Page 67 of Crossed Up

Clearing my throat, I take my phone back and grimace. “That’s Cal, our bodyguard. He’s hanging out with us until my ex is found and dealt with.”

Her eyes widen exponentially. “Until he’s found? When did he go missing?”

My grimace transforms into a full-blown cringe, and I spend the next fifteen minutes going over the events of the last day in detail, only leaving out the intimate details. By the time I finish explaining, Wren looks like a fish out of water. “Damn, Lyla-boo. I’m glad you got out when you did because the guy seems like his wheel is still turning, but the hamster’s definitely dead.”

I raise a brow at her, but she snickers and waves me off. “Crazy. He seems batshit crazy.”

Ah.

I open my mouth to reply, but a quick tug at my sleeve steals my attention. “Can we go get a pretzel?”

Ruffling Crew’s hair, I nod. “Be right back?” I say to Wren. She smiles and waves us on, so I walk over to let Cal know what we’re doing.

He smiles as we approach. “Leaving already?”

I shake my head, but it’s Crew who replies. “No, silly! Mommy said we can go get pretzels! I’m getting cheese with mine. Cheese on pretzels is the best. Daddy likes mustard, but that’s so gross.”

Cal chuckles and nods. “I agree. Cheese is the best.”

The minute we step into the hallway, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, causing me to glance around furtively. Cal sees me pause and tenses, subtly checking our surroundings again. “Did you see something, Miss Taylor?”

The feeling of being watched is thick in the air around us, but a more thorough look around comes up with nothing concerning, so I shake my head slowly at Cal. “I think maybe I’m just anxious because it’s getting more crowded with the game about to end.

The Raptors are now leading by six runs at the top of the 9th, meaning the game is practically over and people are starting to leave. Aidan explained to me that baseball games go for nine innings, with each being split into a “top” half, and a “bottom” half. If the home team is leading at the end of the top of the 9th inning, they’ll call the game early since the home team bats at the bottom of each inning.

He nods in understanding and hovers a hand over my lower back while I keep Crew’s hand locked firmly in mine. “Just stick close, and we’ll be back in the box in no time, but maybe we take the stairs instead of the elevator? The less exposed we are, the better.”

The hulking man follows our lead to the only stairwell in the vicinity. This area is a little more outdated than the rest of the stadium since it’s essentially used as a service entrance, meaning the door is one of those that has a long hinged bar for a handle.

The second I push down on the handle, a gloved hand snarls in my hair, yanking me through the door and slamming it shut before Cal or Crew can follow.

I cry out, falling to my knees at the sting, lifting my head just in time to see Cal ramming his massive shoulder into the door as Sebastian jams it with a metal bat. My stomach sinks like a rock, and my heart races when I realize I’m trapped in this stairwell with the man who almost killed me last year.

“Mommy!” Crew screams. Fat tears drip down his cheeks and soak his light blue shirt as he pounds his tiny fists on the door.

Bas is still wrestling with the door, so I take a moment to assess my surroundings and reassure my boy. “Crew-bug, go find Auntie Wren and stay with her,” I yell. “Cal, call the police and find Copeland! I’ll be fine!”

Sebastian snarls, whipping around and backhanding me so hard my head hits the metal handrail on the wall, rattling my brain. The deserted stairwell swims around me, and when I reach a hand to the back of my head, it comes away wet with blood. “Oh, shit.”

A malevolent chuckle is my only warning before I’m yanked up by my wrists and slammed into the wall. The handrail responsible for the way my skull throbs in time with my rapid heartbeat digs into my lower back as Bas shifts his grip, trapping both of my wrists in one of his big hands. He pulls out a knife with the other, holding it shakily at my neck.

The cool metal of the blade glides up my throat and over my face, tracing my features slowly. “I almost forgot how pretty you look all bruised and bloody, darling. Maybe now that I have you back in my care, Father will stop berating me for letting you get away,” he murmurs sweetly, pressing the knife into my neck hard enough to cut. I force the tears back and bite my lip in an effort to stay as silent as possible.

“But you just had to go and be a little fucking cunt, didn’t you? You just had to go and embarrass me in front of the whole goddamn world, always acting like you’re better than everyone else just because your dad is a mediocre actor.” He smashes our hands against the wall, and I feel one of my wrists crack, forcing a scream from my throat.

He groans like the sound turns him on. Knowing my ex, it probably does. “Fuck, I missed the sound of your screams, little bunny. It’s time to get you back home where you belong. Tied up in my basement where you can’t cause any more fucking problems.”

His tongue darts out to lick up the side of my neck, making me gag violently. My reaction must piss him off further because he backhands me again. This time, I feel my lip split, but I also feel a warm liquid sliding down my cheek, so I assume his family ring cut me there as well. A pained whimper slips free.

“Come now, bunny. It’s time to go.” The words come out in a giddy cadence, and he bounces on the balls of his feet like a child excited about a trip to the zoo.

Sebastian drags me down the stairs with him at a pace much too quick for how fast the world is still spinning around me. Every time I stumble over my own feet, he stops to inflict some new form of pain.

By the time we make it to the ground floor service entrance, I feel bruises forming all over my body, and I have cuts on more than just my face from the knife he’s wielding.

The back door slams open with force, and whatever Bas sees on the other side has him stilling before he hurriedly pulls me to him by my hair. I cry out as one arm wraps around my shoulder, and the other still holds the knife at my neck just hard enough that I feel the sting of the blade.

“Now, Sebastian, let’s not be hasty here. Just let the girl go, and we can forget this ever happened, okay? But I need you to let Lyla go now,” a man’s voice soothes.

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