Chapter 8
Aida woke up to the smell of bleach. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her inner thigh the moment she shifted her weight on the mattress.
She gasped, her eyes flying open. She stared wildly at the white acoustic tiles on the ceiling, her chest heaving as she tried to suck air into her panicked lungs.
Chloe, who had been asleep with her head resting on the edge of the bed, jerked awake. She immediately reached out and grabbed Aida's hand, squeezing it tight.
"You're okay, you're safe," Chloe said quickly, her eyes red and swollen from crying. "The police took Grayson. He's locked up."
Aida stared blankly at the ceiling for a long moment, letting her racing heart slow down. She swallowed dryly. "Who... who got me out?"
"Brendan Walls's security team," Chloe said, her voice full of awe. "Aida, they drove a literal armored SUV straight through the brick and glass wall of the club. They didn't even use the door."
Aida frowned. The memory of that massive, explosive crash right before she passed out flashed in her mind.
She turned her head to look at Chloe. "How long did it take? From the moment I hung up with you, to the moment the police arrived?"
Chloe thought for a second. "NYPD was fast. Maybe ten minutes."
"And when did Brendan's people get there?" Aida asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Chloe looked confused. "When the cops walked in, Brendan's guys had already beaten Grayson half to death. The bartender told the police that the SUV crashed through the wall barely five minutes after you locked yourself in the bathroom."
Aida's heart stopped. The monitor next to her bed gave a sharp, erratic beep.
Her brain, trained to analyze data and find flaws in logic, began to spin. The underground club was in the Meatpacking District, deep in Lower Manhattan. Brendan's penthouse was on Central Park South.
It was a physical impossibility. Even with no traffic, a massive armored vehicle could not cover that distance in five minutes.
There was only one logical explanation. Brendan's security team hadn't driven from Midtown. They had been sitting in an SUV, parked directly outside the club, waiting.
Aida's breathing turned shallow. She thought back to the gala. Brendan demanding she use herself as bait. The Maybach being perfectly boxed in on an empty street. The five-million-dollar contract handed over so easily.
The puzzle pieces snapped together with horrifying clarity.
She hadn't been rescued. She had been the bait in a trap Brendan had set for Grayson. He had watched her walk into the club with a known predator, and he had sat outside, waiting for Grayson to commit a felony so he could destroy him.
A wave of absolute, freezing cold washed over her body. The betrayal felt like a physical knife twisting in her gut.
Aida looked down at her left hand. A clear plastic IV tube was taped to the back of her hand, feeding fluids into her vein.
She reached over with her right hand, grabbed the plastic hub of the needle, and violently ripped it out of her flesh.
A thick drop of dark red blood instantly welled up on her skin and dripped onto the white bedsheets.
"Aida! What are you doing? Are you crazy?" Chloe shrieked, lunging forward to press a tissue over the bleeding hole.
Aida's face was as pale as a corpse, but her eyes were burning with a terrifying, icy rage. "I'm not crazy," she whispered. "I'm just a fucking idiot."
Heavy, measured footsteps sounded in the hallway outside.
The door handle turned. Brendan Walls walked into the room. He was wearing a black dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the fabric slightly wrinkled.
His dark eyes immediately locked onto the blood dripping from Aida's hand. His thick eyebrows slammed together in a furious scowl.
He took three long strides across the room, glaring down at Chloe. "Why the hell haven't you pressed the call button for a nurse?" he snapped.
Aida yanked her hand away from Chloe. She hid her bleeding hand under the blanket.
She slowly lifted her chin and stared up at Brendan. She didn't look at him like he was her savior. She looked at him like he was a monster.
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