"You better kill me, Leah! Because there is no way you will live after this." She spits, lunging forward in the chair.
"We’ll get to that part, too my dear. Let’s have fun first.” I smile, then let it drop.
In a flat, cold voice, I command them “Hold her head!”. The theatrics are over.
The man behind her yanks her grabs a fistful of her hair, jerking her head back.
The other shoves the bottle against her mouth, pinching her nose shut. Vodka spills everywhere as she chokes and sputters. Her whole body is convulsing, but she doesn’t stop fighting. It’s an ugly, messy as hell, undignified sight.
I circle her, watching dispassionately. This is what she gets for struggling.
“You think you know Dorian, don't you?" My voice is soft, almost sweet, curling around the sound of her coughing.
I crouch right in front of her.
"When I married him, he was just a boy. A passionate, insecure boy withnoambition. So, I had to force him. I broke him. That's how you forge steel, Della. He’s mine. My creation. And I will not letyou," I hiss, "a broken little charity case, be his queen."
She looks me dead in the eye, and before I can even blink, she spits. Right at me. A spray of vodka and saliva hits my cheek. I freeze. My hand shakes with how much I want to hurt her as I wipe it off. The bitch.
She lifts her head, booze and spit dripping from her chin, but her eyes are lethally clear.
"You didn't... create him," she chokes out, the words thick with alcohol and hate. "You just... broke him. That’s all."
The words sting more than the spit ever could. The air goes tight. My hand reflexively clenches into a fist. I look at the two men, who are watching me, waiting.
My voice is pure ice. "Again."
They don't hesitate. They grab her, yank her head back, force another flood of cheap vodka down her throat.
She jerks and thrashes, but it’s hopeless. The bottle empties, and she’s left sputtering, half-drowned in her own defiance. It’s just as ugly and raw as before. And it is exactly what she deserves.
When they stop, she slumps in the chair, choking. It takes a minute before she can breathe again. But when she lifts her head, and her eyes lock onto mine. Even now, tied up, drugged, and barely hanging on, shesmiles.
A small, bloody smile, as if she knows a secret.
"You can kill me, Leah," she whispers, her voice a ragged promise. "But you'll never have him. And you'llneverbe me. He'll hunt you to the end of the earth for this. That's the man I love. Not the broken boy you left."
It feels like a slap. She thinks she's won, that she’s somehow above all this. She's wrong. She's just given me one last, delicious memory to savor.
"You're right," I say, suddenly calm, my anger razor-sharp. "He will hunt. And that's the tragedy. He will be huntingyou... at the bottom of the cliffs."
Chapter 25
NEVER AGAIN
The difference between 'victim' and 'victor' is a defiant choice
Dorian
The SUV screeches to a stop, scattering gravel and bits of broken pavement. For a second, everything goes dead quiet. David kills the engine, flicks off the headlights, and now we’re swallowed up in darkness. The only light is the single, pulsing red dot on my phone screen.
It’s not moving. We’re here. She’s here.
"No lookouts," David murmurs, his eyes scanning the building's perimeter. "Sloppy. Or overconfident."
"It's Leah," I snap, anger grinding every word down to the bone. “She’s arrogant. That’s all.”
The warehouse is a massive, lightless box of corrugated metal, smelling of salt, rust. My entire being is thrumming, a live wire of lethal intent. The man who sat helpless in a jet for four hours is gone, replaced by the predator.
