Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
DELLA
The drive to the Caudill mansion is a nightmare. Leland is in the back seat, being patched up. He’s bruised, but he’s not gravely injured. I’m huddled against the door, arms wrapped around my cold body.
Leland won’t look at me, but I’d rather not look at him either. I press my forehead to the window and pray to anybody or anything who will listen that, at the very least, Kayleigh got Landis out.
This is my final stand.
I’m staring it right in the eyes, and this time, there’s no Jensen between me and Leland.
My nails pierce my palms.
He is my own personal hell I have to face tonight.
We pull up to the front doors, and the world goes completely quiet as I see Kayleigh at the end of the hall.
Her lashes are wet, her head shaking. Please, no.
Hands move me roughly inside, hauling me by the elbow upstairs.
To my surprise, they put me in my and Leland’s old bedroom instead of the guestroom.
The lock clicks, and I’m alone. Limply, I sink to my knees between the bed and the fireplace. My head is a mess of everything I just witnessed. Blood, rage, revenge. If I die and go to hell, I’ll wake up right back by the edge of that pit, just replaying it again and again.
Tears leak down. They fall on the fine hardwood flooring.
I never wanted any of this. Leland forced me open and molded me into the woman he wanted, but that’s not what makes me hate him the most. It’s the way he looks at our son and doesn’t see Landis.
He sees himself, just another person he can make in his own image.
I lost tonight, and now my sweet little boy will become a man who passes on his violence to the next generation.
My mind goes quiet.
No, I can’t give up.
I have a weapon to use against Leland no one else can wield. He might be the most powerful man in this city, but I’m the woman he wants.
It takes me a second to peel myself off the floor. My steps are unsteady as I rip open the closet. All my old clothing still hangs on my side. My beautiful dresses, my shoes, they’re all lined up. I push the door open wide and step inside, turning on the light.
There are his weaknesses, all hanging in a row.
Leland is simple. He likes feeling like he won, and he likes submission. Tonight, I’m going to give him his fantasy.
I run my fingertips over the lingerie until I get to the set he likes the best. It’s white lace with delicate appliqué.
My cut, my colors. Hands steady, I take it down and go into the bathroom.
In the cupboard sit all his favorite things.
He likes me to smell sweet, to feel soft.
I take down the little gold pots and bottles of vanilla scented sugar scrub and lotion.
Working quickly, I shower, wash and dry my hair, and do my makeup.
The bra has his initials between the cups, a single diamond in the center.
The set was a first anniversary gift from him.
I clasp it, slip on the panties, and fasten on the garter belt, drawing the silk tights up to the middle of my thighs.
I lift my head, gazing at my reflection. I’ve never really looked at myself without picking my face and body apart.
But tonight, I look.
I am beautiful, powerful.
Voices and footsteps sound downstairs. My heart picks up, and I fling open the medicine cupboards. Adderall, painkillers. I frantically sort through the bottles, trying to read through blurred vision. There’s a pharmacy in here, but not what I need.
My eyes fall on a little bottle on the counter. Allergy medicine. Leland takes it when he can’t sleep sometimes.
Will that work?
I don’t think I have a choice. Snatching it up, I shake a handful of pills out and replace the bottle. Then, I leave the bathroom and run in my stockinged feet to the bar on the far end of the table.
This is a wild card, my biggest gamble, somehow bigger than the one I took when I flew out to Montana to find Jensen.
But it’s all I have.
The wall behind the bar is covered in bottles from floor to ceiling. Leland loves good alcohol, and like a true Kentucky man, he’s got a taste for expensive bourbon. If I pour him a glass, he won’t waste it. I scan the shelves, my eyes falling on a bottle on the very top shelf.
It’s never been open, not in all the years we were married.
I scramble onto the bar, teetering as I balance on the shelf.
My fingertips graze the glass. Fuck, I’m not quite tall enough.
Taking a breath, I stretch, bracing my weight between the wall and counter.
My fingers close around the glass bottle neck, and I push back, falling sharply on my ass on the counter.
That was so fucking close.
Footsteps sound on the stairs. I slide down and duck behind the bar, grabbing two short glasses.
Fuck, my hands are shaking. I take a short breath, open and close my eyes, and dump the pills in my fist in.
Pink flood the bottom of the glass. I rip the top of the bourbon off and dump it in.
It swirls, and the pills start dissolving.
I need ice.
Leland drinks his bourbon neat, but for tonight, I’m going to plead ignorance. I need to dull the taste of the drugs. So, I take a handful from the mini cooler and dump the cubes into his glass.
Someone is walking down the hall.
Blindly, I pull down the closest bottle of red wine and pour myself some. Then, grabbing both glasses, I sink down on the edge of the bed.
Time to put on the performance of my life.
The knob turns. The room sways. I’m not good in situations like this, but tonight, that can’t matter. Tonight, we’re going head to head, and then I am running as far and as fast from him as I can. Leland’s voice sounds. He’s talking to one of the security guards.
The door opens.
I lift my eyes. He steps in and shuts it.
All at once, I’m eighteen years old, back in that dark room with him. My heart pounds in my chest like a hurt animal, but alongside the wound he left in me burns a vengeful anger that wasn’t there before this moment.
He hurt me.
And I want him to know how that feels.
He turns to me, his expression unreadable. They patched up his face, put two stitches over his brow. Otherwise, he looks far better than I’d hoped. He must have showered downstairs, because he’s in sweats and a t-shirt, and his hair is wet.
“Where’s our son?” I whisper.
He clears his throat. “Sleeping. Kayleigh’s in the guestroom,” he says coldly. “For some reason, she still had him up.”
“Maybe he couldn’t sleep.”
He shrugs, taking a step in. I twitch back but keep myself steady.
He comes to stand before the hearth. I keep still as he stares down at the electric fireplace, waiting, wondering what he’ll do next.
He hits the button and turns the flames on.
He keeps looking at it, brow furrowed like he’s thinking hard.
What is he doing?
Finally, he sighs then turns around. His eyes are darker than night, brows lowered.
“Leland,” I manage.
“Della,” he says, voice dropping. “The only thing keeping you alive is the fact that you are the mother of our son. Otherwise, I would break your neck right here on our bed.”
My blood goes cold. “I’m sorry. Please let me stay. Please don’t take Landis away.”
His brows go even lower, shadowing his eyes. “Tell me the truth about what you did with that man,” he says.
My lower lip trembles. A tear etches out.
“He fucked me in exchange for getting me back to Kentucky,” I say. “I’m sorry about what I said. It wasn’t true. I was just angry with you.”
His jaw ripples as he clenches it. Then, he comes close and kneels in front of me, looking up into my tearstained face. His mouth is a thin line. His eyes burn into me, trying to dig the truth from my face.
“Is that the truth, Della?” he says softly.
I nod, mouth dry.
“Then tell me what he did to you.”
My lips crack open. “What?”
“When he fucked you,” he says, cocking his head. “Tell me exactly what he did to you. How did he do it?”
“Oh,” I whisper. “Leland, you don’t want to hear that.”
His brows rise, forehead creasing. “Yes, I do. Whatever he did to you, I want to hear it. Tonight, this waiting bullshit is over. You will sleep in my bed, as my wife, and you will fucking like it.”
My jaw is slack.
“Talk to me,” he barks.
I jump, the bourbon sloshing. He notices the glass and takes it, rising to his feet so he’s towering over me. The waistband of his pants wavers before my eyes.
“I…I ran away, and he offered to help me get back, but he said I had to pay up for it,” I say.
“Talk faster, Della, or I might think you’re lying,” he drawls, composed again. He lifts the glass and has a sip. I tense, but he doesn’t make a face.
Maybe this could work.
Bolstered, I clear my throat. “He took me to his house, a ranch out in the country,” I burst out, trying my best to make this sound real. “I said he had to get me a plane ticket first, so he did. Then, he took me back to the bedroom and…had sex with me.”
His jaw ripples. “How?” he says, tone brittle.
“Leland,” I beg.
“How, Della?” he roars.
My hands shake so badly, my wine spatters down my arm. The tear that etches out is very real. Leland’s chest rises and falls, like he’s trying to get ahold of himself. I’ve seen him like this many times with other men. He’s all calm, collected. Then, he strikes.
“He laid down and had me on top of him,” I burst out.
“Jesus,” he breathes, turning away.
“It wasn’t the same,” I gasp. “Not like you and me.”
He freezes, staring into the hearth. Then, he turns his head slowly to face me again. “He said you liked it, that you…came from it.”
“It’s not true.”
He drains the glass and throws it into the electric fireplace. It smashes on the ground, spraying glass shards. Panicked, I drop my wine to the floor and pull back, scrambling onto the bed. Leland turns, striding closer like a hunting animal.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You’ll pay for everything with your freedom.”