Chapter 32
Koby
The vast dining room smells like coffee and toasted bread. Someone left the patio doors cracked, adding the scent of freshly mowed grass to the mix.
Everyone’s already here, enjoying breakfast, a large family of misfits. Dante’s at the head of the table, Layla on his right, Carter on his left. Broadway’s inhaling half a baguette, and Violet slaps his wrist when he talks with his mouth full.
Hailey’s locked in conversation with Layla while Ryder harasses Dante’s staff, requesting a third shot of espresso. Looks like he didn’t get much sleep last night. The dark circles under Bianca’s eyes confirm they were getting busy instead of resting.
I wonder if I look as exhausted.
Leilani sure doesn’t. She’s bright-faced, sharp-eyed, her hair up in a crooked knot that somehow makes her prettier. She looks awake in a way I don’t. Alert. At ease, despite what’s waiting for her in under an hour’s time.
She’s nursing a cup of coffee, listening to Bianca vent about an uncollected bouquet she spent five hours making. Ryder moved her floral shop to Columbus after she threatened to make their relationship long-distance.
Leilani laughs at something Bianca said, a little hoarse from last night. My body lights up, eyes zeroing in on the faint mark on her throat. Proof she’s mine. Proof I had her moaning into the mattress... and she’ll need to hide it soon, covering me up with concealer for Anton’s benefit.
My jaw grinds until my teeth ache.
No one mentions the fucker or the approaching FaceTime. No one says a word about last night’s plan. We talk about nothing. Weather. A terrible movie Hailey made Carter watch. Violet’s fast approaching due date.
I don’t join in, but I’m far from quiet...
I’m a fucking countdown timer in my own head, eyes darting to my wristwatch every few seconds.
Eight forty-two.
Anton calls at ten. There’s still time, but each tick lands like a hammer. I hate watching her talk to him. She floats between my hellcat and his petal, and the jealous, territorial part of me rages against letting him think he still owns her.
Leilani spreads jam over a piece of toast, setting it on my plate. Her knee brushes my thigh when she shifts, and fuck.
I’m so needy it makes me nauseous. All I want is to pull her into my lap and keep her there.
“Eat,” she insists when I leave the toast untouched. “You can’t function on coffee.”
“I did before you turned up,” I grumble, immediately regretting my words.
They’re too harsh. Too close to sounding like I don’t want her. My lips part, ready to apologize, or spiral a little more, but Leilani just smirks, eyes glittering.
God, I don’t deserve her.
“Yes, I bet you did, but you didn’t burn off as much energy before I turned up, so...” She picks up the toast, pushing it into my hand. “Eat. Trust me, you’ll need the strength.”
I kiss her temple, hide my grin and do what she says.
Eight fifty-seven.
My knee’s bouncing as I fold and unfold a napkin for no reason whatsoever. Broadway catches my eye across the table, his brow lifting in a question I don’t want to answer: you good?
I stare back until he gets the message and concentrates on his plate. I’m not in the mood for pep talks this morning.
Carter and Dante are telling an old story about a job that went sideways and somehow turned into a fishing trip. Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I’m too busy counting Leilani’s breaths without staring at her... and she keeps pushing more food onto my plate as if preparing me for a fuck-a-thon.
Three minutes past nine.
Hailey exits through the patio door to take a call.
Violet steals Broadway’s coffee and pretends she didn’t.
He cut her off as soon as they found out she’s pregnant, and she’s been getting her fixes in secret.
Dante’s phone buzzes with something he ignores, and Leilani eyes the pastries, deciding she’ll have one more.
Or rather, I’ll have one more since she drops it on my plate after taking a tiny bite and cringing.
Nine eleven.
She moves behind my chair, her hand skating along my shoulders. “I should get ready,” she says, then thanks Dante and Layla for breakfast.
Given the riot inside my head, I should probably sit this one out. Not that I will. I follow her because there’s no way I’ll listen to the meaningless conversations over the table while she’s upstairs alone, dealing with Anton.
Voices blur into the background as we move up a flight of stairs, left, and into our bedroom.
“You need to relax.” Leilani rises on her toes, kissing my jaw softly. “You look like you’re about to spontaneously combust, Koby. Trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
“I know.”
And I fucking hate that she knows him well enough to thread his head with worry like a needle through fabric.
That’s what we agreed in Dante’s office last night: we start by rattling Anton’s composure.
Up until now, Leilani’s played the part of his sweetheart perfectly. He hasn’t doubted her, or her safety, but she’s about to change that. Not drastically. Just enough to undermine the foundations before demolishing them next week.
She grabs a baby blue dress she packed for the call and locks herself in the bathroom. The shower starts running seconds later and I keep myself busy, setting up the room.
I shove an armchair into a blank corner, adjust the burner phone until the frame is nothing but the wall, and lock the door.
Nine twenty-nine.
The hair dryer hums behind a closed door.
I sit on the bed, cracking my knuckles until a dull ache seeps into my joints. I’ve sat through every one of their calls since Leilani moved in, but this one’s different.
Instead of appeasing the fucker, she’ll flash a red flag.
She’ll prod him, planting seeds of doubt. Not big enough to make him raid Octavius’s house, immediately demanding to see her, but enough that a nagging feeling of wrongness will poison his system until she calls him next Saturday, panicked, crying, and begging for help.
It’s a fine line. One false move and Anton might jump-start the plan and consequently derail it.
Nine fifty-four.
The bathroom door cracks open.
Leilani comes out, dolled up in the worst way. The dress flares under her breasts, lace around her thighs cutting it off. Her hair’s up, secured with a ribbon, cheeks artificially pink.
The hickey I put on her throat last night has disappeared under a thick layer of concealer and all I can think about is wetting my thumb and rubbing the spot raw.
She moves with the practiced grace Anton loves, shoulders soft, smile faint, eyes dropped. My jaw flexes, annoyance flaring behind my ribs. Every time she becomes this little helpless thing I so badly want to ruin her that I can taste copper.
“I hate when you look like his plaything,” I admit. “You turn your pretty face into a mask and I want to rip it off you.”
She stops at the foot of the bed, draping both arms over my neck. “I’m not his.”
No, she’s not. She’s mine. I know that. I also know I shouldn’t feel this fucking violent, but I do.
When she looks so helpless, the last thing on my mind is protecting her... but when she’s feral, loud, or even just reading a book on my couch, a soft thing in me wakes.
It’s a paradox. A contradiction I can’t wrap my head around.
Soft Leilani turns me savage.
Real Leilani makes me gentle.
She glances at my wristwatch then leans in for a kiss, her lips and taste calming me down enough that I probably won’t shatter the burner phone into tiny fragments against the wall.
“It’s time,” she says, moving to the armchair.
She smooths the dress before taking a seat, pinching and rolling the hem between two fingers. I can’t tell if she’s nervous or just settling into the little girl role.
Ten o’clock.
The phone rings.
Leilani taps the screen, her lip caught between her teeth.
“There she is.” Anton’s syrupy voice fills the room, kicking my pulse into high gear. “There’s my sweet girl.”
She gives him a small, shaky wave. “Hi.”
“Hi, pretty thing. You look lovely in blue.”
Her eyes drop in mock shyness, cheeks burning hotter, the pinkness spreading down her neck.
I wonder if she’s faking that...
“I don’t have much time today. Octavius needs me, but I had to see you, even if just for a few minutes.”
Her fingers drop back to the hem, toying with the lace. And just like that, the first seed is planted. I can’t see Anton’s face, but I hear the subtle change in his tone, how he speaks slower.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” A note of worry breaks through. “You seem... shaken.”
“No, I’m okay.” She looks up, eyes a touch wider, selling her unease in microbeats.
“Are you sure, petal? You know you can tell me if anything’s bothering you.”
“I know.” Her gaze flicks behind the camera, and she swallows hard, straightening her back just so. “I’m a little tired. I didn’t sleep well.”
“Leilani...” He exhales loud enough the room vibrates. “You’re not telling me everything, are you? Did you have a nightmare, sweet girl?”
She pinches her lips, nodding.
“What was it about, lovely girl?”
“Shadows... bad people.”
“Bad people?” he repeats, worry palpable in his tone. “Who scared you, my petal? Did someone upset you?”
“No,” she says abruptly, and forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She could be an actress. The way she lies so easily with her body is fascinating. “I missed you. That’s all.”
I ball the sheets into tight fists, holding myself in place on the bed. She sounds genuine and it rips me the fuck open.
Anton inhales, humming in satisfaction. “Say it again.”
“I...I—” She trips over the word, quickly glancing past the screen again before she settles. “I miss you a lot.”
I’d give my right fucking arm to see his face. To gauge whether the plan’s working.
“I miss you more, sweet thing. So much. Tell me, are you eating? Drinking your milk? You look pale, petal.”
“I had toast and fruit for breakfast.”
“What kind of fruit?”
“Strawberries.” A small smile tugs at her mouth. “They made me think of you.”
He sighs. “Good. That’s good. You need to take care of yourself for me. Just a little longer.” He pauses and Leilani stares at the burner phone as if hypnotized. “I need to go now, petal. Are you sure you’re fine, sweetheart?”
She folds her hands neatly in her lap. “I’m fine.”
“Say it again.”
A pinch of her lips, a small frown between her brows that smooths over in a flash... enough discomfort in her posture to hammer the point.
“I’m fine,” she says, swallowing hard and perking up. “Just sleepy.”
She’s selling this so well.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Anton doesn’t believe she’s fine, but she looks intact. Dolled up the way he expects.
He must be confused. I bet he’ll think about this for days, convincing himself he imagined her unease. Trying to believe her words instead of her body language: exactly what we want.
It’ll hit him so much harder on Saturday when she calls, crying and begging for help. The guilt of brushing off the small signals she sent will work to our advantage.
“Promise me you’ll rest today, my little angel. Promise you’ll take care of yourself.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Be patient, petal. I’ll take you home soon.”
The call ends and Leilani sucks in a harsh breath. I cross the room and pull her up before she’s moved, but instead of tearing that blue monstrosity off her perfect body, I wipe the concealer off her throat. My mark reveals itself, taking the edge off the jealous fit inside my head.
“He sounded off, didn’t he?” Leilani asks.
“He did. He’s rattled.”
She beams, eyes sparkling. “It worked.”
I nod, still rubbing the hickey, inflaming it more. “You told him you miss him.”
She grabs my wrist. “I had to. It’s part of the act.”
The act that drives me wild. I miss you loops in my ears, waking something dangerous.
I should tell her she did well. I should hug her... but comfort is the last thing on my mind. The heat in my blood wants something ugly. It wants me to press her down and use my fingers to make her forget Anton ever existed... so I do.
Leilani yelps when I grab her waist and fling her onto the bed, crawling over her, my mouth on her skin, adding more marks that prove she’s mine.
“Koby, we don’t—”
“Don’t deny me,” I grit out, biting her ear. “I need to remind you who you are. Who you belong to, hellcat.”
I close her lips with mine and push one hand under her dress, grazing her thigh. I want to mark her there, too. I dive between her legs, inhaling deeply, and hook my thumbs in the elastic of her cotton panties.
A knock rattles the doorframe.
“Fuck!” I snap, glaring at the hardwood. “What is it?”
Broadway’s laugh filters in. “Before you start fucking, Dante and Carter are waiting in the office for an update.”
Goddamn it.