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This isn’t going well at all.
God, how can I get Hawk out of this place? He can’t fit through the bathroom window I have been using. His shoulders are twice as wide as mine.
Think, Layla. You said it yourself: you know this place like the palm of your hand. There has to be another way out.
Someone else walks into the line of vision, brandishing something in his hand. “Boss,” he calls out. “Check this out. Found it in the bathroom upstairs, by the sink.”
“A bracelet?” the scarred guy asks.
“Looks like a woman’s bracelet. I wonder which of you ladies forgot it.” He grins, then lifts the item in question and goes cross-eyed looking at it. “A fine thing, too. I swear to God, Boss, it wasn’t there yesterday.”
I grip my wrist, where my bracelet is supposed to be.
Nothing.
My blood runs cold.
“Someone else is here,” the Boss says. “A woman.”
“I’ll find her,” the thug says.
Hawk takes a step forward. He doesn’t know I’m still here, but I see doubt in his eyes. He’s not sure.
After all, every time I promised to leave, I came right back.
The Boss’s goon moves around the basement, checking between rows of containers, and I keep very still.
“What did we say about trust, Jamie Fleming?” The Boss taps something on his cell phone. “No transaction, no trust. And a girl in here? Tsk.”
“There’s nobody else here,” Hawk grinds out.
“Let’s see, shall we?” He draws a gun from the small of his back and aims it straight at Hawk’s head. “Let’s see if she comes out now.”
Holy shit. It is a gun, a gun pointed at Hawk’s forehead, and black spots dance in front of my eyes.
He won’t do it.
The Boss clicks the safety off his gun, the click loud like a gunshot to my ears.
Shit. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades. I start unzipping my purse to get to my phone. If I send an SOS to Dodo, would she get it and come find me? I did tell her initially I was spying on my dad, and she knows the company warehouse.
I just need to get to my phone. I tug harder on the zipper, and it moves, inch by inch, snick, snick, snick, as my eyes dart back and forth along the row where I’m hiding.
Come on. Just a few more seconds. Just a few more.
The moment my hand fits through the opening, I thrust it inside and rummage for my phone. My panic is rising as my fingers tangle with loose receipts and random things, like the case of my sunglasses, my wallet, my lipstick, my card holder. A tampon, a pack of chewing gum.
Crap. Why can I never find anything in my purse when I urgently need it? Where are you, phone? Come on, come o—
“Hello there.” A huge hand curls around my arm and hauls me to my feet. I sway, hit by a wave of dizziness, and look up into the thug’s scarred face.
Then I bend over and throw up all over his pants and shoes.
Ugh. Gross.
But hey, who says only Hawk can make a statement? He pissed on them. I threw up.
I’m pretty sure I win, hands down.
