47. Othelia
Chapter forty-seven
Othelia
“Clay.” I try to calm my racing heart as I raise my hands and back up into the suite. My mind’s going crazy, trying to find a way out of this. What does he want? How did he find me? I bump into the entryway table and slide myself around it, placing it between us.
“You’ve been hard to find.” He casually drags the barrel of the gun across the entryway table as he takes in the opulent suite Rook had booked us.
“Have I? I didn’t know you were looking for me.” I quickly scan my surroundings, looking for anything that could be a weapon and planning our escape route. If I scream, someone might hear me, but by the time help gets here, Clay could shoot me or Layla. There’s no way I’m letting my stupid choices separate Layla from Rian.
Rian . My eyes flick to the screen, noticing the game has finished. The boys are celebrating their win in the locker room, meaning one or both will head to talk to the press. It will be at least another hour, possibly two, before they get back.
I don’t have enough time to wait for them. I can’t distract Clay for that long. We need to get out now.
“This was never meant to include you,” Clay says softly as he steps around the table and I jolt back in response, nearly falling backwards over the couch. Never meant to be a part of what? I had loved him and planned a life with him. How could I be any less involved?
Layla happily plays in the play gym Rook bought her a week ago, unaware of the danger she’s in on the other side of the couch. One part of me wants to pick her up, while another part thinks it’s better to draw him away from her.
“Clay, I’m sorry. Let’s talk.”
“This isn’t about you, Tilly.” He runs his hand through his already messy hair, yelling, making himself appear even more unhinged. “If only you had stayed the fuck away, I wouldn’t have to do this. You don’t understand, I need him to see.” He’s making zero fucking sense.
“Are you high?” I whisper as he steps closer.
His bloodshot eyes flick to meet mine, his glare hardening. “You think this is about drugs? I’m not fucking high, Tilly. I tried to keep you out of it, but you both had to flash your relationship around the place.”
My hands slide down to my pockets, subtly running over them, searching. The front pockets are empty. When I shift them to the back, I hold in the sigh of relief at finding my phone securely tucked inside.
Now if I can get Layla and me to the bedroom, lock the doors, maybe barricade them before he can get in and buy us some time to call for help.
Layla’s babble catches Clay’s attention, and for a second, the Clay I loved peaks through as his face softens at the sight of her. I take this distraction as an opportunity to step closer to the large vase of flowers sitting on the buffet. Rook had joked earlier about me being spread out over the top of it and him eating me like his own private buffet.
The thought of Rook has me glancing at the TV again, just in time to watch both him and Rian step out in front of the waiting cameras, sitting down ready to break down their game. I wince at the thought of him receiving another phone call by the police, telling him how Clay hurt me.
No, I will do whatever it takes to return to him , is my last thought as I wrap my hand around the vase, feeling the cool crystal against my fingertips.
Clay’s face hardens as he stares at the TV, watching Rook begin his interview. “Maybe it’s better she’s growing up without a mother. One less person to be constantly let down by.”
As his attention turns back to me. I quickly step forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins. With all my strength, I smash the vase into Clay’s face, causing him to let out a piercing howl of pain as the glass shatters.
Darting around the couch to scoop up Layla, I make a run for the bedroom doors. Pushing them open, we sprint inside before slamming them closed and turn the lock, feeling the satisfying click of safety.
With Layla safely on the bed, I scramble to move the dresser, dragging it towards the door to provide a barrier. Leaning against one side, I dig my heels in, pressing my back against the side of the drawers, but it doesn’t budge.
“Fuck,” I scream. Rushing back to the bedside, I reach for the bedroom phone, my heart pounding as I dial zero to connect with the lobby.
A crash comes from the lounge, the sounds of furniture being turned over before fists pound against the doors. The wood shudders at the impact. My heart freezes.
“You really shouldn’t have done that, Tilly. I was going to ask you nicely to come with me. Now I’m going to have to make it hurt.” Another bang against the door and the wood splinters. I gape at it as I wait for an answer on the phone.
The wood creaks and groans as I keep staring, feeling like I’m in a horror movie, where the bad guy pops his head through a broken door.
“Room service. How may I direct your call?”
“Security!” I scream into the phone. “Help us!” I let out a yelp as a crack forms in the wood and Clay’s hand dripping with blood comes through the hole, searching for the lock.
Dropping the phone, I grab Layla and dart towards the ensuite, locking it behind us and climbing into the porcelain tub. Covering Layla with my body, I pray the tub is strong enough to withstand bullets if Clay decides to shoot his way in.
Yanking my phone out of my pocket, I dial with shaky fingers the number for my private security. It rings, but there’s no answer. I dial again as Clay crashes into the bedroom; he tisks as he looks around the room for us.
“Come out, come out,” he says, his voice getting closer.
The line goes to voicemail, and the absence of a response hangs in the air.
I dial a third time, when Clay begins manically knocking on the bathroom door.
“Oh Tilly,” he sings from the other side of the door. “Oh baby, I know we’ve had a rough patch, but if you let me in, I promise not to hurt you.”
As I open my messages, I quickly type, hitting send right before Clay bursts through the door.
I squeeze Layla, shutting my eyes, waiting for the bullets to tear through me.
I’m so sorry, Sloane. I never wanted my choices to hurt Rian or Layla. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to protect her like I promised I would.
Tears roll down my cheeks as the gun barrel gently pushes my hair back. I shudder at the touch and curl to cover Layla more.
“Get up, sweetie, you’re looking pathetic,” Clay sighs from above me. When I make no move, he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me up. My arms grasp on to Layla as I’m lifted. Pain rips through my scalp and I cry out. The sudden movement and my cries make Layla start screaming too.
Clay pulls me to a stand before shoving the gun in my face. “Move, or I shoot.”
“Okay, okay,” I whimper as tears run in rivers down my face.
Walking towards the bedroom, he pulls me to a stop at the bed, gesturing with the gun for me to sit.
“Why are you doing this?” I sob as I cradle a frantic Layla to my chest, attempting to soothe her with slow strokes over her hair, my breath coming out in ragged heaves.
“He always takes everything from me. Well, he can’t have you. I need him to finally see me. Everything I’ve done to prove myself and I still can’t get him to care about me half as much as he does them.” My mind reels, but I can’t make sense of his ramblings. My head throbs and I can’t think clearly.
“Please Clay, let me put down Layla. You can do what you want with me. I’ll go wherever you want, but let me get her safe. She doesn’t need to be part of this,” I beg as Layla squirms in my arms.
“Fine, get rid of her. I don’t need her, anyway. Just you.” His threat is clear as he trails me from his position, the gun trained on my back as I lean Layla down into her cot.
I run my fingers through her hair once more. “Shh, it’s okay. Daddy will be home soon.” I sob as I think of Rook and Rian. “I love you, baby girl.”
I scream as Clay grabs my hair again, dragging me back to the bed before throwing me on top of the sheets. Climbing on top of me, he pushes up my tee, running his fingers over the bare skin of my stomach. My body tenses in response.
“If I had more time, I would fuck you in this bed, so he could smell us when he comes back to find you gone.” He laughs again, his head tilting to the side as he takes me in. His eyes trail paths up my body and I try to resist the urge to shudder.
How had I loved this man? How is he so different, yet still unbelievably the same? Same cold, disapproving eyes as he finds yet another way to use me.
“This will prove that I was always the better choice. I’m not just a disappointment. You fell into my lap. I had you first. Finally, I will have something that he doesn’t,” he says as slides back off me, running a finger down my leg as he descends.
I cower at his touch, and he chuckles.
“Come now, T. We have a plane to catch.” He grasps me by my ankles, yanking me towards the end of the bed where he now stands.
Running the barrel of the gun over my face, I try to hold back the tears as he uses it to push back my hair.
“I really hate to do this to your pretty face, but I don’t trust that you won’t try to run at the first opportunity.”
“I promise I—” The words don’t even leave my lips as he brings the butt of the gun down hard on my temple.
My body slumps to the floor at the foot of the bed as pain flashes across my face, the room spinning. Layla’s cries seem to come from everywhere all at once. I feel dizzy and vomit creeps up the back of my throat. Clay’s smiling face looks down at me as the room goes black.