The Perfect Wrong, page 35
That’s why I won’t give up on him.
I can’t.
If a whole army of MDs tries to tell me I’m just infatuated and I can’t possibly have a relationship with my stepbrother, they’ll waste their words like arrows shot at the moon.
I’ll never stop loving him.
Never.
“Bruce? Why are you stopping? We’re not at the gate yet,” Evie bites off, staring at my father. I open my eyes and realize we’re not moving.
He’s pulled over on the curb just outside the long, winding entrance to the place.
Dad says nothing.
His hands are bone-white on the wheel, clenching it tight, his head stooped.
“Oh, Christ! Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts? Now?” Evie glares at him and whips her head from side to side. “Well? Will you fucking man up and get this done? You’re not helping her if you sit here and dillydally. We owe our daughter that much, don’t we? She’s all we’ve got left...”
Oh my God.
The way she’s written off Chris for dead sends bile up my throat. There’s not even a tremor of sadness in her voice. More like irritation.
Dad turns slowly and rakes her with an unsure look.
“Let’s not talk about that now,” he says with a sigh. “I just need a minute.”
Evie rakes her file over her nails so loudly I wince.
When I look up again, I see Dad’s eyes glued to mine in the mirror.
Um, are we having a moment?
I guess I get why he’s doing this, though.
He’s coping.
Coping with a marriage mistake on life support, with a stepson who may never come home, with a daughter he’d do anything to put back together again.
He just doesn’t know how.
And so, the witch next to him took the wheel.
I wonder if he’s beginning to understand Chris and me, our love shining through the dense, twisted wreckage of everything else.
Go ahead and check me in. I won’t blame you, Dad, I think to myself, trying to telepathically beam him the message.
I fiddle with my seat belt.
The sound must irritate Evie, who starts thumping her overdone fingernails on the door next to her, tapping harshly in time to the rain pelting the vehicle’s roof.
“Do you mind?” Dad growls. “This is stressful enough.”
“Oh?” She actually sounds surprised until that familiar, lemon-sucking smirk appears. “Poor baby. I’ll fix you a drink and put you down for a nap once we’re home. Let’s just get through this. You know it’s long overdue. If we’d just had her checked out before Chris went gallivanting off to his suicide, we wouldn’t even be here.”
I keep waiting.
Praying Dad boils over, if only for his own sake. I can’t stand watching him just sitting here and taking this crap.
But I also don’t have the energy to stay mad at this awful woman, and I’m holding up the show.
Isn’t it better to just get this over with?
Tearing off my seat belt, I pop the door open before anyone can speak, heading outside into the steady, chilling rain.
Dad turns off the car and runs after me, his footsteps splashing through the puddles.
“Cordelia, wait!” He takes me by the hand the second he’s caught up. “Hold up. I can’t let you do this. I thought it was the right choice—the only choice—but now...”
A rough sound chokes him off.
I freeze, feeling my face heat as Dad hugs me so tight.
The wetness splashing my forehead isn’t just the rain. There’s a drop of something hotter on my skin.
And when I look up and see him crying, I lose it, offering my own tears to the rain.
“Are you kidding?” Evie hisses behind us, slamming the car door as she gets out and stomps over. “Move it! You’re both making this so much harder than it has to be. Hugs and kisses won’t fix anything, Bruce. She needs drugs, doctors, therapy.”
Okay, now I’m pissed.
My head jerks up, beaming raw hatred at her, but it’s nothing compared to the fury in Dad’s eyes.
“Evie?” he whispers.
She looks at him, her eyebrows lifting at the harshness in his tone.
“Kindly shut the fuck up,” he snarls.
Holy crap.
I’m glad he’s still holding me gently or I’d fall right over.
“Oh? Oh, so now you want to be Mr. Tough Guy.” She laughs acidly, a grating sound that makes me want to slap her. “Where was he while his whole family was falling apart, Bruce? Look at you! Literally a few steps away from getting her the help she needs, to get her off this sick, little obsession with my idiot son, and here you are. Standing around, blubbering like a baby.”
Dad slowly releases me.
The rain picks up, pouring down on us like something out of a bad movie while Evie stands her ground, her arms crossed.
And she just won’t let up.
“Ten seconds,” she clips. “That’s the only courtesy you get before I march her up there myself. I won’t wait around all day trying to talk sense to this mantrum in the rain.” She reaches up and brushes her hand through her soggy hair, wrinkling her face in disgust.
She’s way too done up today, wearing this gaudy bumblebee-yellow dress with thin black stripes.
It’s almost like she’s celebrating sending me away.
Is that it? She can’t help how thrilled she is to have me gone so there’s nothing else between her and fully grinding my father down?
God. That’s almost worse than thinking it’s just pure petty vengeance for falling in love with her son.
She’s slightly taller than us on her black high heels. They look like they’re ready to walk over our bones, solidifying her triumph.
I can’t believe she’s this blind.
Does she really blame Chris for screwing up this family?
Even when the real saboteur is standing right in front of me, slowly counting down on her fingers, her face falling every second we don’t move.
“Okay, ten. Let’s go!” she yells. “Move, Cordelia, and let mama do the job daddy won’t.”
She starts toward me and I jump back.
“No. You’ll never be my mother,” I snap, slapping her hand away.
There’s no flipping way I’m taking it.
I’ll drag her through the puddles before I let this rabid wolverine lead me away anywhere.
She’s fast, though, determined, and I’m in tatters.
Before she can grab me, Dad throws his protective arm around my shoulder and spins me around.
When the world stops whirling, I notice we’re speed walking back to the car. He pops the passenger door and shoves me inside without a word.
I blink, still paralyzed by what’s happening.
“Dad? You—”
He still doesn’t say anything, he just circles around to his door and slides into the driver’s seat.
He’s about to shift the car in gear when Evie runs up, slamming her palms against his window. Her pea-green fingernails scratch the glass until he punches the button to lower it with a hefty sigh.
“Dickless asshole! Have you lost your shitting mind? What the hell is wrong with you?” Her eyes flick to me. “Both of you!”
“I suggest you get out of the rain. Go check yourself in and stay as long as you need, Evie. I’ll still pay for your treatment as a parting gift. You may need it before you hear from my divorce lawyer.”
My heart stops.
For the first time since Chris went MIA, I crack a smile.
“Divorce? Oh my God, you’re—you’re making a huge mistake. I can’t believe you,” she hisses, fear and rage souring her face.
“I can,” Dad throws back. “And I shouldn’t have even given you the chance to show your true colors today. I know what you did.”
“What?” Her lips tremble and she staggers back a step.
Dad’s eyes are unwavering as he looks at her, bottomless sad depths.
“Landon Strauss gave me a letter from Chris. He left it with his boss before he went to Mexico. It told me he loves Delia so much he saved her life in Las Vegas, but that’s not the important part.” Dad pauses. “It said you tried to set him up years ago. You planted weed and called the police, trying to blame him. I didn’t want to believe it until I checked the reports—and I found them. That’s when I knew. You’ll do anything, all right. Anything it takes to twist me—to twist Cordelia—into your own warped goddamned image. And you’d better believe I’m not having it, Evie.”
For a second, she stares like a cornered animal, afraid and bristling.
“Do it. I fucking dare you!” she spits. “I’ll wring you out in court, little man. You’ll wish to God you’d listened to your lawyer and gotten a prenup. I’ll...I’ll squeeze every drop of blood I can get. Then I’ll find every influencer your stupid airline employs and tell them all about your whore of a daughter, your spineless little tantrums. I’ll tell the entire board you’re a fucking mess, totally unfit to run a company that big. Bruce, if you cut me out, I swear to God I’ll—”
“You’ll be out of my life,” he clips. “And that’s all that matters.”
Then he floors it, the engine squealing.
Dad smiles like an entire mountain just lifted off him as the car darts away, doing a hard U-turn before we’re back on the road.
My last glimpse of Evie is watching her flail as the tires spray water up to her shoulders, ruining her outfit.
She stands there in full meltdown mode, soaking wet and stamping her feet, red-faced and screaming obscenities.
Holy crap.
What even was that?
And was he serious about the letter?
But I already know the answer. It sends my heart soaring, knowing that beautiful man tried to protect me even when he couldn’t be here physically.
It crashes back down a second later, knowing I may never get a chance to thank him.
When the sheer adrenaline wears off, we’re back in the city traffic, tooling along the misty streets.
We’re stopped at a long light when I reach for his hand.
“Is that really you, Dad? And why did we even come here today if you had this letter?”
He smiles softly. “I figured out who really needed help. I had the police reports confirming everything about a week ago. And Evie made the choice very, very easy when she showed me she cares more about her own selfish interests than you. I couldn’t have abandoned you, Cordelia, no matter how I might feel about Chris. I’m just sorry as hell it took me this long to figure it out.”
Nodding, I swallow thickly, pushing down the bitter lump in my throat so I don’t start blubbering all over again.
“You made the right choice.”
“Damn right,” he says with a grin, stomping the gas when the light turns green. “I’ll take the woman who’s in love with a man who cares for her any day over a woman who only knows how to care about herself. I hope she’ll take my offer and check herself in while she’s there. Maybe one day, she’ll come to her senses.”
I nod vacantly.
It’s going to be a long road for us, let alone for Evangeline.
But for the first time in ages, there’s the faintest hope sparking.
Now I know there’s still more than one man alive who loves me—and I’m sure he’ll do everything in his power to hold me together until that other man comes home.
22
Merlot Moods (Chris)
Delia!
I’m running toward her on the warmest beach painted in pure sunshine, every last bit of me in flames.
I won’t behave.
I’m going to tumble her into the sand the instant she’s in my arms. It’s been too long.
The need to grab her, savor her, taste her, fuck her, feel her throbs in my blood.
Kissing this woman isn’t damn near enough.
I want to devour her with my all, the gravity of my soul, everything I can muster to keep myself sane when the fire in my blood crescendos.
Our lips are so close I’m aching to the bone.
Those honey-brown eyes flash with a smile that could put every Hollywood bombshell to shame.
“Goddammit, woman. You are fire,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to hers.
I’m fisting her hair now, tipping her head back for my mouth as she opens her lips, already moaning and so ready for me to claim what I’ve been missing for—
“Answer me, you lying puta.”
I breathe, inhaling the stink of high-end tequila and blistering cologne.
Then my ribs explode.
Eladio stomps my chest so hard I almost slip back into the blackness.
The velvety curtain, where I’m far, far away from this fucking dungeon, still with her.
Except it isn’t real.
It isn’t the bone-crushing pain that makes me cringe when I open my eyes.
It’s looking at Lucifer incarnate, and after I’ve led his men around chasing their tails for days, he is fucking pissed.
“I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?” he whispers darkly, baring his teeth as he slides an icy blade over my cheek.
“Yeah. You told me a hundred times. You—” I cut off, coughing, tasting something wet and metallic. Fuck. “You’d have done it by now if you had her.”
Even in the layers of shadows that make up my vision, his face glows hell-red.
“You think that makes me weak? You and your games, you—” His boot swings down again, slamming the cracked cement space next to my head. “She wasn’t home. Nowhere to be found. Your men are smart. They took the little girl before we could—”
“Thought so. You need me, then,” I say, hiding how badly I want to laugh with relief, even if it shatters my body more.
Not that I’m sure he’d recognize happiness on my broken mess of a face anymore.
“I need you to stop fucking lying,” he growls, shoving his face to mine, that cold knife against my throat. “Last chance. Give me everything—your bosses, the Feds’ names, the size of your teams, the plans—or I start carving.”
He pushes that knife down, grazing my skin, waiting for me to shudder or curse him or piss my pants.
As always, I don’t move.
I don’t flinch.
I damn sure don’t breathe a word.
Only, this time he’s onto my diversions. He’ll actually start doing permanent damage soon, but I can take that because he’ll just be hurting me.
Not Sex again.
Not Gering or Batista or the other guys who are caged up and suffering in a dusty, dark room just like this one.
Not their families. I’m guessing they used resources they couldn’t afford scouring half the Bay for Sexton’s granddaughter thanks to my disinfo. Landon would’ve had the whole family pulled and put under permanent protection the second they found out Sex was captured.
“Might want to get your best minion fuckboys on the case,” I say, fighting back another cough. “You’ve got a fucking lot of my blood staining your expensive shirts this week. That shit can’t come out easy.”
Snarling, he tears himself away, hurling the knife against the wall and draining the last of his tequila glass.
His silver-toed boots glint in the dimness, and I can make out their intricate designs again.
Those coiled serpents devouring their tails.
Ouroboros.
The eternal cycle, life and death and infinity, and it should snap what’s left of my mind.
It doesn’t.
Not while I’m somewhere else.
Not while I’m kissing the woman I’ve waited twenty-four damn years for.
She, who makes me a creature of pure bleeding fire rather than flesh.
She, who holds the only future that’ll ever matter in those caramel eyes.
She, who still makes my heart race only for her, entirely.
There’s no fear left for the maniac who may well kill me tonight.
And when Eladio Joaquin winds up to hit me in a rage—this time with the heavy glass clenched in his hand—I fucking laugh.
Because Delia, sweet Delia, saved my heart even if she can’t help my body.
She made me live more in one summer than every other miserable minute of the shadow existence I lived before.
She made me fall so hard I’m still reeling—and I’ll still be falling if this asshole makes me breathe my last.
“You’re laughing?” he rumbles distantly, the same way thunder echoes before hell descends.
His jaw clenches.
His crazy eyes widen.
His hand lifts that glass over my skull, thick and punishing, more than enough to make sure I never wake up again if he strikes with all his might.
Then he starts muttering something furious in Spanish, his arm swinging down to end me, and—
The world explodes with sound as he twists, missing me, the glass shattering somewhere past my head.
There’s more light spilling in, the door opening wider, one of his minions panicked and yelling.
Another second and I hear footsteps pounding outside, further down the hall, men yelling and—are those gunshots?
Yes.
Fuck, yes.
I wait for Eladio to start barking orders, to forget I’m even there.
Only when he moves do I lunge.
Honestly, it’s more of a frantic roll, the only thing I can manage with my hands and legs bound, throwing myself against the backs of his legs over broken bones and a skin of bruises.
It’s enough.
He doesn’t have time to scream to his chickenshit guards—if they aren’t all erupting from their holes to engage the extraction team—before he goes crashing down, banging his head against the narrow cell wall.
He falls against me, dazed and confused and swearing.
I like these odds.
I’m so far past pain I don’t even feel it when I use the only weapon I have, ramming my head into his throat, shoving him over those glass fragments until he sputters.
I’m sure if anyone else saw us, it would look like some fucked up performance art.
Joaquin mimes his agony in gasping silence.
