Vendetta (9 page)

“I don’t fucking want you,” he says desperately.

“Devon,” I gasp out when he starts slowly moving against me, our clothes the only barrier between us. He instantly jumps away from me, his expression closing off. He throws a disgusted glance my way as he stands up and takes two steps back, leaving me bare and vulnerable.

Then he turns his back on me and leaves.

seven

DEVON

I swirl the amber liquid in the glass then raise it to my lips and down it. I pour another and repeat. I should slow down, but the oblivion this promises is too tempting.

“I knew you'd be back for me,” she tells me. I give her a lazy grin as she approaches.

“Took you long enough. And I'm here for me.”

Soraya nods in understanding. “That's okay, I'll take care of you.”

I pat the arm of the huge leather chair and she walks over and sits down next to me. I put my arm around her waist and she leans into my touch as I down another glass of whiskey.

I don't like whiskey, and that's why I drink it. There's never a risk I'll get drunk if that's my drink of choice, though tonight I'm not pacing myself very well.

Any kind of alcohol is welcome right now.

After my fifth glass, I decide it's enough. I get up and so does Soraya, taking my hand and leading me away. I wobble slightly, but I don't feel drunk. Actually, I love the buzz it's given me. She pulls on my hand, making me realize I've stopped in my tracks, why, I don't know.

“Come on, silly.” Her voice is the sweetest thing right now. And looking her over from behind, with her long hair, even if it's a shade lighter than I’d like, and her petite body, she's perfect. She'll be perfect.

We reach the door to one of the back rooms and she starts searching in her purse for something. I slam her against the door, and drown her surprised squeal with a demanding kiss. My hands on her thighs start exploring up, up under her dress until I reach the edge of her panties.

She pulls away, breathing hard, and gives me a nervous giggle. “Let me find the key,” she says in a whisper, squaring her shoulders, and goes back to rummaging through her bag. Finding the key, she turns away from me to unlock the door. I run my fingers over the sides of her arms and bury my head at the nape of her neck, my touch making her shiver.

I ignore her perfume as much as I can. It's wrong.

Finally, finally she opens the door and we get inside, her hands already fisted in my hair and her lips on mine, her tongue coaxing my lips open. I vaguely register the lights are off, and it suits me. I prefer it that way.

Her mouth leaves mine so she can take my shirt off and I let her. As a matter of fact, I'd rather we're both naked, so I unzip her dress and let it fall at her feet. I look her over. She’s illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows as she unclasps her bra with one hand and lets it fall down, too, leaving her in only black panties.

Something about the way she does it really bothers me, but before I can think that over she leans in for another kiss and her hands go to my belt. I completely shut off as I hear the clang of metal, the sound of the zipper and then my pants are down around my ankles.

Soraya hesitantly reaches into my boxers with her hand, while slowly pulling them down with the other. She takes my already hard cock, and starts stroking me. She pulls away a little, so I lean in and kiss her, walking her backwards toward the bed.

“Say my name,” I mumble in between kisses.

“Wh . . . what?” she says through a moan when I move her panties to the side and feel how wet she is for me.

“Say. My. Name.”

“Oh, God.” Another moan, as I find her clit and start circling with my thumb and slide a finger inside of her, making her arch her back, asking for more. Her hand works faster on my cock, and I'm so ready to take her right here, right now, but I need to hear her say it.

“Just fucking say it.”

She looks at me through her thick lashes, confusion etching her forehead. “Devon?”

I freeze. My hand freezes. It's wrong. It's all wrong.

“Stop.”

She stops. “What's wrong?” I can hear the confusion in her voice.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her, trying to convey with my voice I really mean it. Because I am so goddamn sorry I almost used this girl for some twisted fantasy of mine.

“No, it's okay. Are you all right? Do you need a minute?”

“Give me a fucking century and it won't be enough,” I say, laughing, though it comes out strangled, my breathing still ragged because, honestly, I'm still hard as a fucking rock. She disappears and I pull my boxers up, adjusting myself so I'm at least comfortable.

The lights come on as I'm pulling my pants up. Amber's cheeks flame red, probably because she's still naked apart from her panties, and they're not covering up much. I turn around to give her privacy and hear the shuffling of clothes and her dress zipper.

I sit on the bed and hang my head in shame, wiping my hand on the sheet. The bed dips next to me and we sit in silence for a while. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” I say, groaning as my back hits the bed. “I'd rather just forget right now.”

She gives me a sheepish smile and gets up, walking across the room, and opens one of the drawers. She pulls out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's and giggles, walking back to the bed and handing me the bottle. “We're not allowed this in the rooms.” She puts her index finger over her lips in that universal “shush” sign.

“How old are you?” I ask her, before taking a swig straight from the bottle. I've already made my guess she's barely past her teens.

“Twenty-one?” she tries, taking the bottle from me.

“Okay, Soraya, and how old is Amber?”

“Nineteen,” she says, looking down.

“I'm sorry.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What for?”

“For almost taking advantage of you.”

“Don't worry. It's what I do,” she says, an odd look passing over her features before she hands me back the bottle.

LEIGHTON

The sound of the door opening instantly wakes me up. I can see Devon’s shadow as he walks in the room, toward the bed. He curses when he walks into the coffee table, then chuckles. Wait; is he drunk?

“Devon?” I whisper.

“Leighton.” He sighs softly. I sit up in bed and turn the bedside lamp on. The light illuminates his flushed face, and I know instantly that I was right. He
is
drunk. Completely wasted. He looks handsome as ever, in a crisp white shirt, a few buttons opened at the top, showing me a hint of his toned chest. He walks toward me, his stride sloppy and uneven. I watch him intently as he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning close. When his face is inches from mine my nose wrinkles. I lean closer to him, and smell his neck. Perfume. When I look down at the collar of his shirt, there is harlot red lipstick smudged everywhere.

“Where were you?” I demand, pushing at his shoulders. Only then do I notice that his top buttons are done up wrong, one buttoning through the wrong hole.

“I went to see Amber,” he slurs, trying to come closer to me.

“Who the fuck is Amber?” I snap, sounding like a jealous girlfriend, but what the fuck? He turned me down while I was wet and willing, to go and fuck someone else? I was naked, and practically begging him. Why didn’t he want me? I know our attraction isn’t ideal, but I never thought he would do something like this. What the hell is going on in that mind of his?

He was with another woman tonight.

It hurts like a shot to my chest.

After he left, I had to get myself off, leaving me still unsatisfied, but it was better than lying there frustrated all night while he was out, fucking someone named Amber.

I’m contemplating just how stupid I am when Devon leans in and tries to kiss me. He reeks of alcohol and cheap perfume, and I almost want to throw up. As his lips almost make contact with mine I pull back, bringing up my hand to slap him right across the face. I pull back my hand as it starts to burn, but that pain is nothing compared to what I feel on the inside.

He has the nerve to fuck someone else, after turning me down so harshly, and then come to my bed to rub it in my face?

I hate him. Right now, in this moment, I fucking hate him.

My throat stings as he touches his face where I hit him, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Leighton, you don’t understand. She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me again.

“No one? You left me to go to her. You think you can fuck someone else then come to bed with me?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes. Does he think I’m that easy? The thought makes me furious.

“Let me hold you,” he murmurs, ignoring my question. He reaches out again, sighing in what sounds like relief as his hand makes contact with my arm.

I grit my teeth. “You are such an asshole.”

“She’s not you,” he says, pulling me closer. “Please, come here.”

This time I let him. I cuddle with him, rubbing his back with my palm in soothing circles. A few minutes later and he's out like a light. Perfect.

I sit up and slowly move out of his embrace, freezing when he stirs before settling again. I lean over and turn off the bedside lamp, and then tiptoe to the door. I don’t bother with looking for my shoes or changing out of my t-shirt and pajama bottom, it would only slow me down and I’ll probably run faster barefoot. When I twist the knob, I want to scream with happiness. The drunken bastard didn’t lock the door.

Sloppy, Devon. Sloppy.

I walk outside and close the door behind me, almost wanting to lock him in, but then feeling a twinge of guilt. Who knows when someone would find him? Also, if I run into anyone I might need to come back into the room, as a worst-case scenario.

I decide on heading left and then walk down the hall. The place is deathly silent, and I try to make as little noise as possible as I descend the stairs. I don’t know who's here, or what to expect. All I know is that I need to be stealthy and on guard. I only have one chance at this, because if they catch me they will make sure I won’t be able to get out a second time.

I look for a weapon but only come across a silver candlestick. It’s sturdy enough, and it'll have to do for now. I should have checked his pockets for that goddamned pocketknife he always carries around.

I walk down a set of stairs, and exhale in relief when I see a sliding door. I unlock it with one click and then step outside.

I’m almost free. I breathe in the fresh air as the cold wind hits my face, enjoying the moment for a second before my eyes dart around, looking for the best route to take. There's a door on one side. I assume it leads to the backyard. On the other side is a gate that should lead to the front of the house.

I head toward the gate, thankful that there are no dogs outside, and flip the latch. I close it softly behind me, before I start running. When I hit the front lawn I freeze. I know I shouldn't, I should keep running. There are two men standing there, their posture changing the minute they lay their eyes on me.

I recognize one instantly as the man who was standing in my room. This isn't going to be good. I start to run, too late, and so do both of them. I’m a pretty fast runner, but as I run on the road I can feel something cut my foot.

An arm grabs me around my waist, and a palm lands on my mouth.

“What do we have here?” The one from my room says in a creepy voice. I reach up and scratch him right across his cheek, digging my nails into his skin. I've been trained if something happens, I need to leave a mark, leave a trail. I raise my hand to try and get the other man, but the one holding me overpowers me, grasping my wrists in his, tight.

“Bitch,” he hisses, pulling me roughly.

“Looks like the Moore princess finally came out to play,” the other one says.

Fuck.

I whimper when he rips my shirt open, mouthing Devon’s name.

eight

DEVON

A warm ray of light jolts me awake me from a dreamless sleep. I sit up, a little too fast, and pain shoots through my head. Slumping back against the headboard, I bring my hand to my temples and massage them in circular motion, but it doesn't really help. It's the worst hangover I've ever had. Fucking Jack.

I open my eyes without thinking, and the blazing light only worsens the pounding headache. I squeeze my eyes closed again. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I'm thirsty as hell. It takes me a few minutes to open my eyes again, trying to focus them on anything in the room.

Then I realize. I'm in Leighton's room. In her bed.

“Shit.” What the fuck happened last night? I try to rewind, Leighton, Baroque, Soraya—I cringe at that last memory. What a fucking waste.

And then . . . nothing. I have
never
allowed myself this. Sure I've gotten drunk before, but never so much to black out.
Always keep your wits about you
, my uncle would say, and I always listened.

Until last night.

I get out of bed slowly, the drums in my head getting louder. I'm fully clothed, and I reek of alcohol and perfume. It makes me queasy, and I'm about to run for the bathroom when something clicks. She's nowhere in sight. I head for the bathroom, listening for any sounds in there, hoping she's taking a shower or whatever, but when I go inside, she’s not there.

Leaving the bathroom, I scan the room, looking for any clues as to what happened. My eyes find her shoes on the floor next to the bed. Nothing looks out of place.

But she's not in here.

Idiot
, I want to yell but I know it will attract attention. So I scold myself in my head. I fucking knew this would happen. The woman is making me into a sad excuse of a man. Always has. Weak. Pathetic.

At least I can finally admit it.
Yeah, Devon, there's a reason why you stayed away from her for as long as you have.

And for fuck's sake, I'm not even worried she managed to escape, I'd be surprised she didn't take this chance I've so stupidly given her. No, my stupid, irrational fear is she didn't, and that someone got their hands on her.