23. LYLA
Chapter twenty-three
I sat hidden in the wings as Jenny McMasterson, the actress playing Ruby Vance, and the rest of the cast ran through Act I again.
I’d been attentively studying her every movement and carefully listening to each line she delivered, learning the part.
She and all the cast members were amazing; I couldn’t help but feel starstruck as I watched the rehearsal unfold.
I was tucked off to the side of the stage, sitting on a battered wooden stool, my back pressed against a fly-rail post, clutching my script. I hadn’t spoken to anyone except the cast and crew all day. Hadn’t dared wander too far from the shadows.
I was still the new girl, the understudy, trying to catch up and stay out of trouble. Just another warm body in black dance pants, a white tee, and dance shoes. I was hanging out in the wings, blending in exactly as I had hoped.
I hadn’t slept well. The hard floor beneath the stage was unforgiving, and there were too many thoughts crowding my head.
But I’d survived the night. That had to count for something.
No men with dark coats or threatening voices had come searching for me, and there had been no glint of Mr. Stalker’s pale eyes in the dark.
I’d just awakened a little cold, with stiff joints and a thin layer of grime clinging to my skin.
I’d left the hiding spot only three times before coming to rehearsal—once to sneak to the bodega for food and water, and twice to use the tiny restroom two doors down from my storage nook. Every step had felt dangerous, like someone might pop out from the shadows and grab me.
I knew I was being paranoid.
But paranoia was what kept people alive.
Looking back, my grand escape hadn’t been that well thought out.
One minute, I’d been working my normal shift at Cipher; the next, I’d been disappearing into the recesses of the building behind Playwrights Haven, hunting for the perfect place to hide.
The Midtown Performance and Rehearsal Studios building was a maze of rented rehearsal spaces, cheap offices, and small theaters—but to me, it was a temporary sanctuary.
And if no one could find me, then no one could hurt me. Not the angry Russian. Not Delgado.
I winced at the memory of that steamy encounter in front of Cipher. My Russian stalker had kissed me like I meant something to him, like I was his to protect. But then afterward he’d looked at me like I was a liability. I still didn’t know what the hell he wanted with me.
My cheeks flushed hot just thinking about the confrontation with him a few days earlier—in the alleyway. My mind replayed it over and over, recalling the roughness of the wall against my spine, the taste of his mouth on mine, the feeling of vulnerability, and his complete control over me.
God. What was wrong with me?
I rubbed my palms against my thighs and focused on Ruby’s voice again, trying not to remember the way his breath had felt against my ear, how his growl had been both terrifying and addictive.
From the stage, the director clapped and called for a reset. The stagehands moved quickly across the floor, adjusting lights and props. One guy complained that one of the background walls wasn’t balanced properly.
I exhaled quietly and leaned my head back against the post, letting my eyes drift to the high catwalks above, the distant grid of lights, and the curtains. For now, I was safe.
It was after one in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep. My stomach growled, and the close confines of my hideout made me antsy. I laced up my boots and dragged on my hoodie. Surely, I could run out, get something to eat, and return without anyone noticing.
A few minutes later, I slipped out of the building through the door beside the bodega, every muscle in my body braced to run.
The street was eerily quiet—just the distant thrum of traffic and a dog barking somewhere nearby.
My hood was up, and I buried my hands deep in my pockets, keeping my head down.
I didn’t have a plan exactly. Just a craving. Something hot and salty. A burger and fries would hit the spot.
It was stupid. The safest thing would be to stay tucked in my corner under the stage like some feral raccoon. But hunger had a way of making a person brave. Or reckless.
I walked fast, sticking close to the buildings, slipping from one pool of shadow to the next like I was in some spy movie I’d watched with my sister a hundred years ago.
My shoes made almost no sound as I kept moving.
I didn’t look behind me. Not because I wasn’t scared but because I didn’t think I could handle seeing someone there.
Half a block later, I spotted the golden glow of a twenty-four-hour burger place and ducked inside. The warm air was nice. The girl behind the counter didn’t even glance up at me as I ordered.
I took my food to a corner booth and sat with my back to the wall, keeping my hood up.
It really sucked having to hide from traffickers and stalkers and men who could snap my neck without wrinkling their shirts.
I pulled out my phone. A quick look wouldn’t hurt anything.
I had to know what was going on in my life.
The screen lit up like a Christmas tree with messages and notifications.
I opened Carmine’s text first.
Understood.
Nothing more. No questions. No comments.
I moved on.
Nat and Jae had blown up my phone. At first, they’d seemed mad. Then scared. Then sad. The last text I’d received from Nat read:
Two different guys came by asking where you were. I told them I didn’t know. Tennessee, probably. Be safe, okay? Whatever this is…please be safe.
My chest tightened, and I blinked hard. I turned the phone off so fast my fingers fumbled, and it fell onto the floor. Dammit, now there was a crack in the screen.
I hoped my phone hadn’t been on long enough for one of the villains in my personal story to trace me. I’d seen all the shows, how they could zero in on a person with very little information. But still, what kind of people could track a location in under a minute?
Then again, what kind of monsters ran underground crime rings and bought girls in back rooms?
I bit into my burger and chewed, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
But I felt too nervous and exposed here. I couldn’t even finish all the fries.
I wouldn’t use my phone again. Wouldn’t let myself get sloppy.
I dumped the trash and made my way back to the Midtown Performance building, the cold, damp air biting through the fabric of my hoodie. Nothing seemed amiss as I slipped back inside. My footsteps echoed faintly as I made my way to the place that had become my cave.
From somewhere down the hallway, behind a thick studio door, came the faint thump of a drum and the muted crash of cymbals—some band rehearsing at this ungodly hour.
The soundproofing swallowed most of it, but at night, when everything else was quiet, the music could be heard clearly.
It made the building feel alive. This place certainly lived up to its twenty-four-hour billing.
I crawled into my hiding spot and curled up, putting my backpack under my head and draping the coat over my body. The floor was still cold, still hard. The music faded as I closed my eyes and began drifting away.
I hoped I could outlast this. Maybe Delgado would get bored. Maybe my stalker would finally give up; although, the part of me that was drawn to danger didn’t want him to.
I exhaled and let the shadows have me for one more night.