25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

L ayla smoothed the front of the dress as she looked at herself in the mirror. It was by far the most expensive thing she had ever worn. The soft silky fabric felt sensual against her skin as it skimmed against her curves and fell to her feet with a slit at the front. The round neckline made it look classy, and it draped at the back, showing more skin than she was comfortable with around Jackson.

With her height, shopping was a chore most days, so she knew she would have struggled to find something that fit her so well if she'd had to shop for herself.

It was gorgeous.

But it was hardly the type of clothing to wear when running through the woods at night. And she wouldn't be able to hide her knife under it.

With a sigh, she fluffed out her curly hair and then slipped her phone into her cleavage before leaving the bathroom. Not the classiest of places, but she needed to get in touch with Brit once she was on the move.

Jackson stood by the windows, but he turned when she closed the door. His gaze slowly travelled the length of her body, heating her back up and making her hate herself. She could see exactly what he was thinking when his eyes met hers.

It was the drug Diedre had injected her with; she was sure of it now. Her body's reactions were involuntary.

Jackson turned away without a word and walked to what looked like a box he had placed on the bed.

"Wear these."

At least he wasn't pretending to be a gentleman and wasting his compliments on her. They were not welcome, not from a cult leader.

She walked over to him to take the box, but Jackson caught her off guard by lowering to his knees in front of her. He placed the box beside him and opened it without looking at her. The shoes were high-heeled, strappy and black—the label on the box made her eyes bulge out.

She could understand why Brit would have immediately fallen in love with her new clothes if this was the type of quality Jackson provided.

It was too bad she would have to discard them when she ran. Running barefoot wasn't ideal, but it was better than heels.

Then Jackson touched her.

She sucked in a breath as the same feeling from the morning hit her. His large hand around her calf instantly shocked her whole system as her lust went from twenty to one hundred. No one was supposed to be able to do that to someone with just one touch. She screamed at herself to pull away, but she couldn't move. His hand moved slowly down her calf until he got to her ankles.

She knew he could see how her toes had curled and maybe even feel the slight tremble in her legs, but at least he couldn't hear how her heart started to race. His head remained lowered as he concentrated on his task so she could only see his luscious hair. Maybe it was a good thing. If he looked at her like he'd done when she had walked out of the bathroom, she would likely make the first move.

Jackson lifted her foot, unbalancing her a little. She had to put her hand on his shoulder to support herself. His broad, muscular shoulder. Fuck, he was so strong. She was willing to bet he wouldn't have a problem lifting her and fucking her against a wall...

She bit her lip and looked away.

She had to stay focused. She had to fight this drug that made her want to keep fucking this man. She had to remember her goal.

He repeated the same process with her other foot, gently caressing her before he strapped the shoe. He had to be doing that on purpose. Maybe he knew what the drug was doing to her.

But he didn't say a word as he cleared his throat and rose abruptly.

"Come," he said in a growly voice as he strode to the door.

The moment he stopped touching her, her head became clearer, almost like she was coming out of a haze. Whatever she had been given was too potent, too dangerous.

Jackson looked over his shoulder at the door but didn't meet her eyes.

"Keep your mouth shut during dinner and do everything I say. Speak only when spoken to."

What? Like a circus animal?

The last bit of haziness in her head cleared at the evidence of Jackson's arrogance.

Jackson didn't wait for her reaction; he just left the room. He didn't even wait for her in the hallway. She had to jog to keep up with him. The stairs delayed her more because she had to concentrate to avoid falling on her face. She had one pair of heels in her wardrobe at home, and she never really wore them—no need since she never had anywhere nice to go.

But she kept her eyes peeled for any possible hiding spots in the spaces she could see on the floor below hers, and she tried to find any other escape routes as she came down the last flight of stairs to the busy lobby. Very busy. What sort of party was this man having? They were all impeccably dressed like they were dining with stars or kings.

Young people dressed in black and white uniforms lined one side of the doorway, greeting visitors and taking coats. They all turned to watch as she walked down the last flight of stairs. All of them, like they were out of that movie about wives replaced by robots. She supposed that was fitting since they were all part of this hidden, brainwashed community.

She reached the bottom and then stood awkwardly. Jackson had disappeared, so she didn't know where she was supposed to go. The guests started to whisper among themselves, and she was sure she heard ‘human'.

She frowned as she looked at the woman who had said it. That was an odd thing to say. The doctor had said the same when he had told her human women needed prenatal supplements. Hearing it once was strange but twice was a pattern.

What did this cult actually believe? That they were not human? Transcended? Did they all think, like the girls who had attacked her, that they were better than her? Her earlier fears returned as she realised she was more vulnerable than she thought.

"Why are you just standing there?"

She looked away from the woman to see Jackson had returned to her side.

"Because you left me behind. How the hell was I supposed to know where to go?" she hissed quietly.

Maybe she hadn't been as quiet as she'd thought.

The room quietened, and she heard some gasps like they had heard how she'd spoken to their leader. She'd said the wrong thing again. In the morning, Dylan had bruised her for what he had claimed was disrespect. Had she offended all of them, too?

Jackson's eyes hardened, and the coldness returned to them. It was clear she had offended him as well.

"Come," he said, turning to walk away again.

This time she kept up, but it was easy to keep sight of his tall frame because all the guests parted for him and lowered their heads, as they had done that morning.

Jackson didn't take her to the dining room they had eaten in that morning. Two kids in black and white opened a set of double doors at the end of the hallway as Jackson approached them, and when she walked through, she realised this place was more extensive than she had first thought. The hall had high ceilings and several windows with views of parts of the grounds she had not yet seen. And it was full of people sitting at dinner tables and talking among themselves. So many people.

They all stood and lowered their heads as Jackson walked down the middle of the hall. For a moment, she was struck by the picture, not just how they showed such reverence to their dangerous leader but how chilling it was they all behaved as if this was normal.

"Come, Layla."

There he went again. She saw Jackson had gone further ahead and jogged again to catch up with him. He led them to a table at the front, set differently from the others and occupied by fewer people.

"Sit there."

She looked at the seat Jackson referred to and saw the two men from breakfast on either side. Was Jackson serious?

"Sit," Jackson repeated.

Was he going to treat her like a dog the whole night? She bit her tongue and sat down, not looking at the men beside her. Jackson took his place next to some older gentlemen and greeted them like a normal person. Maybe the rudeness was only reserved for her.

A few moments later, the hall seemed full, and the guests were quiet as they looked at their table. She didn't need to look up from her lap to know she was the centre of attention.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?"

Jackson's deep voice rang out through the already silent hall.

"Before we begin, I have something to say. This is Layla, and she's here as my guest. I expect everyone to remember what that means because I won't say it again."

What did it mean? She snuck a look at him and found his gaze was somewhere to his right. It didn't take him long to see what he was looking at. The three girls from the afternoon sat at a table together and had their heads lowered. They looked scared. Maybe even terrified.

What had Jackson done to them when he had left her room in anger?

The one who had called herself Jackson's future girlfriend lifted her eyes and looked at her directly. She had not seen her face clearly in the dark basement, but the blonde girl was stunning. And she was angry.

A shiver went up her spine when she saw the hatred in her eyes. The girl wasn't done with her, no matter what Jackson said. If she stayed here any longer, she would end up dead.

There was a flash outside and then a rumble of thunder that drew her gaze from the angry girl to the windows. The heatwave had finally broken. It looked like a storm and possibly the only chance she would get.

It was now or never.