21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

L ayla opened her eyes and realised she was now in her bedroom prison. Dylan and those girls hadn't killed her.

A sense of relief flooded her body, and then she felt nauseated that she had ended up in that position in the first place. For two days in a row, her life had been in peril. How the hell had she ended up like this?

She sat up gingerly so she wouldn't aggravate anything. Her head had hit the concrete pretty hard; she was surprised it wasn't hurting more than it was. Even her ribs felt only slightly tender. There was blood on her hand from when she stabbed one of them, and despite everything, it made her feel horrible. She wasn't a murderer. She only had weapons for self-defence but had never used them against anyone before. And those girls had been pretty messed up in the head, so she wasn't sure she could blame them for what was happening.

She tried to wipe the blood on her already ruined clothes but it was pointless. There was no saving them. With her meagre wardrobe, she would have to venture into the walk-in closet to find replacements because she had no money to waste on new clothes.

Someone had carried her to the bed, probably Dylan. He'd been her saviour, after all. After their interaction that morning, why had he bothered? He couldn't pretend to be a gentleman now. She still had his bruises on her arm, for fuck's sake!

She lifted her arm to study the finger-shaped bruises the maniac had left on her. She frowned and raised her other arm. Her skin was as blemish-free as ever. She hadn't imagined the bruises, had she? Maybe it was her overactive imagination again. This wouldn't be the first time she had imagined things that weren't there. But she looked at the blood on her clothes, felt the tenderness in her body, and knew she hadn't been seeing things this time.

Something in the air in this place made her imagine these things and behave out of character. And whatever it was made the residents here unnaturally strong. And now those girls had access to her room, so she wasn't safe even here.

She rushed to her feet, ignoring her nausea as she went to check the door. It was locked again. Would they be back a second time? A quick search of her waistband and pockets revealed nothing- not that she had expected them to return her weapons. She was defenceless now, but there had to be something in the room that she could use.

After washing up again and finding a T-shirt and a pair of jeans in the wardrobe that were surprisingly her size, she checked every corner of the room. Her stomach growled loudly, but she ignored it as she continued to search.

When she heard the lock in the door, she rushed to the coffee table and picked up a decorative vase from the centre. It would have to do for now.

But it wasn't the girls or Dylan who walked into the room.

It was Jackson, holding a tray with a steaming plate of food and water bottles. Her mouth watered instantly. She couldn't be sure whether it was from seeing Jackson or the food. This time, he was wearing jeans and a button-down shirt, filling those out as nicely as he had the sweatpants. The air in the room suddenly became charged when she remembered what he had done to her only hours earlier, and it reminded her not to let him touch her again. Jackson King was dangerous.

Jackson eyed the vase in her hands but still advanced towards her as if, once again, the thought of her hurting him didn't bother him.

"You've been asleep for hours," Jackson said as he put the tray on the table.

She was starving, but she didn't lower the vase.

"Dylan said you tried to leave the house."

She almost snorted but refrained.

"I know this isn't ideal, but I'll take you around tomorrow after I've spoken to everyone. I can show you the town once everyone gets used to having you here, but that might take a little more time," Jackson continued.

She remained silent. Jackson shook his head and turned to walk out.

"I want to speak to my sister," she said.

"Then call her. I haven't stopped you from doing that."

"She doesn't have her phone. She must have lost it when we were..."

Jackson turned and studied her for a moment before he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"I'll tell them to get her a new phone," he said as he dialled a number.

The conversation was quick, and when he finished, she was still holding the vase in front of her.

"You don't need any weapons here, Layla. You're safe."

Right.

"Does anyone else have a key to this room?"

Jackson nodded. "I left a key in the kitchen so they could bring your food. But no one comes up to this floor; it's just you and me up here now."

"Can you get the key back?" she asked.

Jackson frowned but nodded before he turned to walk to the door again. He was at the door when he stopped and looked towards the bathroom.

"What happened?" he asked.

He didn't wait for her to answer before he walked across to the ensuite, and when he came out, he was holding the ruined clothes she had thrown in the trash. His fist was balled up as he brought the t-shirt to his nose and sniffed it before he met her gaze across the room.

The fury in his eyes made her take a step back.

The girl she stabbed claimed she would be Jackson's girlfriend once she turned eighteen. What if that was true? What if she had stabbed his girlfriend and put herself in more danger?

A voice in her head told her she was being silly. It was more believable to imagine Jackson was gay because he wouldn't have made this stupid deal with her if he had a girlfriend. But the girl had to have had that idea from somewhere.

"Were you hurt?"

His voice sounded different. His mood had changed so quickly that she felt like she was speaking to two different people, so she had no idea how to respond to him.

"Not... not really," she whispered.

Jackson threw the clothes down and stormed to the door.

"Come," he said.

She had no idea what was happening. Was she in trouble? Jackson left the door wide open, but she stood there staring at it, trying to figure it out. Was he taking her to the girls so they could finish her off? She couldn't put anything past him anymore.

Jackson returned to the room, and she swore she saw a flash of red in his eyes again.

"Come with me, Layla," he said.

She took a calming breath and started to follow. She didn't dare put the vase down even though she knew how ridiculous she looked.

No one was downstairs when she followed Jackson through the lobby, but she kept her eyes open in case of another ambush.

Jackson led her into the room she had come to on her first night. Diedre, the only friendly face she had seen since she arrived, was treating a young man on the exam table.

"Leave," Jackson said.

The man jumped off the table and did as he was told, even though he had been in the middle of getting a nasty wound on his shoulder treated.

"What happened?" Diedre asked, coming forward to usher her to take the man's place.

"Nothing. I'm fine," she answered, still clutching the vase.

She was much better off than the man Jackson had forced to leave. But in his shoes, she wouldn't have wanted to argue with Jackson, either. His anger hadn't abated, and it was terrifying.

Diedre didn't ask anything else or speak to Jackson as she did some checks on her.

"Slight concussion," she murmured after shining a light in her eyes. "How did you hit your head?"

Jackson stood still behind Diedre, watching everything. She still didn't know if she was the one in trouble or the girls who had started this.

"I was just a bit clumsy. I'm fine."

"Well, other than the concussion, it appears so," Diedre said. "I'll just change your dressing and give you another shot."

Only as Dierdre put a fresh dressing on her back did she realise she had completely forgotten that she had been injured. She'd woken up free of pain, not even a twinge to remind her that she had been bleeding all over the place when she had arrived.

And it was only as she was leaving the room she realised she had been drugged after all. Diedre had given her that shot, and her head wasn't right after that. She couldn't trust her either, it seemed.

Jackson said nothing as he led her back to her room, but the anger remained. It was like a cloud hanging over him.

"Eat your food," he said as he opened her door. "I'm going to get the spare key back and deal with this."

She was left looking at the door as it locked again. It took her a while to realise that she wasn't in trouble and that Jackson's anger hadn't been directed at her.

She walked to the sofa and sank into it, still clutching the vase to her chest. She had never felt anyone's anger like that, not even her father's. But all she was thinking of now was how Jackson would ‘deal with this', and she couldn't stop the fear from taking over her body.