Vendetta (18 page)

It stings, but I ignore it. What did I expect?

“What's with the iron bars on the windows in this room? Were your parents worried about your safety, or something?” She whispers the words
parents
, like I'll break down crying if she says it any louder.

“Not really. After . . . after it happened, my uncle came to take over. He had them installed.”

She ponders this for a second. “But only in your room?”

“Yeah, maybe he was afraid whoever took them would come back for me?” I make it sound like a question because I really have no idea why he did that. When he had them installed in my room, I thought it was just that my room goes first, and then all the others would get the bars, too. Then I just forgot about the whole thing.

“I guess. That man gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah, he can be intimidating,” I say, laughing. I remember a time or two when he had come over to see us, and he was definitely not the man he is now. He never said much, but there was a lightness, a warmness in his eyes. Something he doesn't have now, not even when it comes to me, his only remaining family.

Or maybe that's just the thing. Maybe he thinks I'm not supposed to be here, either.

Water sloshes as she stands up. I get up from the cold travertine and she extends her hand to me to help her out. I take the towel she left on the vanity then dry her off carefully, inspecting the two hickeys on her neck and then frowning at the red and purple finger-shaped bruises on her collarbone. She tilts my chin up with her finger, then leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips, forgiving me. It doesn't make me feel any better, but I let her kiss me, enjoying the way her soft lips mold to mine.

She pulls away and smiles, putting her hands around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. I press myself against her warm body, skimming my hands down her waist but going no further.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers. I try to ignore the sense of relief I feel when she says it, but find myself squeezing her even tighter against me. “I kept asking myself if it was something I did, if you heard something from someone to just pull away like that. All I needed was for you to talk to me.” She brings her head up, searching my eyes. “I just needed to know why,” she continues when I don't say anything. “The night I came after you, that's all I wanted to ask.”

“What night?” I ask, confused. She never came after me, not that I remember. If she ever did, if she ever said a word, I wouldn't have been able to stay away from her. I hated her for not saying it, and I was grateful at the same time.

“The night you met up with that asshole, George.” She says it slowly, like she's explaining something to a child.

And for good reason, because my face must tell her I had no idea she was there for me. I thought she’d followed George, or maybe she saw us talking and wanted to see what it was about.

The last thing I expected was to hear this. If she didn't follow me that night, she wouldn't be here.

We finally separate and she walks over to the door, where her robe and my jacket are hanging. She puts her arms through the sleeves of the silky robe. This time I appreciate how sexy the whole package is. Tying the sash around her waist, she gives me one last smile and walks out of the bathroom.

“So, was it him?” she asks when I follow her out and sit on the bed, pulling the sweatshirt over my head.

“Was it who?”

“The man we saw last night. Was it your uncle?” She sits next to me, and points at the fast food place name on the bag I brought the night before, scrunching her nose. “Hate that place, by the way. Dom always makes me go there, he loves their bacon cheeseburger.” She shudders. “Yuck.”

I can't help laughing, but it's a disappointed laugh. And I thought it was her favorite; that's how well I know her. Serves me right when I've wasted my whole life pretending to hate her.

“It wasn't him,” I lie for no reason—maybe to convince myself, rather than her. “You'll never see my uncle yelling or displaying emotions like that. He's like stone.” Which is why I found it hard to believe my own eyes, witnessing that scene last night. I have
never
seen him like that.

But it was him.

I try not to let my mind go rampant, thinking up scenarios in which he's hiding things from me or plotting against me, but it's so damn hard. He wouldn't turn on his own flesh and blood, would he?

It kills me that I get a resound
yes, he would
, in my head. No matter how distant and cold he is, I always thought somewhere deep down he cared about me. But there's a lot of money at stake. So much power, it frightens me. And I'm the only one standing in his way, even if it doesn't seem like that. I'm the rightful heir to my father, not him.

But none of this makes sense. Why now? And what would he get from me hating Keith and his whole family, when he could just get rid of me and be done with it?

I palm my face, groaning. I have no idea what's going on, and I hate it that I'm doubting him like this. But obviously something
is
happening that I don't know.

Leighton starts rubbing my back in soothing circles and kisses me on the neck. “Do you ever hate living like this? Do you ever wish . . . ?”

“What?”

“I don't know, that it was all different. That we could run—”

A bang on the door cuts her off. We look at each other in panic. I'm in my boxers and a sweatshirt and she's in a flimsy robe with nothing underneath. I jump and snatch my jeans while pointing to the bathroom. “Lock the door.”

She nods, doing a quick sweep of the room and grabs a handful of clothes, the ones I took her out in last night included. Then she's gone, the lock on the door clicking.

I pull my jeans on and wait for my heartbeat to calm down when another bang comes, making it jump again. I know it's not Hayley: she'd knock, or let me know it was her somehow.

I slowly walk to the door, and then unlock and open it, my posture casual. My uncle looks me up from head to toe, and his eyes flash with something I can't identify.

What the hell is he doing here? I glance back at the bathroom door, wondering if he ever came by before, but then I realize I have the only key.

I stand aside for him to enter, hoping he doesn’t notice how nervous I am. Actually, I’m not nervous, I realize. For some reason, I’m terrified. He looks around the room, then at me, his eyes full of questions.

I point to that stupid bag of food she doesn't like. “Brought her food.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied, and sits in the chair. I sit on the bed awkwardly, realizing it's not exactly hiding what we've done all night, and when I see him take in the scene knowingly, I want to kill myself for being so stupid.

Show them you care, and they'll know where to strike.

“Where did you go last night?” I ask, hoping it will distract him. It does the job. His eyes widen for just a second, but then his mask is back on, cold as ever.

“Emergency,” is all he says. What emergency? There's nothing he has to deal with personally; he has people for everything.

Leighton opens the door, thankfully wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck and some sweatpants. She starts toward me and I shake my head, trying not to be obvious about it. She stops and folds her arms across her chest and stands there, just as awkward as I am.

It's a fucking disaster. Could we act any more guiltily?

I get up and motion for her to sit, begging her silently to just do as I say. She doesn't look at me but follows my instruction.

My uncle looks between the two of us, an uneasy expression on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him.

“Can we talk outside?” I ask, as calmly as possible.

He nods and I follow him out of the room, locking the door behind us. Turning around, I give him an impatient look.

“What's going on?”

He's silent for a beat, until finally, he says the words that shake my world. “It's fair you should know we're moving the girl.”

Who the fuck is this “we” he's talking about? I sure as hell wasn't asked or informed about this. I look at my uncle and my earlier thought hits me like a lightning bolt. This is not my ally, family or not. He kept me in the dark; he devalues everything I do. And now he's taking her away.

And right at that moment, I know for sure. I don't want to lose her. I was already wavering on my decision to kill her. Hell, I knew I couldn't do it the second I saw her lying unconscious in that parking lot when my first instinct was to save her.

I love her. And whatever happens, I will
not
let him take her away.

“We didn't discuss this.”

“Yes, well,” he says, waving his hand flippantly. “Seems you two have gotten closer than you should have. I don't want your mixed feelings ruining this whole thing when we're so close to finally getting what we wanted. She's a distraction, and I need your head in the right place. It's simple.”

Shit, that means I won't know where she is or what they're doing with her.

Okay, time. I need to know how long I have.

“You're right,” I say, keeping my expression neutral. “When?”
Please don't say right now.

“Tomorrow morning.” I refrain from exhaling in relief. He holds my gaze, looking for something, but I just nod.

“And where?” I try.

“It doesn't matter. She's not your responsibility anymore.” It was worth a shot. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly. I want to rip it off his body. “You understand, I'm doing it for your own good.”

Isn't that something people tell you when they're about to do something that's definitely not for your own good?

“Yeah, you're right,” I say, nodding like the good nephew who doesn't question his uncle's decisions. “I've been distracted, it's not good.”

“Good,” he says, lets go of my shoulder and leaves.

I go to the kitchen and get her some milk and cereal. It’s not like I have time to make a run for some proper food. This will have to do.

I walk back up to her room, a bowl and a spoon in my hands. She's still sitting in the same spot where I left her, looking at me expectantly. I walk over to her and she takes the bowl from my hands.

“Trouble at one of the warehouses,” I lie, avoiding her gaze. I don't want to worry her until I work it all out.

She looks down to the bowl, swirling the flakes with the spoon. “Okay,” she says when she looks back up before taking a spoonful into her mouth. It sounds forced, but I shrug it away. She must be as shaken as I am by him coming here.

As she eats, I sit in silence and try to come up with some sort of a plan.

We have until tomorrow morning. That means shit; I can't do anything in that short amount of time. But it's more than if he took her away right now, so at least it's something.

Her words come back to me.
We could run.
We could. For a start, we just need to get away from here. I would need to call in a few favors; there must be someone I can trust. We just need to get out of here. I can definitely make that happen.

And then we'll figure it out.

LEIGHTON

I place the bowl on the bedside table, the sound of it echoing through the room. Devon is lost in his own world, and I’m still trying to process what I overheard. When he walked back into the room, a mask shuttering his expression, I waited patiently for him to talk to me. And when he didn’t, I was disappointed.

No, I was fucking shattered.

They're moving me, away from Devon, away from his protection, and he has nothing to say about it. Not even a heads up. Does he even care what his people are going to do to me? What
are
they going to do? Where are they taking me? Does Devon listen to everything his uncle says? Just following him blindly like that?

So many questions, but the man in the room with me isn’t talking, isn’t saying a word. My life is hanging in the balance, my fate, yet he doesn’t deem me worthy enough to know the truth.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and watch as he stares blankly into space. I have no idea what’s going on in his mind right now. I know he loves me. And I know this whole thing is probably hard on him, but we're running out of fucking time here.

Suddenly he stands up, and shakes his head as if clearing it. With a hesitant look my way, he forces a smile and closes the space between us. I flinch when he leans down to place a kiss on my lips, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy, lost in his own head.

“I have to head out, but I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” he says, looking around the room, then down to his hands. He lifts one hand up and runs it through his hair. “Do you need anything?” He still won’t look at me.

Is that a trick question? How about to get the fuck out of here before they take me? “I’m fine. Are you sure everything's okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice even.

“Like I said, just some business I need to take care of, don’t worry about it,” he says softly, his gaze roaming my face. He has the decency to break eye contact when I keep staring up at him, looking him in the eye as he lies to my face.

“Okay,” I say, dragging out the word. Letting him know that I know he’s not being honest. He looks relieved that I’m not calling him out on it. We’re playing this stupid game where we both know everything isn’t right, but we're pretending otherwise.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly, his eyes softening as he watches me fidget with the sleeve of my sweater. Another quick kiss, and then he’s gone.

I start pacing as soon as I hear the door lock. I can feel myself start to panic, the adrenaline hitting me. I grab the closest object, the cereal bowl, and throw it at the door. The plastic bounces pathetically off the wooden door, and then falls to the floor.

I run to the bathroom and lock the door in case he comes back. My shaky hands take the gun out from his jacket. I'm not good with cold weapons, but I can shoot a gun. Thank God it was the one thing my father insisted on.

I weigh it in my hand, and then release the magazine. Three bullets. That's all I have. I click it back in and put it in the jacket pocket where I found it. I bring my hand up to wipe away the angry tear sliding down my cheek.