Layla

“Who’s asking?” Layla says.

“Me. I’m asking.”

“In that case, yes. Twice. Would have been three times if you hadn’t interrupted us.”

That makes me laugh.

“His band is looking for him. They’re leaving.”

“We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Layla says.

I hear the bedroom door open up again; then Aspen says, “Mom knows. She overheard one of them say, ‘He shacked up with the bride’s sister.’”

I freeze at that comment. Why didn’t I think about that? This is a wedding; of course their family is here. Shit. Were we loud last night?

“I’m twenty-two,” Layla says. “I don’t care if Mom knows.”

“Just warning you,” her sister responds. “I’m off to Hawaii. I’ll text you when we land.”

“Have fun, Mrs. Kyle.”

When the bedroom door closes, I immediately open the bathroom door. Layla spins around, and the movement causes her towel to slip. She wraps it back around her as I drag my eyes up the length of her. She is so effortlessly sexy.

I tap my fist against the doorframe. “Let’s stay.” I’m casual about it, but that invite is anything but casual. Those two words are probably the most serious to ever leave my mouth.

“Stay where? Here?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if we can keep the room for another night.”

I like the look on her face—like she’s contemplating the idea. “But your band is leaving. You said you have a show tomorrow.”

“We decided last night that I should quit.”

“Oh. I thought it was a suggestion. Not a decision.”

I walk over to her and pull on the end of her towel tucked between her cleavage. It falls to the floor. She’s grinning when my mouth meets hers. I can feel in the way she wraps herself around me that no part of her wants to leave. When she returns my kiss, that dreaded sense of longing that already formed in my chest instantly melts away.

“Okay,” she whispers.THE INTERVIEW

I’ve been talking for half an hour straight, and the man hasn’t spoken a word. I would continue, but Layla hasn’t let up this whole time. I need to make sure she’s okay.

Or at least as okay as she can be while being held against her will by her own boyfriend.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him, scooting my chair back. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He hits the stop button with an understanding nod.

I walk up the stairs—again—to plead with Layla to trust me long enough to find answers. When I open the door, she’s on her knees on the bed, doing her best to slip her hands out of the rope that’s connecting her wrists to the bedpost.

“Layla,” I say, defeated. “Can you please stop?”

She yanks her arms in the opposite direction of the bedpost in an attempt to break the rope. I wince. That had to hurt. I walk over to the bed and check her wrists. They’re raw from all the times she’s tried to break free. Her wrists are starting to bleed.

She mutters something unintelligible, so I remove the duct tape from her mouth.

She sucks in a huge gulp of air. “Please untie me,” she pleads. Her eyes are bloodshot and sad. Mascara is smeared down her left cheek. It kills me seeing her like this. I don’t want this for her, but I have no other choice. At least it feels like I have no other choice.

“I can’t. You know that.”

“Please,” she says. “It hurts.”

“It won’t hurt if you stop trying to free yourself.” I adjust the pillow beneath her and give the rope more slack so she can lie down. I know she feels like a prisoner. I guess, in a way, she is. But I’ve at least left her legs untied. If she’d just lie still and stop trying to fight me on this, she’d come out of it just fine. She might even get some much-needed rest. “Just give me a couple of hours. When I’m finished talking to him, I’ll bring you downstairs with me.”

She rolls her tear-rimmed eyes. “You’re a liar. All you do now is lie to me.”

I don’t let those words penetrate the walls of my chest. I know she doesn’t mean them. She’s just scared. Upset.

But so am I.

I lean forward and press a kiss against the top of her head. She tries to pull away from me, but she can’t go far. She’s crying now, trying not to look at me. I hide my guilt behind a hardened jaw. “If you promise not to scream, I won’t put the duct tape back on.”

This is a compromise she’s willing to make. She nods with a defeated look in her eyes, as if I won this round, but I’m not trying to win anything other than our normalcy back.

When I close the door and lock her inside, I can hear her begin to sob. I feel her pain in every part of me, crackling inside my bones. I press my forehead against the door for a few seconds and force myself to regain my composure before heading back downstairs.