His lips part in shock. “What… no.” His expression swarms with perplexity as he matches my steps, stealing back any distance I attempt to take. “Look, I’ll explain in the car.” He extends his hand for me but I wrench back and dodge out of his reach. “Lola, you can trust me. Deep down, you know that.”
I shake my head, looking around the empty parking lot. “You have to give me something. I haven’t seen or heard from you in nearly two years, I thought you were dead, and then suddenly you show up with them.” I swing my gun up toward the window where Tony Madman Makafee, a man who aided in my kidnapping and tranquilized me, is looking out the window at us. He raises his gun as Layton’s fingers enfold around my arm and then he takes off toward a car parked near the street, the sound of the fire chasing after us.
“Does it seriously look like I’m with them, Lolita?” he calls over his shoulder as he hunkers down behind a car, pulling me down with him.
