What if no one can find me and these are the men who want Howard? I still have no idea where he is and can only imagine what they have planned for me.
26
Cole
Finishing up with Jack and the crew at the restaurant build, I check my phone for the millionth time. Still no word from Lyla. As I slide into the truck, I send her a text.
“Did you see the email I sent you about the Moretti projects?”
I wait two minutes and nothing.
“They accepted the bid, and I’d love your input on the locations I’ve found. Let me know what you think. You don’t have to work the design if you don’t want to. Just wondering what you think. Could be fun.”
I shift into drive, getting a bad feeling. She might still be upset or the asshole from Chicago could have figured out where we live. I speed the entire way home, checking my phone for a reply and praying she’s just taking a nap or something else innocent. God, I pray she’s safe.
I slam into park once in the garage and bust through the door.
“Lyla!”
No answer. I run upstairs and open every door to find no one else here. I call her phone; it goes straight to voicemail. I’m pacing around the living room when the front door swings open. I grab the baseball bat beside the couch. I go to swing and almost smash Marcus in the face.
“Dude, what the fuck?” he says, stepping back.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper, grabbing my chest.
“What the hell is going on, man? Why did I get some creepy as fuck voicemail from Lyla? Where is she?”
He walks into the apartment and looks around. He’s about to go upstairs when I say, “She’s not here and I don’t know. I’m losing my fucking mind with worry. What message?”
He turns to face me, brows furrowed, and pulls out his cell phone from his pocket. He unlocks it as he comes closer, then her panicked voice fills the room.
“Marcus! God, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to call you, and I can only pray you actually listen to this, but I need help! Please find Cole; he knows what’s going on. Tell him they grabbed me at the first site, and I’m in some black SUV. A forties-something guy with dark hair and a beard shoved me inside and it’s locked. I thought he was the client and…”
The call drops and I’m fuming with anger and clenching my fists. “Son of a fucking bitch!” I swing my arm and bust a lamp into a million pieces, wishing it was the face of this son of a bitch.
“Now tell me what the fuck is going on and what kind of trouble you got her into so I can kick your ass and find her.”
“Fuck you! This isn’t on me.”
He doesn’t listen and before I can finish, his fisted knuckle lands square on my jaw. Losing balance for a second, I come back up and at him, swinging my fist and smashing his nose. Taking no time to recover, he grabs me around the waist, taking me to the ground. We roll for a while until his head hits the corner of the island. He gets in another shot as I try to get on top of him.
“Fuck!” I find the leverage I need and pin him to the floor. Elbow on his throat, I say, “Will you please listen to me. This shitstorm is from Chicago. A guy has been harassing her for information on her old business partner. Turns out he didn’t just screw her over; he got himself and now Lyla mixed in with some possibly mobster fucking guys, and they don’t believe Lyla doesn’t have anything to do with it. Now I’m going to get up and you’re going to chill the fuck out so we can figure out where she is and kill these motherfuckers. You in?”
His dark skin is so red I know he can’t talk so he just nods. I get up slowly, expecting a last-minute hit, but it doesn’t come. Marcus grabs his throat and takes a few deep breaths. I wipe my bloody lip with my hand, mixing blood from the two. I growl at the time we’ve wasted and go around the island for a towel. I throw him one too and swipe mine under the water.
I clean up fast and catch him up on the calls, the letter, and the warehouse. He plays the message again, and I check my email. Maybe she didn’t see my message and went straight to the first location on the email I sent. I tell Marcus this, and he grabs the bat I almost hit him with. I have a much better idea and call Roger as we load up in my truck. It takes us fifteen minutes, but luckily Roger is already back from Chicago and meets us. He steps out of his SUV and opens the back. Several pistols and shotguns as well as a few automatics are laid out in display.
“I have some really bad news on my lead in Chicago, and this is probably the worst time to tell you, but you need to know who we’re up against here.”
Marcus and I share a concerned look, but I nod. “I need to know everything.”
“I found Cathy at her house in Chicago. Cathy was seeing Howard when the shit came out to the public.”
He explains the last part to Marcus since I knew all about the trip to see her and I was hoping for good news.
“Anyway, I found her at home, the place had been ransacked, and her body was tied to her bed.”
I take a deep breath, trying not to pass out. Marcus is just as shaken and holds on to the side of the truck for support. Roger goes on to tell us he dug a bit into her and Howard’s relationship and even spoke to Detective Graves without him knowing he was working the case too. Played dumb at a local bar before his red-eye back here. Graves is a smart man, but the scene of Cathy’s bedroom had him hitting the hard liquor. He innocently gave up the name of a local crime family by the name of Moretti, and I almost threw up.
I tumble back and round the hood to get a moment to myself. I stay close enough to hear the conversation, but my head is throbbing. I sent her right into their arms. Part of me wanted to hurl myself off a cliff into the ocean; the other side was furious and wanted heads to roll a lot more.
“Apparently, the family is more like the mob of Chicago, and Howard was working with them, laundering their money through Lyla’s restaurant without her knowledge. The problem is Graves can’t touch them. The family has a wide net of supporters all the way up to congress.”
I find my balls and swallow my nerves and make my way back around. “There here. They set us up, hired my company for three locations, and I told Lyla. This is the first of the three and where I think she meant when she called Marcus.”
Marcus nods and plays the message for Roger. He gets out his own cell phone and plugs in a few things.
“Where are the other two locations?”
I tell him, but he doesn’t think they would take her there. Instead, they just watched and waited for us to show up at those locations. His phone dings and says he has a lead on a house that’s here and owned by known friends of the Moretti family and worth checking out. He suggests we all go together so I shove a couple pistols into my boots and get into the front seat, ready to tear up the entire town to find her.
27
Lyla
The stench of raw fish floods my nose, and I can barely feel my fingers the room is so cold. My head is pounding so I keep my eyes closed. Soon my memories all come flooding back, and I remember I’ve been taken. The last thing I remember is the SUV door opening, and I tried attacking the man. He was twice my size and grabbed my ankle as I kicked and screamed. Finally, he pulled me close enough to hit me on the head with the bottom of his gun.
I slowly open my eyes, careful not to move. I’m lying on the cold cement floor, and it’s dark and icy. A few minutes past with no other sounds but my breathing, I think I’m alone, so I get to my feet and look around. There is a small light down on the other end of the room, but there are shadows of things hanging from the ceiling between here and there, Tuna, I think. I make my way behind the racks and step carefully toward the light.
Suddenly, a door opens behind me. I turn to see a familiar face stepping in. Darren Henry, the cocky-ass pretty boy from my yoga class, wearing the same red shirt he was wearing when he grabbed me in the crowd of paparazzi; it makes sense now, except it doesn’t.
That son of a bitch, why would he do this? I’m so mad I’m not thinking straight and go after him, fists s
winging. He’s not that much taller or stronger, and I land a good punch to his nose and left eye, but he grabs me by my wrists and turns me around, locking my back against his chest.
“Hello again, Lyla. It’s so nice to see you,” he whispers into my ear, his harsh breath brushing along my cheek and only making me want to kill him more. I kick back at his shins and scream, but I’m stuck. He laughs as he jerks me out of the locker and takes me through a house. I catalog everything I see, not sure it will help but it keeps me from panicking.
The floors are dark hardwoods with red-and-gold rugs; matching gold sconces on the walls light our way down a large hallway. Antiques litter the sides as we pass and finally turning a corner, two big bodyguard-looking men in tight black t-shirts stand outside a door. They open it, and I try one last time to free my arms, but in my struggle I push back on him. and I think I feel this loser’s dick digging into my back like he’s getting some sick pleasure out of this whole thing. The door opens to a large room with more dark wood and red rugs; a huge desk sits near the back where a man with white hair and a white beard sits looking down at something.
Darren pushes me forward but doesn’t let go of my wrist. Instead, he kicks a chair around and pushes me down into it. Someone must have handed him duct tape because the next thing I know, he’s taping my hands. I kick at him, hoping to knee him in the face, but he soon captures each foot and tapes me at the ankles to the legs of the wooden chair. I growl a little in frustration and defeat. He turns me to face the old man who still sits silent at his desk, not even sparing us a glance.
The doors behind me close but still he stays stoic, working on a tablet. It’s an eerie quiet, but if I’m honest with myself, I’m terrified of what will happen when he speaks so I stay quiet.
It feels like an hour has gone by when the door swings open again and turning my head, I see the two men that were outside the door hauling in none other than Howard Stapleton. The man responsible for destroying my life. His nose is bleeding, and he has cuts and bruises everywhere I can see, but I would recognize that potbellied bully anywhere. His t-shirt is ripped, and he’s not wearing any shoes.
They tape him to the chair next to me, and his head hangs down in defeat. I almost feel sorry for him, but in all honesty, if I weren’t tired up, I would still take a swing at him myself. Since I can’t quite reach, I cock my head back and spit on the side of his face. He doesn’t even move, and I wonder if he’s conscious or not.
“Interesting way to say hello to your partner, Ms. Turner.” The old man finally speaks, and I recognize his voice from when he called me. With this kind of manpower, I’m surprised he did it himself.
I don’t know what he wants me to say so I keep quiet, glaring daggers at him. Trying to act tougher than I feel.
“Now that I have your attention, I expect you to take me seriously. Howard here learned the hard way and I’m hoping you are as smart as I think you are,” he tells me while looking at me expectantly. Again, I have no fucking clue what to say so I nod, just agreeing.
“Good. Now, Mr. Stapleton, I am glad you have decided to accept my invitation. I have had to look extremely hard for you, and I am a very busy man. Imagine my surprise to find you in California with your partner in crime here.”
“What?” I ask and look to Howard for answers and denial. He can at least try and help me out of this now, but I have no way of knowing if he can hear us. Darren comes around and picks his head up to face him by pulling his hair. He only coughs, and I can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. Darren starts yelling in his face, demanding answers until the old man raises a hand.
“My friend here and his family have graciously lent me their beautiful residence, and Darren has been so helpful in tracking you both down. I appreciate everything, but if you would excuse the three of us, please,” he tells Darren and waves him out of the room. I can tell the psycho doesn’t want to leave and is enjoying the blood pooling at Howard’s feet a little too much but he obeys. When the door closes, the room is silent except for Howard’s wheezing.
28
Cole
We pull up to the address from Roger’s phone, no idea how he got it or how he does anything he does, but I’m grateful. It’s an old historic house surrounded by acres of trees and a tall iron gate.
“This is the plan, Cole. It’s a strong possibility they know who you are, correct?” I nod to Roger as he lays it out. “Good. We’ll use that against them. You’re going to act hotheaded and start trying to break in. Feel free to knock them around but be sure they take you. Once you’re in, you’ll be wearing this.”
He sticks a small black pin on the collar of my black polo shirt.
“We’ll find a way in and turn shit upside down. Get Lyla out, Cole. Do not get distracted and do not stay to get revenge. Once you have her, get her out as fast as you can, you hear me?”
I nod, knowing he’s right and it’s the best plan. I have to get a grip on my anger that’s threatening to boil over.
“She may not even be here, and the last thing we want is to officially be on the shit list of the police and the mob. Play it smart. Once we know this is the place, which we’ll know pretty quickly, we make our move. You both ready for this? Now’s your last chance to get out of this mess before it gets worse.”
We both look to Marcus; I hate that he’s been dragged into this and might get hurt, and I wouldn’t judge him if he wanted out.
“No fucking way I’m leaving,” Marcus says, gritting his teeth.
I nod and he opens the door for me. Pretending I’m angry and losing my shit isn’t hard. I start shouting as soon as I see the front gates. A large H in gold is in the middle, and I wonder what king of family could be going along with a kidnapping.
“Hey! Open up, motherfucker! You know why I’m here! Come out and face me!”
I keep it up, yelling louder and louder but never say Lyla’s name. Finally, two thugs dressed in head to toe black come out of the house. As they get closer, the gate starts to open, and I can’t help the cocky grin that spreads across my face. If this was anyone else, they would call the cops, but they know exactly who I am and are playing right into our hand. I walk through the open gate quickly and land a solid punch on the nose of the douchebag still in sunglasses, even though the sun set hours ago. The other guy, with a bald head, tries to grab me from behind and pin my arms back. I let him but buck the back of my head into his nose as hard as I can. This unfortunately gives sunglasses enough time to get in a solid hit to my ribs and even though I’m no longer held back, I fall forward just enough to meet his knee with my face. Fuck, that hurts.
I stumble a bit but stand just in time to kick the little bald dude coming back for more but remind myself I’m supposed to lose, and as gratifying as it would be to knock these assholes out, they aren’t who I really want to take down. I want Lyla safe once and for all, and it’s clear these guys are only hired help, so I take a few shots to my stomach and one more to the face and finally let them trip me and take me down.
They haul my ass into the house; it takes both ’cause I’m not about to make it easy for them. I act like I’m spent and can’t keep my head up, all the while taking in every room and hoping the small camera I’m wearing is picking it up. We pass by a kitchen, and I twist and push closer, acting like I’m trying to fight them but really just wanting to see if it has a door leading outside. I get us in the kitchen and face the door I was looking for and land one more punch to sunglasses and let them take me down again.
They drag me down a long wide hall and finally make it to a set of double doors. They knock three times, and I hear an old voice with a heavy accent say come in.
As soon as the doors open, I see the back of Lyla’s head and resist every urge in my body to fight to get her. I stick to the plan, but it’s painful. I know my face is bloody and I play the part. I act weak and barely conscious and hope they believe me until Marcus and Roger can make it inside. I take a slow look around and notice another man in the chai
r beside her. He looks like he’s half dead and not pretending. He’s bloody and his eyes are swollen shut. I hang my head down again and notice two teeth on the floor by the man’s right foot. The old man clears his throat, and I guess this is the dismissal of the two thugs. They drop me the ground and I lie there. They don’t leave the room though and suddenly I hear a familiar voice. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s sweetheart came to rescue her. The question is how. How in the world did you find this place?”
I look up weakly, to lock eyes with none other than the greasy dude from the gym. Slicked-back black hair and a red t-shirt. I let my head fall back to the ground nice and hard for dramatics because I’m not sure how to answer yet. He comes over to me and pulls my hair. I can see Lyla’s sweet face looking at me with tears in her eyes, and she screams.
“No! Stop it! Stop it you dumb fucker; just stop!”
He drops my head and walks to her. I can see now she’s been taped to the chair, it’s rocking with her fit of anger. Probably for his own safety. Lyla could easily take this preppy cocksucker.
My eyes drift to the man behind the desk, and he watches the argument, and then the fucker backhands my girl across the face. I grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. This will all be over soon, and these men will pay dearly.
Lyla groans but I can tell it hurt her, and she’s not giving him the satisfaction of more of a reaction.
“You’re no longer in the position to be a stuck-up bitch.” He spits down in her turned face, and suddenly the doors open and gunfire erupts. The coward runs around the desk, and I use this as my chance and pop up to my knees and crawl to Lyla, bringing her chair down and covering her with my body. Chaos, as promised, fills the room. They stop shooting and start throwing punches.
Whiskey and Honey: Can a forbidden fling be real love? (The Empire Records Series Book 1) Page 13