Chapter 14
Koby
Morning comes too fast. And along with it, the dreaded FaceTime call with Anton.
Carter dropped off a suitcase a couple of days ago, full of clothes Leilani wore for the dead-man-walking. Not just girly dresses. Props, too. Ribbons, plush toys...
She kept it under her bed and only unpacked it today, after our morning coffee. I watched her hands tremble and clenched my jaw so hard I almost cracked my teeth.
I should be out this morning, gathering intel, but I told Carter I’m not leaving Leilani alone until her conversation with Anton is over and I’m certain she’s okay.
She’s in the guest bathroom, getting ready for the show.
I hate calling it that, but it is an act, a performance to keep Anton clueless while Carter and Blaze set the wheels in motion.
I rake my gaze over the living room.
The back of the couch faces a plain white wall, and the burner phone waits on the table, propped against a bowl of sweets. There’s nothing in the camera’s view that could make him suspect Leilani’s anywhere she’s not supposed to be.
I set an armchair nearby, so I can be close if she starts raging and I have to cut the call and calm her down.
I’m dreading this as much as she is, if not more. I keep having to talk myself out of doing something stupid like kissing Leilani’s head while she’s on the call with that fucker just to show him she’s not his.
She never was.
My impulsiveness would jeopardize the plan and even I’m not stupid enough to risk our chance at killing both Grey brothers.
With five minutes to spare, I cross the hallway, rapping my knuckles against the bathroom door. “You ready?”
“As ready as I can be.” She sounds better than I expected. in control, determined. “You can come in.”
I push the door open and everything inside me stills.
She’s wearing a cream-colored dress, the hem fluttering around her thighs. It’s cinched under her breasts, lace hugging her collarbones, ribbons in her hair. Pair that with her flushed cheeks, glossed mouth, and dark brown hair tumbling down her back in a half-up ponytail and... fuck.
This is wrong. Fucking devastating.
She looks so small, so fragile as she shrinks in on herself, molding back into Anton’s doll.
“You look like you’re waiting for you mommy to pick you up from nursery,” I say, bitterness coating my tongue. “Is that what he made you wear every day?”
“This is what he dressed me in. Little girls need help getting dressed. Didn’t you know?”
My stomach jerks. “He dressed you?”
Her shudder tells me more than words ever could.
The mirror over the sink is begging for my fist. I picture spiderwebbing glass, scattering shards, crimson dripping down my knuckles.
I want to smash the reflection, destroy the image of her wrapped in ribbons and lace.
Instead, I stand there choking on the need to tear the dress from her body and burn it.
She smooths her hands down the front, brushing past me, her bare feet padding quickly down the hallway when the phone starts ringing.
“No, this won’t do.” She points at my armchair. “You need to be out of my sight line.”
“Okay, I’ll be here.” I drag the chair back and to the left.
She settles onto the couch, tilts her head, and double-checks she can’t see me when she looks up. Satisfied, she schools her features, pinches her cheeks and answers the call.
“Sweetheart,” Anton croons, his voice poisoning my mind, my apartment, and my girl.
Her whole demeanor changes as if someone flipped a switch. She knots her fingers in her lap, her lips tug into a shy little smile, eyes dull until there’s nothing left of her.
I gouge my nails into the leather armrest until it creaks, because that smile... it’s genuine.
Cold sweat slithers down my spine, my breath shallowing.
She’s pretending. This is what he expects. She’s just acting.
Is she though?
Fuck, I can’t tell.
“Oh, look at you, petal. You look so pretty today. I wish it were me dressing you this morning.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
“But you did beautifully, lovely girl. Did Octavius help you with the buttons?”
“Only a little.”
“Is he behaving himself around you?” he presses, his tone firmer. “No touching? No bad words?”
I think I’m going to throw up, or shoot the phone. Maybe both. What kind of mind-fuckery is this? He’s talking to an almost twenty-year-old woman like she’s two, and she’s... Christ, she’s glowing under his words as if she missed them.
“No touching,” Leilani confirms softly, her face lighting up.
“Good, that’s good. You tell me if he upsets you, okay?”
I watch her face, that blank expression, those dull eyes framed by a genuine smile, and I can barely keep my ass down.
“Stand up, petal,” he orders. “Turn around for me.”
Two tiny wrinkles pinch her forehead before she smooths them away. She rises, twirls, the dress flaring.
“Slowly, sweetie.”
How many fucking nicknames does he have for her?
She twirls again, brushing her hair over one shoulder, her voice syrupy sweet. “Do you like my hair?”
My pulse spikes again. I don’t think she’s acting anymore... I think he’s lured her back into his world, into that version of herself she’s been trying to destroy.
“Of course I love your hair,” the fucker breathes, a note of confusion vibrating his words. “Why do you ask? Did someone do it for you? Someone new?”
“No.” She beams, her spine straight. “I did it all by myself.”
“Oh, you’re such a clever little girl. I’m so proud of you. I just wish you didn’t have to do it by yourself. My sweet girl should be cared for, but I can’t stand anyone other than me taking care of you. I promise this will end soon, and you’ll be back home. You’ll be patient, won’t you, petal?”
“Yes,” she says, the tremor in her voice sending my stomach down to my knees.
I sit straighter, halfway out of the fucking chair, ready to smash the phone because I’m sure she’s left me.
She’s back with him.
My hellcat is gone, replaced by his sweet little doll.
The hold he has on her is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He molded her back into his little girl with just a few short sentences.
“No, no, no, no tears, sweetheart, please. No tears.” He pauses and I’d give my right hand to see what he’s doing. “It won’t be long. I promise. Just a few more weeks. Don’t cry, sweet girl, you need to take care of yourself for me and tears only make your pretty little head hurt.”
“I...” she chokes, blinking the tears away from her eyes. “I couldn’t get the ribbon perfect.” Her eyes drop to her fingers twisting the frills.
I bolt upright, chest heaving, heart snapping ribs. My right hand twitches toward the handle of my gun, the other locking in my hair and pulling hard.
Sit the fuck down. He’s not here. He can’t hurt her.
But he is. Not physically, but mentally.
Emotionally.
“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” Anton says. “Wipe your eyes, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. I never taught you how to tie the ribbons. It’s okay that it’s not perfect. You did great, little doll. You look beautiful. Do you eat healthy? Drink your milk?”
“Yes, every day.”
“Good, that’s good. I think you deserve a treat for being such a good girl. What do you think? Chocolate?”
She lights up at that. Her whole fucking face transforms like the promise of sugar illuminated her veins and I’m fucking shaking when I realize she hasn’t had any sweets since she moved in.
Not that there aren’t any. A bowl full of chocolates sits right there on the table, propping up the burner phone. Hailey always brings something sweet when she visits, and I dump it all there, snacking on whatever’s inside when I need an energy boost.
I haven’t felt like sweets lately, my energy gets boosted every time my eyes lock with Leilani, and it’s only now that I realize not a single chocolate is missing. She had them right there, could’ve eaten the whole fucking lot, but didn’t.
Every time she walked past this table, she must’ve felt the invisible leash around her throat. The voice in her head whispering: not for you, petal.
My fists curl, veins standing out sharp.
How deep does his hold on her reach that she subconsciously avoids sweets? She broke every rule he imposed and it’s like she knew she didn’t deserve a treat.
And I want to kill him for it.
Not a clean kill. Not a fast one. I want to break his body apart slowly while he begs for mercy he’ll never be granted.
“I had a feeling that would make you happy,” Anton says. “I’ll send your favorite, but remember to pace yourself, okay?”
“Yes.” Leilani nods eagerly. “Just one piece if I’m good.”
The call drags on, every second stretching into hours.
He talks in that monotone way designed to rot her brain from the inside out, asking about her week, her food, her sleep.
Leilani remains gentle, her voice so sweet I want to tear my ears off.
He praises her every minute for doing things on her own like it’s a fucking miracle she can brush her hair without his guidance.
I don’t sit back down. In fact, I step closer and closer, my feet moving on their own. She doesn’t notice, entranced by the man on the screen, her lips pursed.
I can’t fucking take that soft-spoken, timid, obedient version of her. I have half a mind to grab her shoulders and shake her back to herself, but before I make that mistake the lock on my door clicks.
It startles Leilani, snapping her out of the hypnosis Anton dragged her into. She glances around the room, eyes sailing past me toward Ryder and Broadway as they enter, confusion painting her features.
I turn toward them and put my finger to my lips so they’ll know to stay quiet.
“What is it?” Anton asks. “What happened, petal?”
Her breath stutters and her eyes lose that glassy look. She swallows hard, fingers trembling in her lap.
She’s back, and fighting to stay composed.
“Someone slammed a door somewhere,” she explains, schooling her expression, but the cracks are there.