Page 121 of Jensen
“You know I’ll help you,” I spit before I can bite it back. “I don’t have a choice, not when it comes...”
I falter. He doesn’t have to ask what the next words were—we both know. I have no choice when it comes to Della. For the second time, he made me fall for a woman without my consent. It was so easy this time, sweet and natural. He must have known the moment he laid eyes on her what she would do to me. Nobody knows my weaknesses better than the man who was supposed to heal me and hurt me instead.
He’s always known me better than I know myself.
“I want a promise,” I say.
He jerks his head.
“I help you take down the Caudills, get Della back,” I say, “and you never speak to me again. I never want to see your face after this is done. I’m not your victim…and I’m not your fucking son.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DELLA
The back of the chair digs into my spine. The lights of the speakeasy blur. I’m not crying, but my eyes hurt. If I wasn’t all done up, I’d rub them, but I can’t. I have to look the way he always wanted me to—like a doll without a voice.
I check the clock over the bar. Brothers said Leland would be here by eleven, which means I have ten minutes.
My heart beats so hard. I’m sick to my stomach. The room spins and wavers.
He never hit me. He never had to. I understand exactly what he’s capable of. He laces it through his words, through his touch, through the unused condom in the back of my mind.
I’m going to have to put on the performance of my life.
The waiter appears. I order a martini, because he liked ordering those for me even though I’ve never loved them. The door opens. Two women and a man walk through and sit at the bar. They’re beautiful, dressed in elegant club clothes. The women sit with their backs curved, shoulders back, legs crossed over the other so their feet can be seen in glittering heels. I correct my posture, trying to look more like them. They have confidence. I have none when it comes to facing Leland.
I take a sip of my martini, hand shaking.
The door opens again. My heart stops, vodka still on my tongue. The salty taste of olive trickles down my throat. Leland walks in, dressed in his good pants and a quarter zip. He’s exactly how I left him, down to the bored stare and cut jawline. I saw that face up close so many times, right before shutting my eyes to block him out.
He is so handsome, so charming.
And yet, there’s nothing emanating from him.
After letting Jensen touch me, fill me with his warmth, I understand why Leland is so unnerving. He’s got no energy, no mind of his own. Nothing but a set of rules. An expensive suit. A moral code that never made any sense to me. A last name he carries around like it’s pure gold. The paintings of his ancestors on the wall of his mansion mean more to him than anything.
He is a vacuum, a black hole at the center of my life, sucking me in, draining the warmth from me.
I dig at my thumbnail. He glances over, looks away, then reels back to stare as he realizes who I am. His lips part, eyes widening. I’m beautiful, Brothers made sure of that, but more specifically, I am beautiful in the way Leland likes.
Neither of us move.
I have to pull it together. I will not let my son be raised as a Caudill. Taking an even breath, I give him a soft look across the table, across the room. He walks over like he’s in a dream and sinks down opposite me. I dip my head like I’m ashamed.
“Della,” he says.
I look up, and there it is—a glimmer of triumph. My stomach roils, but I push it back.
“Leland,” I whisper.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is stiff.
I look up, and I don’t have to try to make tears fall. “I’m so sorry,” I manage. “You were right. I didn’t want to leave. I don’t know why I did in the first place.”
He’s staring, his guard up. “Is this you trying to come back?”
God, I want to vomit at the smugness. He’s trying to conceal it, but I know him well enough to read it behind his mask. I sniff, taking the napkin and dabbing my face before nodding.
