LAYLA ABRAHAM

She winced and groaned in pain as she began to come to. She squeezed her eyes, trying to get them to open up. After a few attempts, she was successful.

"Layla." A small voice called out to her, pulling her out of her slumber.

Her head throbbed painfully and a groan passed her lips as she became more aware of it. When she raised her hand to rub the spot, she couldn't help but wonder if she had another concussion.

That train of thought stopped short when she felt both hands move even though she had only intended to use one. Her eyes flew wide open despite the way the bright lights hurt her eyes and they zeroed in on the handcuffs which bound her hands together. When she tugged again, her eyes landed on the radiator that she was chained too, restricting her movements.

Layla had never been into BDSM – not that she judged or looked differently at anyone who was – and frankly, these handcuffs screamed kinky at her.

Too bad she wasn't in a kinky mood.

When she tugged on them, they barely moved. Instead, they just rattled loudly against the metal of the radiator, causing her to wince from the loud noise. The pounding in her head made her more sensitive to noise.

The handcuffs were very sturdy which suggested that they were more than the standard novelty ones people bought.

In fact, they looked official.

A frustrated groan sounded from somewhere deep inside her as she tugged harshly, flailing from side to side in her vicious attempt to escape the imprisonment of the handcuffs. The radiator didn't budge and a loud clanging noise sounded with all the tugging, but nothing.

Even when the sharp metal cut into her skin, she didn't relent. It was only when a familiar voice called out to that she halted in her actions.

"There's no point. We've already tried that."

Her head shot up and she locked eyes with muddy brown pools she feared she would never see again.

"Actually, it would be better if you stopped that. You could hurt yourself. Also, if they hear you, it might aggravate them and we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt." He smirked at the end, more so for her sake than his, but she couldn't bring herself to return the thoughtful gesture.

She was so glad he was okay. Well, as okay a person could be who was also handcuffed to a radiator and with blood staining his trousers. There was so much blood she didn't know exactly where he was hurt.

"Jerome." She called out his name, still shocked at seeing him alive and well. Well, he appeared far from well.

Last time she saw him, it was a brief glance out the window to spy his unmoving body lying on the ground of the fire escape. She had been worried he was dead but was now grateful to discover that he wasn't.

"How did you get here?"

"The same way you did." His reply was dry and distasteful, and he frowned when he glanced around the room.

Following his actions, her eyes widened when she noticed that they weren't alone.

Her eyes landed on two familiar figures, both hooked on a radiator similar to theirs on the other side of the room. While she was relieved to see one of them, the other one caused her pent-up rage and anger to boil under her skin. If she could just get her hands free, she would throw herself at him and claw his eyes out.

She tore her eyes away from him and looked away.

Layla refused to acknowledge him. He wasn't worthy of even a grain sized piece of her attention.

"Is he dead?" She trained her eyes on the movement of his chest, trying to discern whether he was still breathing or not. A wave of relief washed over her when she noted that his chest was indeed moving up and down as he inhaled and exhaled. The movement was slight and far in between, but it was still there.

That had to count for something.

Jerome shook his head. "I don't think so. He was awake and screaming a few hours ago. He was pretty hysterical, actually." He winced visibly, and she wasn't sure if it was from the pain of his injury or the memory of Byron screaming and begging for his life.

"And he fell asleep?" She questioned, unsure.

"Kind of. They got tired of the noise and came down to shut him up." He explained.

"They beat him up?"

Jerome nodded. "He must have cried himself to sleep after. I'm not sure."

Nixon sent a look of disgust towards his radiator buddy. "It was pathetic." He chimed into the conversation.

Jerome and Layla shared a look, neither of them deeming him worthy of a response.

"What? Are you guys not going to answer me?" He questioned and when they didn't, he scowled deeply. "You can't just ignore me."

From their current predicament, neither Layla or Jerome had much power. But one they could do was ignore him like the scum that he was, and they had him to thank for the idea.

"How long have we been here?"

Jerome shrugged. "I'm not sure. A couple of hours, at least, I think. It hasn't gotten dark yet." He cocked his head up towards the one window in the room, his eyes trained on the little light that shone into the room.

A brief silence enveloped the room as she tried to wrap her head around everything.

"Layla, I'm sorry." He sighed, the sadness and grief apparent on his face.

He looked like he wanted to continue but she refused to listen to it.

"Don't you dare apologise. None of this is your fault, Jerome. You couldn't have possibly seen any of this coming."

"It is." He insisted with a pained expression on his face. "I'm your bodyguard. It was my duty to keep you safe and I wasn't able to do that. I'm so sorry."

"I bet you feel like a failure, huh?"

"Shut up, Nixon!" She snapped at him before she was able to hold herself back.

"I was starting to think you didn't recognise me." His smirk grew larger in size, having won. "What's wrong? We got along so great last time."

"That was before I knew what a disgusting criminal you are." She spat at him.

He threw his head back and laughed, and she secretly wished she could reach over and bang it against the wall a few times, just for good measure.

"I was a disgusting criminal back then too; you just didn't know it." He stressed upon her choice of words. "How does it make you feel knowing that I was able to pull a fast one on you?" He cackled to himself, their predicament obviously making him go crazy. "Did you know I was the one that encourage Byron to go to the chief about your secret relationship with that bodyguard of yours?"

"That was you?" Her jaw dropped and she stared at him incredulously.

Nixon smirked triumphantly, as if he was proud of himself and all that he had done. "He was too good at his job of guarding you. He never left your side. I needed to do something about that."

"I hate you." She spat at him, wishing the daggers she was glaring at him could at the very least, do some bodily harm.

"Get in line."

Layla rolled her eyes and turned to Jerome. "What happened to your leg?" She asked, concerned with the amount of blood she saw.

Almost as if her words reminded him of his injury, he groaned and attempted to move it, unsuccessful. "I was jumped on the fire escape and stabbed in the thigh."

She held back her tears. "Who stabbed you? Nixon?"

The man in question snorted at her question. "I'm afraid I didn't get the honour. My job was to distract you so they could grab you. Turns out I was able to do both." He shrugged and smirked, almost as if he was proud of himself.

He probably was.

"You were working for them the whole time?" She asked even though she could guess the answer.

He grinned, cheerful that she had finally understood. "You felt bad that I got beat up, but that was all staged. Some of it was makeup, too. I needed people to believe that I was one of you. I needed you guys to trust me so I could find out what you knew and relay the information." His grin widened. "How does it make you feel knowing that I had you fooled this whole time?"

"If you're so great, then how come you're stuck in here with us?"

When he zipped his mouth shut with a dark look on his face, she grinned.

Her small victory was short and sweet as the smile was soon wiped from her face. Their conversation died and they all turned their heads towards the door. It opened to reveal the star of her nightmares.

He closed the door behind her and scanned the room, checking on each of them, almost as if he scared. His eyes lingered on Byron for a few seconds, almost as if he was making sure he was still alive, before he continued his search. When his eyes reached hers, he stopped.

"I'm glad you're awake. I was starting to get worried." It almost sounded like he was concerned.

Almost.

She knew he wasn't.

Speechlessness washed over her as she stared at the famous ocean blue eyes that haunted her from the very first day she met him.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?"

She physically flinched at his term of endearment for her.

Last time she had seen him, she had told him that she didn't like being called that because of her ex-boyfriend, Kevin, but now, sweetheart was specifically reserved for him. Telling him that it made her skin crawl, made him use it more.

"From what I remember, the only way I got you to shut up was by knocking you over the head."

Layla was certain he was smiling underneath the balaclava.

"What do I have to do to get you to speak, huh?"

Nixon growled and tugged on his handcuffs harshly, drawing attention away from her as the masked man glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Stop wasting your time with her and get me out of these!"

"Fuck off, Nixon!" He barked. "I don't take orders from you anymore."

Nixon's voice was quiet now, almost unbelieving. "You can't do this."

He chuckled darkly. "You were always disposable. Don't act so high and mighty now." He turned his attention back to her.

When he took a step forward, Jerome snarled. "Don't go near her."

Blue eyes snorted. "Not like you can do anything to stop me. Pathetic excuse of a bodyguard, really. You didn't even see me waiting on the fire escape for you." He took another two steps towards her. "Did you know I waited out there for you for nearly an hour? I hope that makes you feel special."

He covered the remaining distance between them and crouched down in front of her.

When he reached out to stroke her cheek with his thumb, she turned her head and refused to look at him, the glare intended for him directed at the wall instead.

That only made him chuckle.

"I really wish we could have met under different circumstances. I truly believe we really could have been something, sweetheart." He sighed and when she gazed up at his eyes, she felt like he was genuinely sincere.

Too bad sincerity wasn't going to redeem him for all that he had done.

"I guess fate has a funny way of doing things." Was the last thing she heard before he slammed her head against the wall behind her.

She briefly heard him whisper an apology to her before he reached down and lifted her into his arms. How many times was one man going to apologise for something he kept doing?

Well, if she didn't have a concussion before, she definitely did now.

-

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Layla Knight

10.06.2020