Vendetta (7 page)

Danny takes a drag from his blunt, and then passes it to the girl sitting on his lap, his left hand exploring under her skirt. Her hand clutches to his wide forearm, and she’s trying not to be loud, but it’s really obvious what they’re doing. It's disgusting, but nothing I haven't seen before. I’m just waiting for them to take this business elsewhere so I can be on my way home.
My uncle's home.

I didn't exactly meet Danny. We were just sort of thrown together, practically since birth, with him being Stevie's nephew and all. He even looks like Stevie, with short brown hair and brown eyes, his head barely reaching up to my shoulder.

Did I think of him as a friend once upon a time? I did, when I was younger. Danny never had to prove himself, Stevie just accepted him the way he was. His parents are both alive and well, although he never paid much attention to them. Of course we were friends. Hell, at one time, I even wanted to be him.

Now? Not so much. It's nothing in particular; we're just past that stage when you're friends because you're forced together. In my eyes, we're just business acquaintances. I make sure the goods are delivered; he's just one of many that distribute them for me.

My family dabbles in everything these days. Prostitution? Check. Extortion and racketeering? Check. Drug dealing—that’s my area—check. It’s easier this way, because we’re still in the business, but keeping a low profile. My uncle ceased all the money laundering operations when he became the boss. It attracted too much attention from the feds.

A sexy brunette with heavily made-up eyes walks up to me, smiling like she just won the jackpot. I don't recognize her but she probably knows who I am. Everyone does.

Danny gives me a lazy grin, nodding his head toward her. I ignore her, busying myself with pouring another finger of whiskey, but she doesn't take the hint. She waits until I set my glass down after taking a big gulp of throat-burning liquid, and then plops herself on the arm of the leather chair I'm sitting in. Her hand somehow lands at the back of my neck where she plays with my hair, looking at me expectantly.

I smile, but that's all I give her.

“Devon, you could use some fun,” Danny tells me, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It's like he doesn't even know me.

“Yeah,
Devon
. I'm Soraya,” the girl tells me. She leans over, her hot breath fanning my ear, and says, “It's really Amber. I'm not supposed to say.”

“You must be new.”

She nods, her chocolate locks jumping up and down with the movement. Her boobs, practically in my face, jump up and down, too, but I keep my eyes trained on her face. “Yup,” she says. “First day.”

“I'm sorry,
Soraya
,” I say, letting her know her real name is safe with me. “Not interested. Pass it on.” I look around to find at least four other women watching me, sending suggestive glances my way.

I'm used to this attention. It's not even about my looks, it's just the simple fact that I'm an Andre, and they all think I'm a catch. It used to drive Hayley crazy for the short time we were together, like she didn't know it was like that before.

For a second I think Soraya will press on, a thoughtful look on her face, but then she shrugs. Giving me a wink, she jumps off my chair and goes off to her next conquest. I relax, hoping no other girls will approach me.

“You're no fun,” Danny says, shaking his head at me. I flip him off, because that's what friends do, except I really mean it, and he’s not really my friend.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he spins around fast, almost knocking the girl off his lap, but she wraps her arms around his neck for support. He recognizes Colin, another one of our
friends
, and then turns back to the girl, giving her another lazy grin. She wriggles in his lap, and he smiles even wider at her, then leans his head at the back of the chair while she dry humps him in front of us.

Colin takes a seat in a chair next to mine. “Hey, man,” he says, taking my glass and finishing off my whiskey. I nod in response, not offended by his action. I wasn't going to drink it all anyway; the last thing I need is a buzz right now. He looks over my shoulder, searching the room. I notice his gaze lingering on Soraya, something flashing in his eyes before he masks it.

I want to shake my head at him. He’s so predictable.

Colin is a small-time loan shark, though he's always been too nice to actually collect. I met him two years ago when he started working for the Fermi family. After they realized he’s not cut out for it, having lost them more money than he made them, he got the kiss of death. Unfortunately, once you’re in, you’re in, and the only way out is in a coffin. I paid off his debt, but he’s still living on borrowed time.

I know he won't last in this world. It’s just a matter of time until he turns up dead. The thought doesn’t even make me sad. It is what it is.

“How's the old man?” he asks me, eyeing the couple making out in the chair across from him.

“Not old,” I say. Frank is only thirty five.

“Heard about the shipment.” Colin is also a gossip. If anything gets him killed, that will.

“No big deal.” I shrug. One of our own, Digger, turned on us and tipped off the authorities about one of the containers. He admitted to working for Keith. I took care of it personally.

Two bullets to the head, and a whole lot of bribery for the mess he made.

“What happened?” Danny asks, detaching himself from the plaything in his lap for the moment. Colin starts to explain what he heard—most of it wrong, but the gist of it right. I tune them out while they talk about how no one knows who ratted us out.

My cleaner, Saul, took care of that.

I scan the room to find Soraya already sitting in the lap of her next prey, an older man I vaguely recognize from this club. God, she can't be more than eighteen. Her eyes find mine, and she gives me another wink, and then turns back to the older guy, giggling like a schoolgirl. Playing the part, like everyone else.

I want to feel sorry for her, but no one made her come here. Either way, she's better off here than on the streets. We don't take the girls’ money, we make enough on the booze and drugs, and the material we collect for blackmail with their help is more than enough. They’re well taken care of, and we hold them under a contract that’s beneficial for both parties, although a little more beneficial for us.

“Heard about the Moore girl?” Colin’s words catch my attention, his voice squeaking a little with excitement because it’s juicy gossip. Anything about Leighton is. Sometimes it was impossible to avoid her, no matter how hard I tried, because she's always getting herself in some sort of trouble.

I focus my attention on their conversation, but pretend not to listen.

“Sweet, sweet Leighton,” Danny says, his voice suggestive, and I can barely restrain myself from punching his face in. “What about her?”

“She ran off to Ireland after some old guy,” Colin says. “Again.”

I can see why they would think that, although it wouldn’t be with an older guy. She's disappeared before, sometimes for months, only to come back home, and no one held it against her. I understood her in a way. Being her daddy's princess and the only daughter in the family, I’m sure it could get overbearing.

I consider this new bit of information. If Keith is letting this rumor spread, it means he doesn't know where she is. This is good.

“Oh, well.” Danny waves his hand, landing it with a
smack
on his playtoy’s ass. She giggles, and then grinds herself on his lap, throwing her head back with a moan. “Been there, done that.”

No, he didn't. I may think the worst of Leighton, but she would never stoop so low.

“Yeah, we know,” I tell Danny, keeping my voice casual as I lie through my teeth. God knows he's bragged about it before. Many times. Almost as many times as I’ve wanted to pound his head in.

I make a show of looking at my watch, and then stand up. “I'm out,” I tell them. Colin stands up, too, a show of respect. I want to laugh because he shouldn't stand up for me, but I just nod at him. Danny is back to making out with the toy in his lap, making loud smacking noises. He doesn’t acknowledge my leaving and I don’t really care.

* * * *

I park my car in the garage and make my way inside. Once inside my room, I take off my clothes, which reek of cigars. I take a quick shower to get rid of the smell before lying down, with my hands behind my head.

I allow myself to wonder what she could be doing right now. Probably sleeping, like she did last night when I went into her room.

I force myself to think about something else, like the scene at the club. Soraya, Danny, Colin. Keith.

Leighton.

It's no use.

I sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. I'm pulling at my hair so hard I might just rip it all out.

I pause for a second before I get up, contemplating. What’s the harm in going up there again?

I throw sweatpants on over my boxers and go up to the third floor. I unlock the door and enter the room. She's sitting on her bed reading, thankfully wearing some proper clothes. Her eyes meet mine, her eyebrows drawn in confusion.

I take a seat in my chair. She doesn't go back to reading her book, her face transformed into an expression of annoyance.

“Princess,” I say. “Apparently you ran off. Again.”

Her eyes water because she knows what it means, just like I knew. Nobody knows where she is. She's trying not to let herself cry, but a single tear streaks her cheek. I can’t stand her crying. It just doesn't suit her. I want to go over to her, but I don't, of course, I'm not making that mistake again. Besides, I said it on purpose, gave her a message.

Now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

She wipes the tear with the back of her hand, and once I see her face again, it's schooled into perfect control. She actually thinks she can get the upper hand with me.

I remember that little striptease, and suddenly it's hard to breathe.

“So I'm wondering,” I continue, before she gets any ideas, “did you really sleep with Danny?”

Her look changes from anger to confusion to realization. She bursts into laughter, and, fuck, my heart swells, because it's the best sound I’ve heard all day.

That thought sobers me up.

“What, your friend, Danny, the short sleaze? I don't think so,” she says, seemingly lost in thought and I freeze mid-smile. Then she laughs again. “Oh, you should see your face right now. No, I have better taste than that.” She gives me a pointed look.

I don’t want to know what her taste is, really. So we sit in awkward silence when I leave that comment hanging.

“Are you going to keep watch over me now? Afraid the lock and the bars won't hold me in?”

“Yes,” I tell her. In reality, I have no idea why I'm here.

“Devon,” she says, her voice losing its pitch. “What are you going to do with me?”

I ignore her because I don't want to lie to her. And I don't want to tell her the truth now that I’m not acting on impulse. Not yet.

“Devon?”

I close my eyes and lean my head back. I'm not afraid she'll try anything; she's not the one in control right now.

She huffs and I hear the rustle of sheets, and the click of the lamp. I sit in the darkness, I don't know for how long. After her breathing evens out, I close my eyes, too.

six

LEIGHTON

I don’t know why I feel calmer in his presence, even after everything. I just do. Stockholm syndrome, it has to be.

Especially after what he’d told me. No one knows where I am.

I try not to dwell, tilting my head to look at Devon as a distraction. He must be so uncomfortable, having slept in that chair all night again. He’s still fast asleep, and my eyes take him in greedily. His hair is messy, like he has run his hands through it, and his face is so relaxed and almost boyish. I'd use the word handsome to describe him, but it doesn’t seem like enough.

I take my blanket and drape it over him, and then head to the bathroom. I wash my face and brush my teeth before trying to tame my hair, brushing it and smoothing it out. When I walk out of the bathroom, Devon is awake and sitting on the bed, his elbows on his knees, with his head down.

“Devon?” I say, concerned. His posture screams defeat, and I don’t like seeing him like this. He instantly sits up straight, maintaining his façade. He takes my reader from next to the bed, and turns it on. I groan when I remember what I was reading last night.

“Never took you for a whips and chains kinda girl,” he says after a few moments.

“I’ll try anything once,” I say with a nonchalant shrug. His eyes widen for a second, his interest evident.

“Is that right?” he asks, returning the reader to the side table.

“Sure. You only live once, right?” I say as I sit down next to him, leaning into his personal space.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks suspiciously, scooting away. I lift my hand and place it on his shoulder, ignoring his flinch when we make contact.

“You’re so tense,” I say as I sit up on my knees and start to massage his shoulders. He groans when my fingers find a knot, and I work it out with my thumb. He makes a noise deep in his throat that causes a tug in my lower belly and my heart to race.

He is masculine perfection.

And not meant for me.

I sigh, pulling my hands away, and sitting back on the bed in silence.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it.

“I’ll get you some breakfast.” He stands up from the bed, but doesn't leave.

“I’m going crazy in here, Devon,” I tell him, my tone wavering slightly.

He turns to face me, his eyes staring into mine. His hands clench into fists. “I can’t take you out, Leighton.” The regret in his tone confuses me.

“How long am I supposed to stay cooped up like this?” I ask, standing up and putting my hands on my hips.

He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, heaving a heavy sigh because we've been over this. I know it, but I'm not about to give up.