Page 2 of Bad For A Weekend

“Emails? Last night?” I ask as I sit in the backseat. “How long have I been gone?”

“J-just crazy fans, or so I thought,” Dad stutters before closing the door. “And you’ve been gone nearly twenty-four hours.”

Twenty-four hours and I’m only now waking up? What happened to me during that time? Where have I been? Who took me?

“Where to, Mr. Giles?”

I glance up to see Dad’s driver, Monty, behind the steering wheel.

“Good Samaritan.” Dad slides in next to me.

“The hospital, Dad?” I croak. “I want to go home.”

“You need to get checked out.”

“Have Dr. Little come to the house then.”

“No. You need scans and tests. I’m sorry, Baylor, but I’m putting my foot down.” He hands me a blanket before wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I cover myself, realizing I’m still in my flimsy cami and sleep shorts. It makes me sick to think of what could’ve happened to me while I was out. Doing a check of my body, I realize I feel pain all over. Not just my head but my limbs, my back, and my neck—everything hurts.

As we drive away, I glance out the window to see the cops pushing a handcuffed man out the front door of the house we just vacated. His head is down, his long and unkept hair hiding his face.

Is that who took me?

He turns to the side, eyes locking on our SUV. A shudder runs down my spine as his lips curl into a sinister smile, and I blink back tears.

Who is he?

“He can’t see you, Ms. Giles,” Monty says, looking back through the rearview.

I face forward and nod.

“I swear to God, Baylor, this will never happen again. I’m hiring full-time security. I’m so sorry.” Dad’s voice cracks, breaking my heart.

He’s not a man who cries. Laughs? Yes. Yells? Again, yes. But cries? I’ve never seen it once.

“It’s okay,” I coo. “I’m okay.”

“So you’re telling me some asshole scaled up your balcony and got through the door without setting off the alarm?” my best friend, Ziggy, asks while spinning in my gaming chair.

I roll painfully to my side on my bed and wince. “I may have forgotten to set it when I got home late from school. It was our last paper of the year, and I wanted it to be perfect, so my mind was elsewhere.”

He slaps his feet against the wood floor, stopping mid-spin. “Bay!”

“Don’t worry; Dad already nailed me to a cross.” My cat, Julien, jumps onto the bed, and I run my hand down his gray fur. He purrs in response and lifts his rear up, begging for butt scratches. “Right after he cried as the doctors looked me over.”

He pins me with a look. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

“Other than the sprained ankle, bruises, and concussion, I’m fine.”

I don’t mention that I tested positive for Rohypnol or that the cops think the man injected me with it before tossing me off the balcony and dragging me away. There was no evidence of sexual assault, thank God.

“What about up here?” Ziggy taps his forehead.

I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. It doesn’t seem real because the second I woke up, I was being rescued. But Dad is making me see a shrink because I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Not to make this about me, but that was the most terrifying twenty-four hours of my life.” My best friend’s eyes glass over.

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