The Woman in the Trunk Page 5

  With that, he dragged me across the bed by my arm, cuffing me to his side of the bed, taking the key with him, and disappearing into the bathroom.

  I couldn't be sure, but I was almost positive I heard him hiss out "fuck" as soon as he closed the door.

  When he came out a couple minutes later, though, he was collected again, though he completely avoided looking at me, even when he un-cuffed me and told me to take my turn, that we were leaving.

  He was all no-nonsense that morning, tossing all the food into the garbage, looking out the window, binding me, duct taping me again, checking outside one more time then dragging me outside and throwing me inside the trunk.

  It was the only time I would say he was truly rough with me, my head whacking a bit off the outside of the trunk as I was pushed inside, hands shoving me into the depths, then nearly catching my foot in the door as he slammed it.

  From there, it was just a lot of rolling around, trying to kick out my legs in such a way as to prevent me from slamming into the carpet-covered hard edges.

  Time stood still.

  It could have been minutes or hours.

  My best bet was on hours.

  The car stopped twice.

  Once, it seemed, to get gas.

  Another, I wasn't sure, but the car idled and Lorenzo cranked the music higher before the door slammed, seemingly leaving me for a few moments.

  But with my arms bound behind my back, I was effectively useless.

  Lorenzo got back in the car, the music turned lower, and we were moving one again.

  Again, I lost track of time, but was pretty sure hours were passing before we idled again, before the music went deafening, before the door slammed and I was sure Lorenzo was leaving me on my own.

  This time, I wiggled, hoping that I could get the car moving, could draw attention to me. I couldn't seem to get the position myself right to kick out the taillights, and even if I could, I didn't think I could get my hand out the opening, so the best bet was to make the car move enough that no one would confuse it for the bass in the music.

  All I seemed to accomplish was tiring myself out, because before too long, the door was slamming and the car was peeling away again.

  At some point, I was pretty sure I started dozing off, the soft rumble of the car on a road without many stops seemed to soothe me like it was known to do for small babies.

  But then we were stopping once more.

  For the final time.

  I knew it because the engine actually cut, then the trunk popped and I was face-to-face with Lorenzo again for what felt like the first time in days.

  "Long day," he agreed, seeming to read the exhaustion on my face as he reached in the trunk, gently grabbing my arm, helping pull me out.

  We were in some kind of underground parking, but any hopes of being seen were immediately dashed.

  We were alone.

  Once I was out, Lorenzo shrugged out of his suit jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. I thought it was an almost sweet gesture at first until I saw him buttoning it up, caching me—and my bound wrists—inside.

  Then he was swooping low, scooping me up, and tucking my face into his chest, holding it there a bit awkwardly with the arm that was around my back and shoulder, blocking the fact that I was duct taped from view as he carried me in through a back door, then toward an elevator, not releasing me until the doors slid closed.

  Then, surprisingly, he put me down, taking off the jacket, taking off the cuffs, and peeling off the duct tape.

  "Private elevator," he told me, smirking a little at my scrunched brows. "This is it. The bound and gagged shit is over. You can get a pretty free run from here on out. Except maybe I will make sure all the knives and heavy items are stashed away," he said, reaching up to touch the side of his jaw and ear where I'd struck him with the whiskey bottle.

  "So, what? I'm a house guest?" I asked, watching as he held back a smile. "What?"

  "Nothing, kid. Just an interesting choice of words, is all. Yeah, go ahead and think of yourself as a house guest."

  "One who can't leave," I specified.

  "Obviously. And there will always be someone around to make sure that can't happen. But other than that, no more locking you up or taping your mouth shut."

  "To what end?" I asked, shaking my head.

  "Until your father pays what he owes," Lorenzo said, shrugging, stepping out onto the floor as the doors dinged and opened.

  Because, of course, private elevators always led to penthouse residences.

  There would be no hallway.

  No prying eyes.

  No way out.

  It was a beautiful prison, though, I admitted to myself as I stepped into the open concept living space.

  There were floor-to-ceiling windows spanning two whole sides of the apartment, showing breathtaking views of the city below, the light already mostly gone for the day, making me realize I had lost something like twelve hours in that trunk. No wonder everything hurt and my bladder was screaming and my stomach was grumbling.

  To the right of the space was a kitchen with dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and white countertops. Directly forward was a long L-shaped sectional in a deep gray with an oversize gray and white striped ottoman, everything facing the massive TV attached to the wall, floating above a wooden console table that matched the kitchen cabinetry.

  Off to the side of the TV wall was a hallway that led back. To the bed and bathrooms, I figured.

  Even just the main area was a massive space. I could fit my entire apartment into the kitchen.

  A part of me was impressed.

  The other part was angry that I felt that way for a moment because I knew where the money for this apartment came from.

  From people like my father, like me, who were indebted to them, who struggled to pay their bills each month, while they lived in the lap of luxury.

  "All this seems self-explanatory," Lorenzo said, waving an arm out at the space. "Feel free to help yourself to everything in the kitchen. Save for the aforementioned knives and heavy instruments," he added, giving me a boyish smile as he moved over toward the hall. "And down here," he said, waiting for me to follow behind. And, with little other choice, I did. "We have the half bath, then the guest room. Your room," he clarified, opening the door, revealing a sleek, understated space with more dark woods, and crisp white bedding. I glanced hopefully at the window above the bed, but felt my spirits plummet when I saw that it, like all the windows in the main area, was solid. There was no exit. "You have your own full bath. Don't get too excited," he said, making me turn back and see the wicked smirk he was giving me. "There is no exit from there either."

  There had to be an exit somewhere.

  It was basic building code fire safety.

  There had to be at least two exits.

  The elevator barely counted since you couldn't use that in an emergency.

  "I am across the hall," he went on, moving back into said hall, extending an arm toward his door. "And then there is the gym," he said, leading me to the end of the hall and into a space slightly larger than my bedroom, stocked with all the basic essentials: treadmill, stationary bike, a stair climber, a weight bench, and about every size free weight known to mankind. "Yeah, might have to do something with those too, huh?" he asked, and when I glanced over, his hand was rubbing across the back of his neck. "I could just lock you out of here, but I figure this situation sucks enough for you. I can't deny you a little activity now and again. Alright. Why don't you settle in? I'd offer you something to wear, but I think you'd look like an infant wearing their father's clothes if I tried to give you any pants. I can give you a shirt though. I will have things picked up for you. But I imagine you are going to want to clean up now."

  "I, ah, yeah." I needed to find a way out. Or find a way to incapacitate him, so I could take the elevator down and run. It wasn't hard to get lost in the city. And once I did that, I could figure out my next move. But no one said I couldn't clean u
p first. I felt gross and sticky from the car ride. I needed to brush my teeth.

  "Alright, come on," he said, walking into the hall, waiting for me to follow him into his room.

  His bedroom was unnecessarily massive, dominated by a California king-size bed with black bedding, heavy black drapes, and doors open to a bathroom and a walk-in closet that made me want to weep.

  "Would you rather a tee or something heavier?"

  "Since you keep the air set to arctic, I think I will take something heavier," I told him as he ducked into the closet, coming back with a red sweatshirt that likely fit him normally, but was going to be a dress on me. Which was good. I wanted to be as covered as possible. Being in booty shorts and a tank around a strange man whose intentions weren't guaranteed, it would be nice not to feel so on display.

  "Your bathrooms should have everything you need. Toothbrush, paste, soap. Anything else you need, let me know. What do you want to eat?"

  "Something that didn't start as a frozen patty," I said, still having a bit of heartburn from that awful meal.

  "Think I can handle that," he agreed, giving me a tired, forced smile.

  With that, I went back into the hall, into my temporary room, closing and locking the door.

  The shower was calling my name, but I didn't immediately move in that direction. I stood just inside the door, pressing my ear to the crack, listening as Lorenzo walked into the main area.

  He seemed to immediately reach for his phone.

  "Yeah, it's done. I need you to pick it up from me. Yeah. That would be good. Tomorrow. For a few hours, so I can get some shit done. Okay yeah. Thanks."

  It sounded like he was leaving the next day for a few hours. Maybe that would be a good time to explore things, find the second way out. Or maybe distract the guard for long enough to take the elevator down.

  After that, he made a call to some restaurant, seeming to walk closer to the kitchen as he did so, making his words difficult to make out. Not that it mattered. I wasn't picky. And I was starving.

  With that, I made my way into the bathroom, finding all white subway tiles in the shower stall with an assortment of small shampoos, conditioners, and soaps.

  Locking the door, I stripped out of my old clothes, jumping in the water, keeping my eyes on the door the entire time, paranoia a skittering sensation inside as I rushed through my shower, quickly tried off, and slipped into the massive sweatshirt that swallowed me up entirely, coming down to my knees, obscuring anything beneath even resembling a body.

  When I finally emerged from the room, Lorenzo was no longer alone, but accompanied in the main space by another man around his age, but a little shorter, a little less handsome, at least for my taste.

  "Giana, this is Christopher. Christopher, Gigi. He is going to be one of the guards you will see stationed here."

  "Even when you're here?" I asked, feeling the window to escape getting smaller and smaller, possibly too small to squeeze through no matter how small I might try to make myself.

  "I'm going to need to sleep sometimes. And I can't have you walking around, looking for things to bash people over the head with," Lorenzo said, smirking. "Alright. Introductions made. Gigi, you're as safe with Christopher as you are with me. I am going to go catch a shower, too. By then, the food should be here."

  And, what? We were going to eat together like some warped house guest fantasy?

  I bit my tongue on those words, though, figuring I would get much further if he thought I was accepting of my fate, that I was calm about it. Then he might look away for a moment. Possibly even long enough for me to escape.

  "You'll be fine, kid," Lorenzo assured me before turning and walking into his room.

  With the door left open, I could see the breadth of his strong back as he pulled off his shirt on his way to his bathroom.

  Embarrassed that I looked, that I maybe even ogled a bit, I turned back to face Christopher, finding him stationed in front of the elevator, gaze averted.

  "It doesn't bother you, to have to play babysitter?" I prodded him, making my way toward the kitchen, going to the fridge. I'd used my hands to cup handfulls of water to my lips in the bathroom, but I was still dying of thirst. And if Lorenzo wanted me to play houseguest, I was going to make myself at home.

  "Nope," Christopher said, still not looking at me as I went into the fridge, finding a couple coffee-flavored energy drinks and individual orange juices. Taking the latter, I leaned back against the counter, twisting off the cap.

  "Really? Seems beneath you. You know, for a big, bad mafia guy."

  "I do what I'm told."

  I was going to get nowhere with this one, I realized. He was too determined to do a good job, to impress Lorenzo. I wasn't going to provoke him into proving he could think for himself, or sweet talk him enough to help me. Which was maybe for the best. I'd never been much of a sweet talker.

  Out of ideas for the moment, I moved back toward the living space, dropping down on the couch, careful to tuck my legs just so, very aware that the only panties I had were washed out with hand soap in the bathroom and hanging to dry over the shower door.

  Reaching for the remote on the ottoman, I turned on the television, flicking through the channels, pretending not to feel like my world was spinning around and I was desperately trying to hold on.

  I had a lot of practice acting calm when everything was falling apart.

  A couple moments later, Lorenzo walked back out of his room, no longer dressed in a suit that seemed tailored to fit him, but a pair of black lightweight cotton pajama pants and a plain white tee. Don't ask me how, but he somehow managed to still look intimidating in something so casual.

  "Chris, you want to go down and wait for the food? I ordered enough for you," Lorenzo added, moving toward the kitchen. But instead of going into the fridge, he went into a cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey.

  And two glasses.

  I watched as he poured two generous servings before making his way toward me, holding one of the glasses out like some sort of peace offering.

  "I already know your poison," he reminded me as I reached to take it. "And I figure we could both use a drink. Even if I shouldn't be serving someone your age," he added, dropping down at the far end of the sectional, catty-corner to me, and I could feel his gaze on me as I took a sip.

  "Yeah," I said after the burn subsided. "It must have been a really rough couple of days for you," I drawled, rolling my eyes. I was a big eye-roller when I was a teenager. And always had something smartass to say. I had to keep remembering to play my part.

  "I didn't want to do this job, kid. This is not what I do. But let's just say... it was me, or it was someone a lot worse. So I stepped in."

  "So, what? I'm supposed to be thankful that you kidnapped me?"

  "I'm saying the devil you know is better than the one you don't. Especially in this situation."

  "But it is still a devil," I shot back, watching him over the rim of my glass as I took another sip.

  "Let's just hope your father works things out quickly."

  My father did nothing quickly. Except blow money he didn't have.

  "Can't fucking figure out why he isn't looking for you yet."

  "He wouldn't know I was missing until I didn't show up to work on Monday."

  "So, what, you don't go home at night?"

  This was where I needed to be careful.

  "I go home. Sometimes he notices, sometimes he doesn't," I told him. I didn't have to say I went back to his home, my childhood home.

  "So you can sneak down to Cape May, and drink a bottle of whiskey, and he is none the wiser, huh?"

  "Pretty much."

  "Don't know if I should say you're lucky, or I'm sorry you've got such a shitty dad."

  "Would be silly coming from someone with an asshole for a father too," I told him.

  "Careful with that, hellcat," he warned, but he didn't disagree with me. Interesting.

  "Well, only shitty people demand kidnappings, rig
ht?"

  "And only shitty ones carry them out?" he added, brow raising.

  "You said it, not me."

  "I'll let that slide. Because you're a kid. And you're pissed. But let me offer you a word of warning here, Gigi," he said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. Even hunched forward, he was massive. "You don't say shit like that about the men I associate with. Not if you want to keep your tongue."

  "Are you... threatening me?"

  "I'm warning you," he corrected. "That some of these men won't bother to warn you. So, for your own sake, be careful with all that sass. I might be able to brush it off as idiotic adolescence. Others won't be so understanding. Don't be stupid, Gigi."

  Don't be stupid, Gigi.

  I had a feeling that would be a good motto.

  It seemed like fair advice.

  You know, if only I would have followed it...

  Chapter Five

  Lorenzo

  She wasn't fooling me.

  Those eyes of hers, they were always looking for an exit, a way out.

  Whether that was a dumbbell to the dome and a fire escape to run down, or a man to schmooze her way to freedom, she was not just sitting pretty like she wanted me to believe.

  Not even after three days of finding no escape.

  There was one, of course. You didn't get a pass for building codes just because your family took back control of most of the construction unions a decade before. There had to be several exits from the building, and each apartment in it.

  My place was no exception.

  But just because they existed didn't mean they were common knowledge, or that you could find them without knowing where to look.

  Call it a safety measure.

  Call me paranoid, even.

  But the fire escape was behind a false storage case in my master closet. You reached in, grabbed a handle in the back, and the whole thing popped open. Then you pulled up the blackout shade, and there the window was. And right outside was the fire escape that went both up and down.