Vendetta

sixteen

DEVON

“I love you, too.” The beautiful melody surrounds me and grips my chest, until I can't breathe anymore. A gunshot rings through the night and straight through my heart, shattering her words.

My eyes fly open. For the second it takes me to adjust to the darkness in the room, I think I might have dreamed the whole thing. Then pain slices through my shoulder and all the way down to my fingertips. I try to move my arm, clenching my teeth because it hurts like a motherfucker.

“The meds have worn off,” a silhouette says, standing in the corner. He comes closer, turns on the lamp and sits in the chair next to the bed, looking at me as if for the first time. “I'll have them give you more, but we need you conscious right now.”

The bed is not mine. The sheets smell like detergent, artificially fresh. Nothing like her.

My uncle leans his elbows on the bed, making eye contact. I look away, ashamed. By now he must know what I've done, and how I've betrayed us. Our name.

And for what?

Finally I look back at him. He doesn't look good at all. Actually, I think this might be the first time I've seen him look so . . . distraught. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling on its ends. He looks his age. His features are softer, his eyes younger, but worry wrinkles his forehead. The mask he usually keeps on is nowhere to be seen. It catches me off guard, just how much alike we are. No wonder people think we're brothers.

“What happened out there?” he asks. There's no anger in his voice. It takes me a beat to realize he doesn't sound disappointed, either.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is so parched I can't say a word. Frank quickly takes a glass and pours some water from a plastic bottle in it, then brings it to my lips.

“I don't know,” I say after a few more sips. Because I don't know. One minute we were almost free, the next I was at a gunpoint. “I don't know what happened.”

“Think, anything. We need to know whatever you can remember.”

“She just shot me.” It fucking hurts to say it.

Frank nods, then gets up and walks out of the room. I glance around the unfamiliar walls, thinking it looks cold, despite the lamp warm light. I look down my body, and lift the covers to find two layers of blankets and a duvet. Frank comes back in with a woman, and she comes closer, flashing a light into my eyes, blinding me.

“He doesn't seem disoriented.”

The woman nods, opening my eyes wider and flashing the light into them again.

“I'm not disoriented,” I tell them. I don't feel disoriented.

“Can you tell me your name?” the woman asks in a soft, soothing voice. Her red lips bring back a flash of memory, like this is not the first time she's asked me this question.

“It's Devon,” I snap, narrowing my own eyes at her.

“Devon,” my uncle says in warning. He looks at her. “I think he's fine, Aileen. Thank you.”

She nods again, then takes out a pill bottle from her pocket, and puts it on the small table next to the bed. She points at her shoulder and smiles kindly, saying, “For the pain.” Then she turns around and leaves the room.

Frank waits until she's out before speaking. “Stupid kids. You could have died out there in the cold, freezing to death. If we didn’t find you in time—” He shakes his head condescendingly as he says it. As far as words of comfort go, it’s not much. “That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, Devon.”

He's telling me.

“She tried to kill me,” I say in disbelief. What surprises me is I'm not angry. Rationally, I shouldn't have expected anything less from her. Her whole family is in danger. If the tables were turned, I'd probably have done the same.

“You'd be dead,” Keith Moore says, standing at the door.

I jerk at the sound of his voice, another shot of pain racing through my arm, but it’s seeing him that makes me furious. What the fuck? I look at my uncle, and he has the decency to look apologetic. I've never felt so betrayed in my entire life, and this is hours after the woman I love shot me without a second thought.

“What the hell is going on?” I'd yell but I don't have it in me, so I settle for enunciating each word slowly.

“My daughter is a great shot,” Keith says. “If she wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now, cut the crap and tell me where she is.”

“I—” I pause. Why is he asking me? She would have gone home, to warn them. Suddenly, I remember. She called Dom, and then a car came and . . . that's where my memory cuts off.

You're going to be okay. Those are the last words I remember.

“She called Dom.”

“He's gone, too. We found his car in a ditch just outside of town,” Keith says, coming closer to stand by my uncle.

He’s gone, too? I look between the two of them, realizing neither explained what exactly all of this is. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It can wait, Devon,” Frank answers, and for the first time since I woke up he sounds like the Frank I know.

It can't fucking wait. I have my uncle and the murderer of my parents in the same room, obviously working together. “No, I'd rather you tell me now. Or am I supposed to just accept that he,” I spit the word out, making it sound like an insult, “is here, pretending like he didn't take my whole family away from me. From us!”

My uncle's face softens. “I know it seems confusing, but I need you to trust me. Have I ever failed you before?”

“Ever? You’ve fucking failed me my whole life.” I expect to regret the words, but I don't. All he ever did was antagonize me, from the first day we were all that was left of our family. I was one of his men, an employee. I was never his nephew.

He squares his shoulders and crosses his arms. I feel so fucking small in this bed with him looming over me like this. He looks at Keith who nods—he fucking nods, as if he's giving permission—at him, making me even more furious.

“I was protecting you.”

He holds my gaze, and the sincerity in his eyes catches me off guard. But protecting me from what? I open my mouth to ask him, but Keith interrupts me.

“Okay, we can talk about all of this later. There are things you need to know, Devon, but for now, we need to know everything you remember about the other night.”

The other night? “How long was I out for?”

“Two days,” my uncle says.

Two days. I'm not an idiot. I've figured it out by now that Leighton didn't make it back. And I've been out for two fucking days while she's God knows where. But I remember nothing. I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn't help. It only makes the pounding headache worse. My hand flies to my eyes, pressing them.

“She didn't make it back, did she?” I don't know why I ask it, I guess I just need to hear it confirmed, or maybe they will tell me I'm wrong.

“No.” The word coming from Keith is icy. I can't even look at him because it's all my fucking fault, so I keep my eyes covered with my hand.

“And Dom?”

“We assume they took him, as well. Which might be a good thing, because he can at least try and protect her, unless . . . ” He lets the sentence hang there, and for that I'm grateful. If she's all alone with someone who wants to harm her—

I laugh bitterly at the irony of this whole thing. All I kept thinking was how she will try and find a way out of that room in our house, but now I'm worried. Now I'm praying she finds a way to escape, wherever she is, or that she at least holds on until I find her.

Because I will find her, if it's the last thing I do.

LEIGHTON

The silence in the room makes my mind wander to Devon, to the look on his face when I shot him. I’m a horrible person, I know, I’ve kept telling myself that for the last two days. But I couldn’t sit there and let my family die. I’m not that selfish, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if that had happened. I would have loved nothing more than to run away with Devon, and spend the rest of our lives together, but with the death of my family on my conscience? When I could have stopped it? I would have grown to hate and resent him.

In the end, all it comes down to is that Devon and I just weren’t meant to be. People don’t always get what they want, but they still move forward, move on with their life. I know I’ll only be living a half-life without Devon, without my heart, but it was the only way.

This is the only way. I hope he’s somewhere safe, and not in too much pain. I know that shot wouldn’t have severely wounded or killed him. Hopefully he’s in hospital, recuperating.

I don’t know what Dom and Stevie have up their sleeve, but I need to figure that out, and soon. Stevie isn’t loyal to Devon, and that pisses me off. Devon deserves better, and he needs to know what’s going on in his own ranks. That he can’t trust anyone.

“I need to pee,” I tell George. I haven’t seen Dom at all since he left me here with them, and so far they’ve listened to him, taking shifts to watch over me, bringing me food and water. It’s usually George that I ask to go to the bathroom. Even knowing he’s a rat, for some reason I trust he’s not going to do anything to me.

The looks Danny throws my way every now and again are disgusting. And right now, it’s just the two of them here.

To my horror, Danny says, “I’ll take her.” The intent in his voice is more than obvious.

I shake my head violently. “No, George, you can’t let him do this.”

Danny grasps for the gun at his waist. “I’ll take her.”

George looks at me, swallowing hard, and then he looks away. Fucking low piece of shit. He has known me my whole life.

I steel myself as Danny unlocks the handcuff holding me to the wall, and I get up from the chair, shoulders squared, rubbing my painful wrist with the other hand. I give George one final look of betrayal, and then Danny pushes me toward the door and out of the room, a gun digging into my back.

We walk in tense silence toward the small stuffy bathroom with only one stall, no windows. My head is reeling, trying to figure out how to get out of this. I can’t let him do this to me. I look around the small bathroom, my eyes finding nothing that can help me.

I open the door to the stall and I’m about to close it when he says, “No. Leave it open.”

I slam it shut and turn the lock quickly. His ominous laughter booms through the room as I make use of the toilet.

Okay, think, think, Leighton. There must be something I can do. I curse under my breath as my eyes dart around the bare stall. There’s not even a mirror I could smash and use against him, just plain grey walls.

A knock on the door startles me. “That’s enough time. Come on out, Leighton.”

I turn around and open the door, coming face to face with his gun pointed at my head. He steps back and lowers the gun.

“Now,” he says, approaching me slowly, and I notice the sweat beading on his forehead, “time to play.”

I jerk my hand when he grabs my wrist tightly, bringing it to his crotch and rubbing it over the bulge in his jeans. Oh my God, is all I keep thinking. This is really happening.

“Oh yeah, that’s good, baby,” he says, looking down at my hand as he moves it faster and faster. I’m literally backing away, trying to get put as much distance between us as I can, so much my shoulder starts to hurt. But his grip is too tight and he’s too strong for me. “Do you like that, Leighton?”

I shake my head, unable to speak of terror. The hand holding the gun comes flying out, and he punches me across the face. I can feel my cheek pulsating where he hit me.

“You love it, don’t you, you little whore?”

I nod. What else can I do? If he hits me again, or something worse, there’s no way out. I could pass out. I could get seriously hurt. At least this way I’m conscious, and I can still figure out a way to protect myself.

“Get on your fucking knees!” When I don’t move, he brings the gun under my chin and digs it into my flesh. “I said, get on your fucking knees.”

I get on my knees.

He starts unbuckling his belt, looking at me with disgusting lustful eyes. How can he take pleasure knowing he’s about to rape me?

“You know, when I realized what was going on, that you were fucking that son of a bitch, I was so disappointed in you, Leighton.” He unbuttons his jeans, one excruciating button at a time. “I really thought you were better than that. But I can’t hold it against you. I know you girls fall for that brooding shit. God knows how much pussy he got just because he’s depressed.” His laughter comes out strangled as he pulls the jeans down together with his boxers and his cock springs out, just inches from my face. “But you should have known better. Now suck it, bitch. See what a real man can give you,” he says, guiding his cock with his hand toward my mouth.

I don’t want to do it. I don’t.

In a desperate move, I reach out with my hand, covering his to stop him. I make eye contact, letting him know I’ll comply with whatever he wants. He moves his hand away and I fight vomit as I grasp his length into my fist.

“That’s right, baby,” he says through a groan as I stroke it one time fast.

And then I snap it sharply, crushing his balls with my other hand. He screams like a fucking girl, the gun clattering to the floor as his hand flies out to hit me again. I scramble away on my knees for the gun, and just shoot, without thinking. Once. Twice. Three fucking times, each echoing in the small space of bathroom. He slumps over me, his jeans around his ankles.

I move his heavy body off me, knowing I’m running out of time before someone comes to check what the gunshots were. I scramble to my feet and punch him in his exposed groin anyway, just for good measure. Fucking son of a bitch rapist asshole.

The gun still in my hand, I run out of the bathroom. I have no idea where I am, what this place is, where to go. I run across the suffocating hallway, and then George comes out from the room they held me in. I raise the gun, grasping it in both my hands and aim it at him.

“You’re not a killer, Leighton,” he says, his condescending tone pissing me off further. He probably doesn’t know I just killed a man.

Oh my God, I just killed a man.

“How do you know what I am, George?” I ask, buying myself some time. What the hell do I do now? My finger hesitates over the trigger and then I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. I’ve known this man my whole life. He's right; I can't kill him.

Suddenly, the gun is knocked out of my hand. It clatters to the floor, the sound echoing ominously against the walls.

“Fucking bitch,” Stevie yells, twisting my arm. I cry out in pain, sure that he’s about to break it. George comes forward, kicking the gun away from me.

“Should have taken that shot,” he says.