by Ava Claire
“They think we’re going to take our lumps and go cowering back to our lives, grateful they allowed us to live them in the first place.” I dismissed that notion when I raised my chin defiantly. “They don’t get to walk away. They don’t get to terrorize one more soul. It ends here.”
~
Hand in hand, walking at a faster pace than I knew Jacob could handle but he wouldn’t admit that we needed to slow down, I tabled my annoyance with my stubborn husband and readied myself for whatever Angelique had planned. I would never admit this because she’d find a way to either take the credit or pick on the chef, but the smell of whatever was on the menu made my stomach rumble with anticipation. Garlic, rosemary, and the hearty mix of some succulent meat was definitely preferable to the disinfectant and worry that hung in the air the last time I’d haunted these halls.
And then the last sound I ever expected to hear reached inside my limbs and I brought us to an abrupt stop. Jacob looked like some painstakingly authentic boxer-inspired mannequin, frozen mid stride with his opponent in his sights. The look on his face was one of weary trepidation. Acceptance that he was going to have to hurt to get on the other side of this. I was pretty sure if I had a mirror I’d see a woman that looked a whole lot like the woman from a few moments ago. Frozen in terror. Struggling to fight a fight that seemed hopeless.
The sound that brought us to a grinding halt?
Laughter.
The feel of the pit of my stomach dropping to the ground was due to the fact that the laugh wasn’t from Alicia, politely chuckling because Angelique had just come clean and this was all a big mix up. It wasn’t an unknown laugh that belonged to one of the staff because they’d just heard something that made them giggle despite the hell we were all trapped in. What joke would have resulted in anything other than silence? We’d passed the moment where a ‘Gotcha!’ from Angelique would garner anything other than silent animosity. Stifled outrage.
The only person that could laugh, and would dare to, was Angelique.
The laugh was painfully familiar, a replica of the chilling laugh one that had elevated Train from just another thriller helmed by a pretty face, to the rare movie magic where you knew you were watching a star be made.
In the scene, Angelique’s character was finally found after a country wide search for the star who disappeared without a trace. The person who spotted her was a little girl, delivering the most heartbreaking line of the movie.
“My daddy left and my mommy just cries all day. Why did you run away from home?”
Angelique’s character had just stared at the little girl for a long moment, lost in memories, lost in regret, lost in her mind...then she bursted into laughter. Her laughs, chilling, empty and maniacal spilled into the credits, leaving the audience glued to their seats. Slack jawed, with more questions than answers.
As Angelique’s laughter filled the tense silence, the question that raced through my mind was, ‘When’? When did Angelique lose her mind? Was it gradual, or did her mind just snap one day like a twig?
I was pulled back to the moment at hand when I took in Jacob. His wariness had morphed into righteous fury. He was ready to conquer the coliseum, by any means necessary.
He emboldened me. I didn’t care about the ‘how’ because all that mattered was that the sound we heard spilling into the hallway told me that she thought she had all the power. She was drunk off of a lie.
We weren’t helpless.
We wouldn’t be victims.
It was high time that Angelique Eichmann received some re-education.
But the how was something I was still winging. Playing by ear. And that was almost as terrifying as that laugh.
As badly as I wanted to give karma a little nudge, show Angelique how it felt to have your fate resting in the hands of someone who didn’t give two shits whether you made it to the other side, I knew that wasn’t the smart play. Playing along for a little while longer was what we had to do. Plug our noses and be fed her bullshit, just long enough for her defenses to waver.
But game face or no, clinging to the inklings of an idea that could blow up in our faces, I was even more disturbed by something else. Angelique was still laughing, like some demented, possessed toy that kept playing on loop.
I wiped my palms on my pants, then gripped Jacob’s hand.
“Ready?” I whispered.
The shadow that fell over his face told me he was far from ready. The stubbornness level rose before my very eyes as the laughter dragged on, ringing my internal alarms. Before he even said a word, I knew he was rethinking things.
“Leila-”
“You were practically dragging me down the hall a second ago,” I butted in, nostrils flaring. The last thing we needed was to have some sort of back and forth in the hall, but I couldn’t let him do what I thought he was gonna do.
The laugh was finally winding down which removed a layer of discretion, but the haunting classical piece that hummed through the speakers picked up the slack, muffling our conversation. That only bought us moments. God only knew how much time we had before Angelique sent Marco or Tomás to see what was taking so long.
“Let’s do this, Jacob. This will work.” He didn’t look convinced, but I wasn’t backing down. “Trust me!”
Jacob planted himself firmly in my path. He had the Dom voice, the Dom attitude, in full effect. “Your plan is a good one, but-”
“No buts,” I cut back in, jutting my lip out. Almost plugging my ears before he even said the words. I knew I was being petulant and unhelpful, but I knew Jacob.
He had that alpha gleam in his eye.
He wanted to sacrifice himself.
“Hear me out.”
Hearing the actual words seemed like a whole new kind of torture, but I didn’t interrupt him again. Still, I locked my jaw, crossed my arms, and sighed.
“I guess that’s as good as it’s gonna get,” he quipped, almost smiling.
“Don’t you dare,” I growled, my throat on fire with emotion. I couldn’t swallow, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand to see him hurting, worrying, ready to fall on his sword. I couldn’t bear to see the defeat in his eyes. To hear it in his voice.
His smile didn’t linger when he realized I knew that whatever plan he was trying to implement wasn’t one in which both of us walked away. I wanted to be angry that he’d even suggest such a thing, but being so close to him was distracting for a whole other reason.
Bruises and all, he still made me weak. I knew his mouth could work wonders with every part of my body; that it could command me to bend to his will. Those patrician features, from his angular jaw, to his perfect nose that was even more so at that slightly off angle (courtesy of Soren), gave him an edge that made me want to push him against the wall and kiss him as the world ended around us. His dark hair, literally tousled as he fought back, was just the right amount of wild to make me want to race my fingers through it. The lust that was inappropriately rearing its head longed to pretend it was due to me tousling it while we were lost in passion. All of that—all of him—and he had the nerve to look at me like he was getting ready to say goodbye?
I couldn’t accept it.
And even though I knew the words were right on the tip of his tongue, I still wasn’t prepared when he said it out loud.
“What if the plan doesn’t work? I will not allow you and the baby to be harmed. If anything happened to you-”
“Shh,” I whispered, tears cutting down my cheeks as I gripped the front of his shirt. “And if anything happened to you, we wouldn’t recover. No one is sacrificing themselves. We’re all getting out. Together.”
His eyes were liquid, but he was Jacob Whitmore, after all. Death before tears and all of that.
Death.
I put it on my brain’s ‘no fly’ list.
No one was dying here today.
I wiped my tears and made my last stand, hoping that when I was done, I wasn’t alone. That he wouldn’t do something to force my hand, thoug
h I had a feeling that he and Alicia would have conspired to get me out if they’d had the chance.
“I know everything is riding on this plan and there are a million ways things could go wrong.” I took a breath because his arched brow and my very words were doing me more harm than good. “This is our best chance. We can do this. We can all get out, and then we’ll go to the police or go public and do what we have to do to make sure they go down.”
He still didn’t look convinced.
I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I dodged around him, booking it towards the dining room.
From Jacob’s expletives, he didn’t appreciate this involuntary game of tag.
I rounded the corner and stopped in the doorway, stepping to the side so he could join me, huffing and angry.
The table was set, complete with an array of empty plates, utensils, napkins, and wine glasses. It definitely seemed like overkill considering there were only two people at the table: Alicia and Angelique.
Alicia sat stoney faced at the head of her table, her usual spot, but she’d abdicated her usual power and authority. The disgust on her face was so raw that I felt my stomach turn, but when she saw me and Jacob, she traded it all for relief, rising from her seat.
Alicia's mouth formed a word but Angelique slammed her hand on the table, sending a shockwave through the room that rattled anything that wasn't nailed down.
"Finally!" Angelique sighed dramatically, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her dark locks stretched over the white tablecloth like poison. "Now we can get some real food. I'm getting sick of being fed maman's bullshit." Her blue gaze lingered on Alicia and I saw the not-so-secret hatred flow back and forth between the two women.
Angelique paused their staring contest as she remembered me and Jacob. She sized us up as her lips curved like a Cheshire Cat. "A little quickie, eh?"
"What happened in that room is none of your business." Jacob said tersely, stepping in front of me. Doing me a favor since his wall of muscle and authority, in spite of it all, hid the fact that I was turning a very deep shade of red from Angelique's comment.
It was a mixture of embarrassment because while nothing happened that would force the MPAA to restrict access to anyone over 18, I still frowned on anyone outside of Jacob and I even mentioning our sex life. And then there was the indignation that she could glower at us one moment, like she would personally enjoy watching us die a slow and painful death, then smile like we were all friends here. Like this was all a game.
"Have a seat!” Angelique chirped excitedly, pointing at our chairs—that were unfortunately parked right across from hers. When we didn't jump to obey her command, her tone darkened. "You can have a seat on your own, or I can help you."
I felt the anger coming off Jacob in waves, but he moved towards my chair, pulling it away from the table. He waited for me to lower myself onto the seat before he eased into the one beside me.
Almost immediately, a haggard looking butler hustled into the room, shakily filling our glasses with cucumber water. I nearly downed my entire glass in one gulp and my throat was still ablaze.
I swallowed, pushing through the pain. Remembering the plan. The more she talked, the sooner we could use her distractedness to our benefit. "So what now, Ang?"
"Well, Leila, I'm glad you asked!" she gushed like a cheesy infomercial. She lifted her phone and glanced at the screen before she saddled us with her bottomless gaze. “We have a surprise guest that will be joining us for dinner. Betcha can’t guess who.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I didn’t think my blood pressure could take any more surprises, but I managed to scoot closer to the table, grateful that my hands had a bit of cover beneath the starched, white tablecloth. They could tremble and rattle to their heart’s content, discreetly, while I flashed a smile at our captor. Desperately trying to pretend we weren’t all being held against our will.
I decided to ignore her comment altogether, because truth be told, I knew exactly who our surprise guest was.
Lars Eichmann.
“What’s for dinner?” I swallowed the fear that bubbled in my throat as I took on Angelique’s visual inspection. She worked her cold, blue eyes over every square inch of my face. She took her time, trying to gauge if I was up to something.
Instead of turning my face to stone and being completely unbelievable by matching her cheery disposition, I gave her kernels of the truth. I let the tremble flutter through my chin. The smile on my lips was an uneasy and forced one. My nostrils flared as she leaned in, the blue narrowing to slits as she locked on my eyes. She stared at me so intently that I found Jacob’s hand under the table, giving him a preview of what was in store in the delivery room.
Could she see the inner workings of our plan written all over my face? Could she see right through me? The silence was as maddening as the pretending. I was no actor. Even sharing the same air as that woman, biding my time until we could wipe that smug little smile off her face had my lips struggling to keep up the ruse.
That scowl-like curve on Jacob’s grandmother’s face? I was dangerously close to recreating it.
Stop fighting it.
She is responsible for every bruise and cut on your husband’s body. She’s been playing mind games with you and Alicia from the moment she revealed herself. And God only knows what horrors she’s inflicted on her staff. Smiling at the woman responsible for turning your life upside down is far more suspicious than the rightful disgust brewing inside you.
So give it to her.
Then shut her down.
I let go of Jacob’s hand and brought my jittery fingers to the table, gripping the edge like I needed to hold onto something to prevent myself from flying off the rails. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
I knew I’d made the right choice when that insidious grin returned to her lips. “This lovely sharing of food and drink with one of the most illustrious, star-studded families in the biz?” She snapped her napkin like a whip and dropped it to her lap. “Of course I’m enjoying myself. Aren’t you?”
“Oh, I’m having a ball.” I let the sarcasm ooze all over every syllable. I raised my empty glass, tossing a disgusted look around the table.
Alicia was gaping at me like I’d lost my mind, her gray eyes round with confusion. Jacob looked just as incredulous, then he quickly followed my lead, snatching up his napkin and flinging the sterling silver holder to the floor.
He neatly tucked it into his shirt and brought his boulder-like fists to the table. “You and me both, babe. Coming back to The Whitmore Estate used to be tantamount to torture, but thanks to Angelique, and all of that actual torture, I’m having a ball.”
Angelique’s smile expanded, like she was some sort of vampire, feeding off the pain and negative energy. Delighting in it. “Americans have a reputation for being crass, rude, and obnoxious. Clearly, they just need to have a sit down with the infamous Whitmore’s.”
“Clearly,” Alicia agreed bitingly, beckoning one of her staff with a finger.
The poor woman, her weary face etched with a fresh batch of new worry lines, looked to Angelique for confirmation, making it clear that there was a new queen on the throne.
Alicia bristled, but she managed to eke out a sentence. “Certainly you’ll allow me to have a glass before you drain my favorite bottle of red?”
The nerve beneath Angelique’s left eye ticked wildly, but she gave her approval with a crisp nod. “That seems fair, considering how hospitable you’ve been, Mrs. Whitmore.”
Alicia raised her glass and her voice was rife with its usual condescension. “Here’s to you, Angelique, for putting the ‘insane’ in ‘insanity’.”
“Here, here!” Jacob slammed his fist on the table like Angelique had, making the woman jump.
Angelique covered the slip immediately, slowly reclining in her chair. Doing her own brand of pretending, trying to downplay the flare in her pale cheeks. “Insanity?” Her words had barbs that cut ea
ch one of us as she turned her gaze into a weapon and mowed us down. “How convenient for the lot of you. To chalk this whole scenario up to my insanity. That you all just drew a shitty hand.”
“What other explanation fits?” I combatted her with a brusque shrug. “You say that all of this is because of Paris. Because Jacob and Cole went after Eichmann to save Brittany.” I held out both hands, giving her a ‘duh’ that would have made teen Leila very proud. I even made a comment that would make my therapist proud, calling the girl who’d tormented me the last thing she deserved. “Brittany is family. Surely, Eichmann, a family man himself, can respect that. We would go to the ends of the earth to help family.”
Remembering the story she’d shared about a callous man who’d disregarded his daughter’s grief over her dead pet, I decided to pick at a wound she’d uncovered...before I realized she was full of shit. Her father, and his love and approval (or lack thereof), was her Achilles heel.
“Or maybe family means nothing to a man like Lars Eichmann.”
She nearly crushed her wine glass, fury turning her complexion the same hue as the alcohol she’d been guzzling for hours.
Bullseye.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Angelique’s tone had dropped a few octaves, to a level that should have made me tread carefully. Apologize. But the more unhinged she became, the easier it would be to use her vulnerability to our advantage.
“I have a feeling that goldfish story was the first in a long line of ways you disappointed your father,” I said ruefully, staring at my glass like I could see her entire childhood playing out for me on the reflective surface.
“Goldfish?” Jacob asked beside me, roping an arm around the back of my chair. Blurring the lines between who was in charge here because she looked highly uncomfortable and in desperate need of a subject change.
“Right,” I explained, taking a gulp of my water and turning my attention to him and Alicia, ignoring Angelique altogether. “You see, when Angelique was a little girl, she had this goldfish-”
“Leila-” Angelique began, her eyes bulging with warning, control slipping between her shaky fingers.
