The A-List Collection. Victoria Fox
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‘You’ve made it quite clear this house belongs to you alone. As for “home”–don’t make me laugh.’
‘You need to apply some thinking to this, Lana,’ he said coolly. ‘The last thing we need is some silly starlet poking her nose around our affairs and drawing conclusions—’
‘Ah, so that’s what this is all about.’ A beat. ‘The bottom line, Cole, is that you don’t want me to have any friends. You don’t want me to know anyone. And it’s not just about protecting our little arrangement–’ she said the word with disgust ‘–it’s about keeping me in my place. You’ve gotten rid of everyone, haven’t you? My friends, my foster mom, everyone. You won’t have me thinking for myself, or making my own choices, and above all you won’t have me living my own life.’
‘I never stopped you being in touch with your foster mother, don’t you pin that on me.’
Lana’s voice shook. ‘You make it so I don’t know who I am, Cole. Can’t you let me breathe?’
‘We have our reputation to think about!’ The shrill of it rang out around the walls. ‘Does that mean nothing to you?’
Lana shook her head. ‘There are more important things than reputation, Cole.’
‘Not when you’re me.’ He was trembling. ‘Not when you’re me. This is a delicate understanding.’ He jabbed a finger at her and then at himself. ‘I know it, I’ve done it before. You cannot afford to be cavorting around with whoever happens to want a piece of—’
‘Cavorting?!’ she spluttered. ‘I think I’ve forgotten what that feels like!’
Cole’s eyes flashed. ‘Why must you be so goddamn secretive?’
He watched her, waiting for an answer. This was one point on which Lana knew she couldn’t tell the truth. Here she was telling Cole not to treat her like a prisoner, when the fact was she fully deserved to be one.
Her thoughts flipped to Robbie. Stay quiet. It’s his past as well as yours.
She folded her arms and looked away, convinced he could smell her guilt.
‘Pack your bags,’ he said calmly.
Lana’s head snapped up. He couldn’t be serious. ‘What?’
The passion that accompanied his wrath had evaporated–Cole was back to his usual, closed self and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Had she heard right?
‘We’re going to Vegas,’ he said. ‘Tonight.’
‘Why?’ It came out like a laugh. There was no way she was going to Vegas. She’d come up with an excuse, something, anything.
‘We’ve tipped off the press. It’s a spontaneous romantic getaway.’
This time she couldn’t stop the laugh escaping. Was he kidding? No, it seemed not–she doubted the irony had even registered.
‘I want to meet these characters behind your premiere,’ Cole went on, heading for the stairs, ‘make sure they’re on top of everything. It’ll be an important evening for both of us.’
Lana was struck dumb. Eventually she managed to stammer out a response. ‘I-I’m not going.’ It sounded like her voice was coming from very far away.
Cole turned and gave her a look she hadn’t seen before–a mix of grudging admiration and complacent satisfaction, knowing he had the contract on his side. ‘Oh, yes, you are.’
She shook her head. He could have no idea of the real reason she simply could not step on that plane with him. ‘I’m not going,’ she said again.
‘Unfortunately that is not your choice,’ he said, totally composed. ‘If you’re in any doubt, please consult the paperwork.’
It was a losing battle. Lana was bound to accompany Cole on publicity trips, even at such short notice. But it wasn’t possible. Going to Vegas wasn’t possible.
‘The jet will be ready for us in an hour,’ he told her, once she’d had time to digest the full impact of her duty. ‘Pack your bags.’
Lana blinked once, twice. Things were turning in on themselves, thick like glue. It was the stick of inevitability.
‘Where are we staying?’ she asked, already knowing what he was going to say.
‘Where do you think?’ He paused before delivering the final blow. ‘The Orient.’
Belleville, Ohio, 1999
‘Lester, please,’ Laura sobbed, pulling her clothes on, humiliation burning. Robbie was already dressed.
‘Lester, please,’ he mimicked, waving the gun again. ‘Please what, huh, bitch?’
Laura felt unbearably cold. The night was dark and thick. She felt Robbie’s hand on her shoulder.
‘Just cool it, Lester, OK?’ he said.
‘I’ll cool it when the hell I like,’ snarled Lester, slurring his words. ‘She’s a little whore, boy, you’re best off keepin’ away—’
In a flash Robbie rushed forward and slammed a fist into Lester’s face. It made a hard, smacking sound and Lester tumbled backwards, groping beneath him for the mossy ground. The gun flew from his grip.
‘Never speak about her like that again,’ commanded Robbie, his voice swollen with conviction.
‘You motherfucking sonofabitch—’ Lester scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Robbie, knocking him to the ground and pinning him with his knees. In a series of sickening shots, Lester pummelled Robbie, one punch after another, a hideous grin splitting his face, sharp rasps escaping with each exertion.
Laura moved quickly, hurling herself at her brother’s back, clinging there, clawing at him, biting his sour-tasting skin and begging him to break free. Eventually he did. Robbie was knocked out cold–or worse, she couldn’t tell.
‘Robbie!’ she howled, collapsing on to him. Lester dragged her off, pulling her into the trailer, grabbing her hair with his dirty fists.
‘Let me go!’ she cried, and he obliged by releasing her violently, sending her crashing to the floor and slamming her nose. She felt blood drip thickly, its iron taste in her throat.
Robbie. There might still be time.
Laura knew that speed was her strength. Lester was so drunk, on adrenalin now as well as liquor, that he could hardly stand up straight. She darted past him into her bedroom, grabbed a small bag from the top of the closet and threw some clothes into it. Taking one final look at the room she’d called home for the past seven years, she made her way back into the kitchen.
‘Don’t even think about it, bitch,’ slurred Lester, crashing into the kitchen table. Then he laughed. ‘You wouldn’t even dare. ‘
She watched him stonily.
With a burp he reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of beer.
‘I’m leaving,’ she told him, her expression cold. She stood with her back to the door, ready to make her escape. ‘And I’m not coming back.’
Lester squinted at her. ‘You won’t get far,’ he sneered as he chipped the top off the bottle. ‘An’ run good as you like, little girl: only place you’re endin’ up is my bed.’