Chapter 12
TWELVE
LAYA
M y mind reels. Unable to comprehend the events of the day, I’m not sure how long it took to get to Nico’s private jet. I was in a state of shock, and again, I’m unsure when we landed, at which point I was carried to a waiting car. Nico tried to explain that Owen was aware of the situation, but the conversation fell on deaf ears, as I was in such a state of trauma I could comprehend nothing other than the destruction of my life. After feeding Romero, I fell asleep, then he woke me to say we’d arrived at a secure location.
In a complete blur, he took me and Romero through a private elevator in a hotel, then up to the presidential floor before explaining nobody can access the floor. Sympathy oozed from him, and as much as I wanted nothing more than comfort, I couldn’t bring myself to ask for it.
Then he turned, leaving me here and telling me Owen was on his way.
He left, and I struggled to remain standing. With his departure, he was taking a part of my life with him I can never get back.
Only the haunting memories of its existence will stay with me.
Rushing toward the door, I slide every lock in place, then fall to the floor. I’d not uttered a single word to him the entire time we spent together, but now I wish I’d have said a thousand things, but mainly, thank you. Thank you for swooping in and rescuing us, for bringing us to safety.
Thank you for being Carlos’s friend, brother, and ally.
Once I feed and change Romero, I put on the television, hoping to divert my attention from the clock beside me. Still, I glance at it every few minutes, like a couple of nights ago, when it glared back at me, not giving me the time I so desperately wanted to see.
Why does time go so slowly when you want it to speed up? Yet when you wish you had all the time in the world, it’s over in a flash.
A soft knock at the bedroom door stills me, and I mute the television, then glance toward my son sleeping beside me, tucked in between a pillow fortress.
The knock sounds again, and I chew on my bottom lip. It’s only been just over an hour since Nico left, and we’re at least two hours from home.
“Laya?”
Owen’s deep voice has me springing up from the bed. I rush toward the door, slip the chains off the latch with shaky hands, pull the door open, then throw myself at him, giving him no choice but to hold me against his muscular chest while uncontrollable sobs rack through me.
“Shhh, it’s okay, baby girl. I got you.” He scoops me up with ease, his thick arms cradling me to his chest. “Shhh.” He presses kisses against my hair as he breathes me in, and I relish it, his touch, his proximity, the familiarity of it being him holding me. “You’re safe.” I hiccup on his words, finally knowing it to be true, believing it. “You’re fucking safe, baby girl. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” His confession sends a flurry of warmth through my veins. This is what I need to hear, this is the comfort I need, no matter how uncertain it may be. The turn of events that brought us here plagues my mind, but I don’t argue with his words. I give in to the feeling of security and clutch his T-shirt in my fist while my face floods with the wetness of my trauma. “Let it all out, Laya. I’m here. Nobody’s going to hurt you, baby girl. Nobody is going to hurt either of you.”
He walks us over to the bed, then freezes. I tilt my head to see his face, and his throat works as he stares toward Romero. “He has your hair,” he mumbles, as if speaking to himself, and I want to correct him. I want to tell him his shading is the same as his father’s, but I can’t get the words out.
“He’s perfect,” he whispers, his words laced in awe. “Just perfect.”