Page 3 of Loving Leila
“Godspeed.”
“Thanks. See you on the flip side,” I reply just as my com crackles to life in my ear.
“We’re ready when you are, Merlin,” Jake “Phantom” Stevens murmurs.
“Let’s get it done then.”
My gut clenches at the thought of seeing Leila again. Somehow I doubt she’s going to be thrilled to see me, even if I am the cavalry.
Chapter 3
Leila
If World War III were to break out right next to me this second, I don’t think I’d be able to hear a sound over the pounding of my heart. If whoever’s on the other side of the door can’t hear it, they’ve got to be deaf.
I squeeze my eyes closed and brace for discovery.
Impossibly long moments crawl by, but nothing happens. No one grabs me or shouts at me to get out of the closet. Slowly, I open my eyes and can’t believe what I see. Nothing. Zip, zero, nada. Bupkis.
As quietly as I can, I let out the breath I was unaware of holding. I swear to God, I just lost twenty years off my lifespan. I’m already so freaked out I really didn’t need that. Cautiously, I peer around the edge of the mirrored door, but the room beyond is empty. What the hell happened?
My best guess would be that I maybe bumped the door when I jerked awake. And doesn’t that make me wanna kick my own ass for scaring myself like that. Climbing back into my hidey-hole, I struggle to close the door again.
I reach into my purse for my phone and see that I’ve been stuck in here for the better part of two hours. I wonder what’s happening out there and if Grant and the rest of the team are okay, but every time I consider leaving my safe haven, I damn near break out in hives.
A closer inspection of my screen reveals I still have no signal. But I’m out in the middle of the ocean, so there’s that. I can’t help but sigh as I drop the device back into my purse and consider my options.
Truth be told, I don’t have a ton of them. In fact, they’re pretty limited. Stay here and stay safe. Or leave my sanctuary and chance getting my head blown off. Yeah, I’m not in love with my choices.
Standing in the dark straining to hear anything, I debate the merits of staying versus leaving. Finally, I decide I need to know what’s going on beyond the boundaries of this tiny cupboard. I can’t spend the rest of my days stuck in a box waiting for my fate to be decided.
As I crack the door, I hold my breath. If anyone jumps out at me now, they won’t need to shoot me. I’ll simply die of fright. Job done. You’re welcome. Chancing a quick look out, I’m thankful to find the bathroom is still empty.
All stealth-like, I creep across the room to the outer door. Sucking air into my suddenly starved lungs, I pull the door toward me. Finally, after what I swear must have been a lifetime, the door is open enough for me to peek into the passage beyond. All clear.
I scrape my courage together, take a final deep breath, and slip out. With my back to the wall, guard up, I make turtle-speed progress toward the dining room. Is it a good sign or bad that the room is now deathly silent? I can’t hear any talking, shouting, or even the normal sounds of a room full of people. Crickets.
I’m not too proud to admit it’s freaking me the hell out. My skin’s crawling with nerves at what I’m about to find.
Rounding the last corner, I come to an abrupt halt. The dining room doors have all been closed, but one door stands slightly ajar. I need to get to it without being seen.
As carefully as I can, I make my way over and have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out when I reach the doors. The room is in utter disarray. Tables and chairs have haphazardly been pushed against the walls. Some have been overturned and been left where they’ve fallen.
There’s a group of armed men standing to the side while the passengers are huddled together in a corner. Some are clinging to each other, crying quietly. Others sit silent, a look of utter terror stamped on their ashen faces. But the thing that has me biting back a horrified gasp is the sightless eyes of a man lying motionless in a pool of blood.
All of a sudden, another man jumps up. Vaulting over those in front of him, he makes a run for the doors. He’s barely made it a few feet when an almighty crack reverberates through the room, and he falls into a crumpled heap on the floor. Apparently, the already rather dead man wasn’t enough of a deterrent.
Clapping both hands over my mouth, I fight back the scream lodged in my throat. As I back away from the door, I can only pray I don’t make a sound and alert anyone in the room that I’m here. I round the corner out of sight of the doors and bend to remove my heels. Then I haul ass back to the ladies’ restroom like the very hounds of hell are chasing.
I enclosed myself once again in the closet behind the mirror and give in to the overwhelming urge to cry. I can feel a panic attack coming on, but knowing there are murderous monsters not too far away, I can’t give in to it.
The closet is just big enough for me to sit cross-legged, so I get as comfortable as I can. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing, in on the count of four, hold for four, exhale for the same count, and hold again. Then rinse and repeat.
I can feel myself begin to calm, the fear and panic receding.
Jesus, what am I going to do? I’m stuck in a three-by-three box with no idea on how to save myself and those poor souls trapped in the dining room. Dropping my head against the wall behind me, I finally give in to the tears that have been threatening for hours.
Is there any way out of this nightmare?
