“So you’d help me escape?”
“Normally, no.” There’s no apology in her tone. “But I owe your brother, and I want the debt off my shoulders.”
“Why would you owe him?”
“You don’t need specifics.”
“If there’s any way I’m going to trust your help, I’m going to need them.”
She sucks in a tired breath. “He showed me kindness the night your husband died. He could’ve hurt me, but he didn’t.”
“You’re lying.” Cole wouldn’t have shown anything other than hostility toward the people who stole my daughter.
“Believe what you want. I’m not here to convince you. The question is whether or not you want to get away from Dante.”
I disregard the name she uses while my stomach sinks.
Do I want to get away from him? Do I want to distance myself from heartbreak and betrayal at the cost of vulnerability?
“How?” I whisper.
“There’s a window in the bathroom. The screen can be removed. If you climb through, there’s an old trellis that will get you to the ground.”
She’s serious.
Holy shit.
“To what end?” I frown, keeping my voice low. “How am I meant to outrun nine grown men when stuck behind towering walls that are miles from civilization?”
“Once you reach the lawn, move around the back of the house to the garage. The roller doors should already be open. My car is the Bentley. The keys are in the center console along with the remote for the gate.”
I stare at her, trying to find a hint of deception. “Why are you doing this?”
“I already told you. I owe Cole. This is me repaying the debt.” She reaches for my arm, her fingers cautiously touching my wrist. “I’m not your enemy, Layla. I never have been. What happened with your husband was a horrible tragedy. And your daughter…” She winces. “Me and my brothers had no idea what was going on until we were in the middle of a war. It never should’ve—”
“Are you two finished out there?” Bishop growls, his footsteps approaching.
Abri retreats to stand at her full height, her face transforming into a mask of innocence.
Are we finished?
It seems like she’s merely scratched the surface of withheld information. And none of it makes sense.
Cole showed her kindness? My husband’s death was a tragedy?
“What’s going on?” Bishop comes to stand at the threshold.
“Nothing.” I clear my throat and swallow to alleviate the dryness. “I was just about to come inside.”
I maneuver past him, hiding my face from his scrutiny as I reenter the room.
Indecision claws its way into my skull, awakening a thousand questions, stirring up more trouble. It’s too much to think through. I can’t concentrate to make a plan.
My instincts boil down to Matthew and whether I should trust his offer of safety or flee to find my own. The thought of escaping his manipulative protection fills me with dread. And my damn heart still clings to the hope of him making amends.
But he can’t. How could he?
He lied. Had me mugged. Made me fall for him under false pretenses.
He duped me better than my father ever did, the resulting emotional scars capable of outweighing those already in existence.
I’d loved him.
Wholeheartedly.
With optimism and passion.
He made me believe in a future without darkness. A life without recrimination. He had me planning a fresh start, one that I never deserved.
My gaze treks to his across the hall, our eyes briefly locking for a pained moment while he addresses someone in the other room.
There’s possession in his stare. Hunger even in the depth of this darkness.
The sight of it breaks me. Cuts me down at the knees in humiliation. In sorrow.
I’d wanted an entwined future. I’d never craved anything more.
Now our time together boils down to one question—do I stay or do I go?
I hold onto the sight of him as Abri closes the French doors. I take in the parts of him that inflicted betrayal—the hands that brought me pleasure, the lips that lied to me, and eyes that deceived.
I breathe it all in, dragging the pain deep into my lungs, and release the last lingering threads of hope with the exhale. Then I turn to Bishop, hating him for the role he played as I announce, “I need to use the bathroom.”
36
Matthew
“You’re caught in a temperamental position, son.” Emmanuel holds my gaze, his eyes gleaming with superiority. “Yet again you’ve fallen for someone who weakens you. Someone who has you begging.”
I glance across the hall, watching Layla walk out of sight, a door closing shortly after.
Where the fuck is she going?
“Bathroom,” Bishop mouths, reading my mind as he gestures to his dick.
Good. At least she can’t cause trouble in there.
“You’ve got me wrong, old man.” I turn back to Emmanuel and prowl closer to his bed. “I’m not begging. I’m telling you to leave her out of this. Her and her daughter. Otherwise I’ll make good on all the things I’ve wanted to do to you in the last fifteen years.”
He smiles. “All the things you wanted to do but were too loyal to instigate…”
“I’m loyal, yes. But not to you. Lorenzo is the only reason you still have air in your lungs.”
“Dante,” Adena snaps. “Don’t say such things.”
“It’s okay, my sweet.” Emmanuel doesn’t break our stare. “What our son doesn’t realize is that his threats are a blessing. Every decision I made in his childhood was to shape the brilliant man standing before me. My actions placed fire in his belly and strength in his soul.”
Venom in my veins.
Hate in my heart.
“You’re exactly what I aspired to create.” He grins. “I couldn’t be more proud.”
My nostrils flare.
“We need to endure to evolve, my son. You never could understand that. But what I did in your teenage years was a favor. A gift.”
Grace’s murder was a gift?
Slicing her open was a fucking favor?
I laugh, otherwise I’d roar.
I picture ripping out his throat. Watching him suffer. Hearing his cries for mercy.
“That girl from your senior year was beneath you, anyway.” He continues digging his grave. “Can you believe she offered to spread her legs if I promised to get her out of town?”
My body detonates. Rage and hatred collide.
I lunge for him. Two steps is all it takes to have my hand around his throat, my eyes venomous as they will death upon him. “Your actions didn’t make me strong.” I seethe, spittle coating my lips. “They turned me into a monster.”
My mother screams. He doesn’t look at me in fear. Only in satisfaction. “I’m honored,” he wheezes.
Motherfucker.
I gave him what he wanted. I turned into the man he’d wished for. Someone callous and cruel. Vicious and brutal.
Goddamnit.
Cold metal presses into my temple, the barrel of a gun hard and unyielding against my skin as Emmanuel rasps for breath.