LAYLA ABRAHAM

Once again, she struggled to open her eyes.

She was getting tired of waking up like this; disoriented and confused as to where she was. Waking up in the backseat of a moving vehicle, she couldn't help but feel nauseated when he drove over what felt like a pothole on the road, not bothering to slow down.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

Layla couldn't help but moan in pain as her head throbbed, much more than before. Nevertheless, she was determined to prop herself into a sitting position. She felt far too vulnerable lying down.

While she was glad that she was no longer chained to a radiator, her current predicament with her arms twisted behind her back in handcuffs wasn't exactly ideal either, but beggars can't be choosers.

"I got scared I hit your head too hard."

"How about not banging my head against a wall next time?" She groaned as she pressed her head against the car door and shimmied her body across the seat. She yelped when she banged her shoulder against the door but continued, determined.

She huffed when she sat up against the door, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath and stop her head from spinning.

Layla could feel the car slow down, no doubt he had noticed her fragile state and had decided to slow down to avoid having her empty out her guts in the back seat of his car. Despite the fact that he had kidnapped her, for the second time now and knocked her over the head a countless number of times, she appreciated the gesture even if he didn't deserve it.

"It's the quickest way to knock you out." He shrugged, and eyed her warily through the mirror. She watched as he reached forward and angled it slightly so he would be able to get a better look at her. Her skin crawled at the action.

"I don't think there's going to be a next time, anyway."

"What?" She questioned, the words rushing out of her mouth quickly; her mind perplexed.

"Nothing." He was quick to reply.

What did he mean there wasn't going to be a next time? Was he finished banging her head because he felt bad or could it be possible that he was going to hand himself in? Or would there just not going to be a next time because he planned to get rid of her for good?

Would he go as far as to kill her?

That thought didn't sit right with her.

"How long was I out for this time?" She asked in hopes of starting a conversation. If she kept him talking, perhaps he would spend less time about killing her.

"Not even an hour. That's good, because I was starting to get bored." He chuckled, as if the situation was funny.

"You brought me along for company?" She snorted at the absolute absurdity of the notion.

"Not exactly."

"Then why am I here?"

"You'll find out soon enough." His tone left a lot open to interpretation.

"What does that mean?" She asked, desperate for an answer.

It appeared that he had finished with the questions because he didn't bother replying to her this time, only sparing her a glance through the rear-view mirror.

He would have to do better than that to get her stay quiet though. When she had first saw him back in that room, she didn't say anything because she was in a state of shock, but frankly, she didn't care anymore. it was evident that staying quiet wasn't doing her any favours.

He still ended up knocking her out anyway.

"Where are you taking me?"

He spared her a glance through the mirror again. "I can't reveal that just yet."

"Why not? All evil masterminds give away their plan before they actually execute it." She pointed out, hoping that he would fall for the bait. "It seems to grant them a sense of satisfaction."

There was a higher chance of escaping and survival if she knew what he had planned to do with her.

"You think I'm an evil mastermind?" He sounded almost happy with himself with the way she had chosen to describe him. As if this was the situation for it, but if stroking his ego worked, then she would do it. She wouldn't like it, but she would do it.

She was prepared to do pretty much anything that turned the tables in her favour.

"I think you must be extremely smart to be able to pull off a plan as big as this. And without getting caught too."

When he glanced at her in the mirror, his eyes twinkled and she knew she was on the right track with the compliments, even if they did taste vile in her mouth and left a bitter aftertaste on her tongue.

Men like him didn't deserve compliments.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I'm in the indulgent mood, so ask away. Don't make me regret this." He warned her.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Next question."

Layla sighed and glanced out the window. All she could see were trees. The road was small and it appeared that they were the only vehicle on it. The very thought of that made her squirm in her seat, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable with being alone in the car with him.

"Where are the others?" She asked softly, hoping to distract her wondering mind.

If he wanted to, he could stop the vehicle now and do whatever he wanted to her. With her massive headache, less than pristine vision and hands cuffed behind her back, she would be defenceless and completely to his mercy.

"You mean your bodyguard?" He asked, unsure of which man she was referring to. The one bleeding out or the one that who cried himself to sleep?

For her sake, he wished it wasn't the latter.

She nodded her head. "And Byron."

"You don't need to worry about them."

She gulped. "Did you kill them?"

"Not me." His eyes twinkled through the mirror when he noticed the shocked expression on her face. A moment passed before he burst into a fit of laughter.

"That's not funny."

"It is." He chuckled and raised a hand to rub his eye. "We didn't hurt them, if that's what you're worried about."

"You hurt Jerome." She pointed out.

"That was the only exception. He's a big buy and I had no doubt that he would have put up a fight. I needed to get some leverage on him."

"And stabbing him in the leg gave you that leverage?" She frowned.

He shrugged in response as if to say, what can you do?

Layla hated herself for caring, but she couldn't help but wonder. "And Nixon?"

"Why are you asking about him? He betrayed you."

"Did you hurt him?" She forced the words out of her mouth, disgusted by her innate need for answers. She just hoped that like the cat, her curiosity didn't get her killed.

"Let's just say, he won't be bothering you again."

Layla forced herself to change the direction of her thoughts. She didn't want to know what they had done to Nixon – even if he was a despicable human who had pretty much put her in the backseat of this car with her former kidnapper as her very own driver.

"Will you tell me who you are?"

He spared her a lingering glass through the rear-view mirror. "Not if I can help it, no."

"Why not?"

"Look, I can't change what's happened in the past but revealing my identity isn't going to help you in anyway. After all of this is over, I want you to be able to move on. You won't be able to do that if you see my face on every street corner."

"It's too late for that."

"What do you mean?"

"I already see you in my nightmares." She admitted honestly, her voice vulnerable, not that she expected him to care.

He paused slightly, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I'm sorry. That was not my intention."

She tried not to be affected by the emotion in his voice. He had a way of trying to get her to feel sympathy for him, when in reality, it was her who deserved the sympathy. He was the one who had put her in this situation, after all. If she was going to feel sorry for someone, it was going to be herself.

"Then what did you intend to do?"

"I never planned for you to get hurt." He reached up to rub his eye again.

Was that a nervous habit?

"Like I said before, you were never specifically targeted. It's just a case of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That can't just be it."

"I'm afraid it is."

There was so much more that she wanted to ask, to know, but all questions that previously clouded her mind died on her lips as her eyes remained glued on the mirror, or rather the view of him in the mirror. He had rubbed his eye so hard that he had dislodged the contact lens.

He must have rubbed it out of place.

Not once had she considered that he had been wearing contacts. Those blue eyes that haunted her were nothing more than an artificial lens which he donned every morning.

Instead of the deep blue which she hated to admit she found beautiful – but now didn't mind so much – she was met with a pair of dark brown eyes which didn't strike any sort of familiarity within her.

Not at first, anyway.

The longer she stared, the faster her mind worked to locate where she had seen them before, if even for just a passing moment on the street.

Layla didn't know how her mind did it, or why, but she thought back to the last time she was at the police station and the officer with the brown eyes whom had openly stared at her and then looked away almost immediately when she caught him. She had found it weird that she had managed to intimidate an officer of the law but hadn't given it too much thought afterwards.

She hadn't known she needed to.

"You're a police officer! You were the one that was staring at me!" She gasped.

"I'm disappointed with how long it took you to figure it out." He chuckled and much to her surprise, he reached up and pulled the black balaclava off his face, flinging it onto the seat next to him without a care, almost as if he hadn't just revealed his identity to her even if she had guessed correctly. He could have very easily denied it and demanded she shut her mouth.

"You did me a favour actually. It's hard to breathe in that thing and these contacts are drying my eyes out. I hope you don't mind." He said politely before taking his time to pinch the lens out of his eyes, allowing them to drop to the floor of the car before running his hand through his mop of black hair, messed up from wearing the balaclava for so long.

One of Layla's favourite past times were to watch crime shows, one of her favourites being Law & Order: SVU. One of the many things that she had learnt from those shows was that it was never a good sign when a criminal or kidnapper revealed their identity. In fact, it was the opposite of a good thing.

Bad. Terribly bad.

Usually deadly.

"At least tell me your name." She whispered.

A slow smile grin spread on his face.

"Ralph."

-

You can read ahead on Inkitt for FREE: https://inkitt.app.link/RA__illuminating_

Support me to read the rest of this series! https://www.patreon.com/LaylaKnight

Layla Knight

10.06.2020