He caught her leaving just as he arrived, an extra-large coffee cup clutched in one hand, car keys fisted in the other.
“Am I really that predictable?” Layla stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to move around her, as she tilted her chin toward him.
Her hair was tousled, her face makeup free, she wore a tight white tank top, a pair of faded old cutoffs with a red plaid flannel shirt tied at her waist, and black rubber flip-flops, and at that moment she looked so insanely beautiful it took all his will not to pull her into his arms, hit rewind, and pick up where they’d left off before Ira Redman’s contest upended their lives.
Instead, he settled for saying, “Sorry for the ambush. I just really had to see you.”
It was the wrong thing to say, because the next thing he knew, she’d shaken her head and was walking away.
“I really don’t want to hear about it,” she called over her shoulder as he raced to keep up. “You’re free to hook up with whoever you want.”
“It’s not what you think,” he said, staring in disbelief when she stopped beside a black BMW as though it was hers.
From the looks of her grim lips and narrowed eyes, she wasn’t buying it despite it being true. After all the awkwardness between Heather and Layla, Mateo had ordered himself an Uber and found his way home. And while Heather hadn’t exactly applauded his decision to leave, in the end, she let him go without a fuss.
Layla sipped her coffee and lowered her sunglasses onto her nose, adding yet another barrier for him to work through.
“Do you seriously want to do this?” she said. “Because I don’t. I don’t want to keep score of each other’s conquests. There’s no point. Your life is yours to live however you best see fit. You don’t owe me anything. And you certainly don’t owe me an explanation for kissing Heather Rollins.”
“I know,” he said quietly. And maybe that was part of the problem. At first kissing Heather had felt like some kind of vindication for Layla’s kissing Tommy, and he’d enjoyed it, there was no point denying it. But later, when it was over, it left him feeling strangely off-kilter and confused about what it was he really wanted out of life. “Listen . . .” Knowing he was seconds from losing her, he reached toward her, then watched as his hand fell away when Layla turned and slid behind the wheel of the car. “I just—” He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and started again. “Valentina’s sick, and I just thought . . . I thought you should know that.”
“Where is she?” Layla propped her glasses onto her head, her gray-blue eyes searching his.
“Well, I’m hoping to get her transferred to another hospital today, but . . .”
“She’s in the hospital?” Her jaw dropped, as she shifted the car into drive. “So what are you waiting for?” she shouted. “Get in!”
A moment later, he was buckling his seat belt and settling in beside her as Layla sped down the street.
THIRTY-THREE
ENTER SANDMAN
This time, when dawn arrived, Madison was ready.
She’d spent weeks going over her plan, and though it was far from foolproof, she no longer had the luxury of delaying. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, something told her that change was in the air. Whoever had been holding her captive would eventually grow bored with the routine they’d established, and it was anyone’s guess what they’d do once that happened.
Would they kill her?
Madison didn’t plan to stick around long enough to find out.
A quick peek in one of the mirrors reflected back the image of a grimy, scruffy, bedraggled girl with nothing to lose, and it was entirely true. She’d gone along and played the victim too long, and where had that gotten her?
Well, soon all that would end. She had every intention of fighting her way out, or she would die trying.
For the past week, she’d forced down all her meals and endured vigorous workouts that would rival even the most brutal cross-fit class. Though she was far from the top of her game, she felt capable and strong and it would have to suffice.
A few minutes before sunrise, she wrapped her cashmere shawl tightly around her hand, arced her Gucci sandal back behind her ear, and rammed her arm forward. Punching the spiked heel straight toward a long splice of mirror, she caught a glimpse of her wild eyes and determined face as the glass shattered all around her and splintered to the floor.
With no time to waste, she picked up a wide jagged piece, wrapped one edge in her shawl to avoid cutting herself, and swept the rest out of the way. Then, with her body pressed flush against the door, she stood back and waited.
A trickle of sweat rolled down her neck as her breath flared in her cheeks. Wasn’t much longer before the lights would switch on and her captor would come, but when they tried to thrust her meal through the slot, the door would be stuck.
The move was a risky one, but it was all she had.
Her regular three-square-a-day schedule indicated they were intent on keeping her alive—at least for now, anyway. But what if she’d fooled them into thinking she’d given up? That she’d forfeited the fight and was calling for her own personal hunger strike?
At that point, they’d be forced to come inside and check on her, and that was when she planned to strike.
That was when she’d surprise them at the door and stab them with the shard of broken mirror if necessary. Whatever it took to get the hell out of there.
Glancing between the watch on her wrist and the fluorescent light box overhead, she waited for the usual daily routine to begin.
Only it was already one minute past seven and the room was still dark, no one had come. And just like that, Madison’s thoughts darkened too.
What if something had happened to her captor?
And what if they were the only one who knew where she was?
She would die in here—slowly starving to death.
It was entirely possible she’d never be found.
She shook the thought away, refusing to entertain it. She needed to stay focused. Needed to stay strong, think positive thoughts, and stick with the plan, no matter how flimsy it appeared on the surface.
Twelve minutes past the hour she was losing the battle against total despair. Her body sagged with defeat, her head hung low, as the sting of hopelessness burned deep in her throat. How had she come so far, risen so high, only to end up filthy, alone, and forgotten?
She sank to the ground. It was over. She’d waited too long, and now she would die with no one ever knowing the truth of what had really happened to her or who was responsible for abducting her.
Her list of unknown suspects was infinite.
Her list of known suspects was comparatively shorter.
Aster, Ryan, Layla, Ira, James, Paul, even Tommy—she couldn’t afford the luxury of ruling anyone out. Though she had a hard time believing Tommy was behind it. He was too starstruck, too in awe of her, to pull something like that. Still, maybe kissing him had been a mistake. She’d let down her guard and allowed herself to relax and allow her West Virginia accent to slip through. Had Tommy mistaken the moment of vulnerability for weakness? And because of it, had he decided to follow her, kidnap her, and keep her locked up in this stinky, filthy, eight-by-ten cell? And if so, to what end?
Or maybe it wasn’t Tommy at all. Maybe while she’d been making her plans, Ryan and Aster had been busy making their own. Had she fooled herself into thinking she was in charge, when all the while they’d been plotting against her?
And what about Layla? Was this some messed-up revenge plot she’d hatched because of that stupid restraining order Paul served her? It seemed like such a disproportionate act, but from what she’d seen, the girl had enough of a dark side, Madison would be a fool to rule her out.
Even Ira—greedy, ruthless, vainglorious Ira. Was it possible he was involved—maybe even conspiring with James? Either way, Madison had no doubt Ira was playing it up in the press. A star of her caliber disappearing from one of his clubs would ensure his pl
ace in the tabloid news cycle for many years to come.
But Paul . . . Madison shook her head in denial. She refused to believe it. Paul was the keeper of her secrets—the only one who knew the truth of her past. Together they’d conspired to turn small-time trailer-park MaryDella into big-time Hollywood star Madison. Together they’d covered up evidence that, if discovered, would’ve led her down an entirely different path. It couldn’t be Paul. He would never do that to her. But, in the event that it was, then she truly was doomed. There wasn’t a single person on the planet who would ever root for her as hard as he did. If he’d decided to turn on her now, then she literally didn’t have a single real friend left in the world.
Truth was, it could be any of them or none of them. Hell, it could even be that annoying journalist Trena Moretti. Maybe she’d gotten so tired of hunting down stories that she decided to create one of her own.
At the moment, all that mattered was getting out of this place. Once that was behind her, then Madison could start the process of hunting down those responsible and making them pay in ways they’d never see coming.
The screech of scraping metal dragged her away from her thoughts and back to the present, as Madison rose and sprang into position.
The lights still hadn’t come on, and no one even tried to open the slot, but the next thing she knew, the door flew open and Madison rushed toward the faceless dark figure that stood in the entry, haloed by light.
The shard of mirror clutched in her fist, she brought it down hard on the first bit of flesh she could find.
“Fuck!” The scream seemed to reverberate throughout the small space, but the competing sound of Madison’s heart slamming hard in her chest and the rush of blood pounding in her ears made it impossible to discern if her captor was male or female.
The important thing was, her plan had worked.
Madison was just inches away from escape.
Spotting an opening, she raced toward the light.
She took one step. Then another. The next one would free her.
Her foot hit the ground just as the other one lifted. Her muscles coiled, about to propel her toward safety, when she felt a sharp, stinging jab at her thigh and the next thing she knew she was stumbling, falling, spiraling headfirst into a world of permanent midnight.
THIRTY-FOUR
CALLING ALL ANGELS
Layla had acted impulsively. Hadn’t even considered the fact that she wasn’t a Luna, which also meant she wasn’t allowed to see Valentina. She’d just finished rubbing antibacterial gel onto her hands and adjusted her mask, when the nurse promptly stopped her from entering.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Immediate family only.”
Layla looked at Mateo, tempted to lie and say they were siblings, cousins, husband and wife, but the skeptical nurse had heard it all before and was already turning her away.
“The waiting room is down the hall,” she called. “You can wait for Mateo there.”
“This is exactly why I want to move her.” Mateo scowled at the nurse’s retreating form. “Valentina needs to be around people who care, whether or not they’re related.”
“I doubt it will be any different wherever you go, and I’m sure they have their reasons.” Layla pulled off her mask, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash. “Listen, don’t mind me. Go see your little sis, and tell her I said hello. Take as long as you need.”
Mateo shot her an incredulous look. “That’s it? Since when do you give up so easily and cave to the rules?”
A moment later, Layla was donning a new mask, pulling on a fresh set of gloves, and following Mateo inside to where his little sister had fallen asleep watching TV.
They settled into the two available chairs and stared blankly at the screen. While the Nickelodeon channel wouldn’t have been Layla’s first choice, it was better than some depressing news station where the reporters gleefully chronicled all the various ways humanity was going to hell. The pediatric oncology wing was depressing enough on its own; she didn’t need further proof of just how bleak the world really was.
Surprisingly, the canned laugh track proved to be oddly soothing, and Layla spent a few blissfully empty minutes staring mindlessly at the show unfolding before her.
Layla had the worst poker face of anyone she knew, and so she’d been secretly relieved to find Valentina asleep. She needed a moment to adjust to the sight of Mateo’s little sister—a perennially upbeat and happy girl who was always bursting with energy—looking so sickly and pale.
God, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d seen Valentina. She’d blown off her last birthday party with the excuse of needing to focus on winning the Unrivaled contest, which, looking back, she’d never really stood a chance at. Then again, she could see all sorts of things now that she’d refused to acknowledge back then. Hindsight truly was a bitch.
The show faded to commercial, and Layla scrolled through her Twitter and Facebook feeds, though she didn’t bother with checking her Instagram or Snapchat accounts, having abandoned them as soon as she became ensnared in the Madison fiasco. She was tired of people hijacking her personal pics and using them for derogatory memes that had quickly gone viral.
She skimmed through her emails, half expecting to see one from Emerson chewing her out for leaving the launch party early, but finding that wasn’t the case, she figured he was holding out for Monday. She was just about to click over to her blog when she noticed an unsent message sitting in her drafts folder—the sight of which gave her pause.
It had been a hectic few weeks, but Layla couldn’t remember drafting a single email she hadn’t yet sent.
Clicking on the folder, she blinked in confusion when she found an email message addressed to her that she definitely hadn’t written.
I know you think you’re running the show
But here’s a tip you really should know
It’s all too easy for me to hack your life
And the things I’ll do will cut like a knife
If you’re thinking of alerting the cops
Then let me remind you, I’m prepared to pull out all the stops
If you think you should forward this message to someone who cares
Let me assure you, I’ll unleash some big scares
While you don’t see me, I can see you
And I’m telling you now, here’s what you’re going to do
Very soon a surprise will appear
It’s your job to claim it without causing too many tears
Somewhere deep inside awaits yet another surprise I know you’ll enjoy
Either way, it’s time you do what I say, cuz I’m done playing coy.
Just after reading the message, Layla watched as it vanished from her screen and disappeared from both her drafts and trash folders as well.
Someone was watching her, electronically, remotely, up close and personal, or most likely, all of the above.
The thought caused Layla to spring from her chair so quickly it slammed back against the wall and caused Valentina to wake with a start.
“Layla?” Valentina’s brown eyes went wide as she struggled to sit up in bed.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” Layla whispered, feeling like an idiot as she watched Mateo rush to his sister’s bedside.
“Are you guys back together?”
The sight of Valentina’s pale and drawn face lighting up at the thought of them reuniting almost convinced Layla to lie and say that they were. She loved the kid so much Layla would do anything for her, but even though it broke her heart to tell Valentina the truth, Layla couldn’t bear to lie to her.
Layla shook her head. Then, realizing she was still clutching her phone to her chest, she placed it gently onto her chair and joined Mateo at Valentina’s bedside. “But we’re still good friends.” She swallowed hard. Good friends. Why’d she feel the need to qualify it? Maybe the fact that they were standing there together proved it wasn’t a total lie, but things between them were still strained enou
gh that it felt like a stretch.
Valentina granted them each a hard stare. “Please. You sound like a celebrity press release.” Adopting her version of an adult voice, she went on to say, “We’ve decided to end our relationship. This is a very painful decision, but we remain fully committed as friends. We ask that you respect our privacy during this difficult time.” She rolled her eyes and went on to add, “RIP Mayla.”
“You’ve been reading way too many tabloids in here.” Mateo frowned.
At the same time, Layla asked, “Who’s Mayla?”
“You.” Valentina wagged a finger between them. “You’re Mayla. Only not anymore.” Her sad puppy-eyes look tugged at Layla’s heart. “Just because you got tired of my brother doesn’t mean you can’t still come see me, you know? I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Layla said. “Actually, no. We go deeper than that. I consider you family.” She was barely able to eke out the words. As an only child, Layla considered Valentina the little sister she never had. But the girl was right. Layla really had abandoned her. And sadly, it began long before she and Mateo broke up. “Also, just so you know, I’m not tired of your brother. He’s a . . .” She needed a moment to ward off the sob that threatened from the base of her throat. “He’s a really great guy.”
“And yet, you still broke up.”
“It’s complicated,” Mateo interjected, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. “Life is complicated.”
Valentina shook her head and stared stubbornly at the TV. “I don’t believe that. Life is easy. It’s all about breathing, and doing, and making a series of choices that lead you to the next step. It’s people who muck it all up by losing focus, creating drama, and making it more difficult than it needs to be.”
“When’d you get so wise?” Layla asked.
“I read a lot of tabloids.” Valentina laughed.
Though Layla laughed with her, she couldn’t help but wonder if Valentina was right. Like her brother, she had a firm grasp on the things that mattered most—friends, family, and home. While Layla was out chasing dragons and myths and the sort of things that led one farther and farther from home, without any real proof they even existed.