33. Lila

33

LILA

T he first thing I noticed was the cold. A biting, unforgiving chill seeped into my bones as I struggled to open my eyes, and I wasn't sure if it was just me or if wherever I was had some really cranked-up AC going. My head throbbed with a dull ache, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue. I blinked, trying to make sense of my surroundings, but my vision was blurry and my thoughts were sluggish.

Where was I?

I tried to move, tried to get to my feet, but I found that one of my wrists was handcuffed to a pipe that came out of a dank concrete wall. Panic surged through me as I took it in—rusty, sure, but too substantial for me to even think about trying to break it myself. The cuff dug painfully into my skin when I tried a hard pull, sending a sharp jolt through my arm. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, and the air smelled of damp and decay.

Oh, my God. I was just at brunch, for Pete's sake . What in the world happened after that to get me here? Think, Lila. Think.

Fragments of memory slowly pieced together. I had been waiting for the subway. Fiddling with the stroller. A shove, and Jamie had been taken from me, and then I must have been knocked out somehow. And now, here I was, terrified beyond belief and groggy from whatever they'd done to render me unconscious. There was something still missing, but my brain fog wasn't able to latch onto it.

A muffled conversation reached my ears, growing louder as I strained to listen.

"Shut the fuck up, Whitney! You're gonna blow this whole thing!" The voice was rough, commanding, and filled with irritation.

"I... I just don't know if I can go through with this, Mark. Jamie is my son. What if Aaron doesn't pay?" The second voice was softer, trembling with fear and uncertainty.

My heart sank. That was it— Whitney . I had heard so much about her from Aaron, but nothing had prepared me for this. Clearly, she was in rough shape if she was desperate enough to kidnap her own son for ransom. And I had no idea how dangerous she could be, but this Mark guy certainly sounded like bad news.

"You're in too deep now," Mark snapped. "We've got the fuckin' nanny. He'll pay to get them both back."

There was a pause, and then Whitney's voice again, quieter this time. "I didn't want this. I just wanted Jamie back. I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"You should've thought about that before you told me about your fuckin' billionaire brother, you stupid bitch," Mark yelled, making me wince. "We're doing this my way now. Here, go check if she's awake."

I heard footsteps, the echoey sound of them bouncing around a wide, open space. Whitney's face appeared, pale and drawn, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

"Whitney," I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Whitney, I'm Lila. I–I've been taking care of your little boy."

She looked at me, her expression conflicted. "I can't talk to you," she said, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "Mark will get angry."

"He doesn't have to know," I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady. "Just… come here. Listen to me for a minute. Please."

She hesitated, then stepped closer. "What do you want?"

"Jamie is safe with Aaron," I said, watching her reaction carefully, though she was hard to read. She must have been high on something, from the twitchy movements and bizarre expressions that flickered across her face. "He's… he's happy. He's got stability, and plenty of toys, and he's so, so sweet. You don't want to put him through this."

"He's my son!" Whitney whisper-shouted, and I jumped from the harshness of the hiss. "He belongs with me!"

"You left him with Aaron for a reason," I reminded her. "And I know you must miss him. He misses you, too. But this… this isn't the way to get him back."

Tears welled up in her eyes. "You don't understand."

"You can fix this, Whitney. Just… just call the police," I implored her. "If you get caught doing this, you could lose him forever."

She bit her lip, the conflict clear on her face.

"Help me," I urged. "Help Jamie. You can't let us just rot in here."

Before I could say anything else, the door burst open, and Mark stormed in. "What are you doing?" he barked at Whitney. "I told you not to talk to her!"

Whitney flinched, stepping back. "I–I was just ch–checking on her," she stammered.

"Get the fuck out," he growled. "Now."

Whitney cast me one last, desperate look before hurrying out of the room, and for the first time in my life, my optimism failed me, my brain whirring with anxious questions and a feeling of deep dread. Was someone out there looking for me? Would they find me before this strung-out scumbag did something drastic? And where on earth were they keeping poor, innocent Jamie?