“But why?”
“Because I’ll just be trading one crime lord for another,” she says. “Brothers is a good man, but he’s a terrible person. What am I supposed to do with him if I got him? I’m twenty-five, he’s…like fifty. Plus, if he lost the territory war, that would be it for me. I don’t think Leland would let me live.”
Everything she’s saying makes sense, but the part of me that healed when I met Jensen wants to believe they could make it.
“I’m pretty well trapped,” she whispers. “Unless I grow wings and fly away, this is my life.”
There’s a step in the front hallway. She coils back, listening. The footsteps come closer. She backs up to the side exit and pulls the door open.
“Eleven, right here,” she says.
Then, she’s gone. I grab her wine glass and put it in the dishwasher just as Leland strides in, still wearing his suit from his day at work. It takes everything not to recoil at his presence. It’s dead air, a slippery slope down to hell. His eyes narrow as they settle on me, and a chill goes down my spine. Why does he look like he’s plotting something?
“Hi,” I whisper.
“By now, it’s around town that you’re home,” he says, sitting on the edge of the table.
I just nod, unsure how to respond.
“I’d like you to eat with me, upstairs in our room,” he says. “Dinner is at six. I have an engagement afterwards.”
“Oh, I…um…that’s fine,” I stammer out.
He’s got his hands folded, working his wedding band. He never took it off when I divorced him.
“I laid out a dress on the bed,” he says. “Wear it.”
Before I can respond, he gets up and walks out. I catch the faint sound of his phone ringing, and then the door to his office slams. My hands tingle, and I look down, realizing I’m clenching them so hard, they’re red.
Steeling myself, I leave the kitchen and march straight upstairs. I’ve endured hundreds of terrible dinners with Leland. Tonight is no different. I just need to get through it and get him out the door.
Then, I never have to see him again.
Our old bedroom is open. I slip in and flick my eyes over the room. Everything is exactly the same, except my side table is empty. There’s even that ugly family heirloom Leland valued so much hanging over the bed—a gold knife with the Caudill crest on the handle. I used to look up at that while he was fucking me from behind, hoping it would fall and skewer him. Then, I’d feel guilty for having thoughts that dark.
There’s a blood red dress, short and tight, on the edge of the bed. My stomach sinks. That’s not my color. I look terrible in red.
God, that makes me so angry, I could crack a tooth from how hard I’m gritting my jaw. I’ve told him that so many times. Red washes me out, I’d say. He’d narrow his eyes and let me know I should wear what he liked best.
Wrathfully, I tear off my clothes and pull on the little red dress, adjusting my breasts so they’re spilling out over the top. There’s gold jewelry on the bench at the end of the bed. I slip it on and go to the closet to find a pair of shoes. My things are still here, lined up in rows. I grab the closest pair of brown leather cowboy boots and step into them.
The door opens, then shuts. I back out of the closet to find someone came in and pulled the two person dining table out, setting it up before the fireplace before leaving. There are two silver covered dishes waiting. A bottle of wine. Two glasses.
I stare.
Now would have been the perfect opportunity to poison Leland, just slip it in his drink. Nobody would even have to show up for the fight tonight. I could grab Landis and run. But even after everything he’s done, I know I don’t have the heart to murder him.
No, I just want him gone. He can live out his miserable life knowing I took everything.
The door creaks open again. My pulse picks up like a racehorse in the final lap, and I sink down at the table without turning. The chair is hauntingly familiar; we used to eat in the bedroom a lot, back when Landis was little and still nursing and we didn’t have guests.
He sinks down, filling my vision. I blink, eyes blurry.
“I thought you might like to join me tonight,” he says.
He pours the wine, handing me a glass. I bring it to my lips but don’t drink.
“Thank you,” I say finally.
