Vendetta

four

LEIGHTON

I didn’t ask for a TV so I could catch up on the latest reality shows, even though that's clearly going to be a plus.

As soon as Hayley leaves the room after delivering my TV, I turn on the local news. I know the way my dad works. If he thinks I went missing unrelated to business, he'd call in his police contacts. I'd probably be on the news as a missing person.

On the other hand, if he had any idea that I’m missing because of who I am, because of him, he wouldn’t call the police. He'd keep a lid on it, and deal with it on his own. I definitely wouldn't be on the news, if that were the case.

I watch news station after news station for two hours, my vision blurring from staring at the TV so much, but nothing. My dad must have his own suspicions about my disappearance.

I exhale in relief. Just a little while longer. I hope.

I’ve noted Devon's absence, and wonder what, exactly, he’s doing. Hayley's been coming here for three days straight, breakfast, lunch and dinner. No sign of him.

And who is Hayley to Devon? She's been nothing but nice to me, but I know better, and people like that usually don’t exist if they are in any way related to one of the families. No one lives like us and remains completely unscathed, entirely innocent.

I watch show after show, passing the time. If the Andres don’t kill me, boredom surely will.

I wake up early the next morning, having fallen asleep with the TV on. I turn it off and have another long shower—it’s not like I have anything better to do. I dress in denim shorts and a tank top, and walk out into the room barefoot.

I’m surprised to see Devon standing there, placing down my food on the bedside table. The slight flinch he makes when his eyes meet mine lets me know that he was hoping to leave without being seen. Well, I guess that answers why he hasn't been around. He’s been avoiding me since the other night.

“Devon,” I greet, walking toward him.

He glances at the TV, and then back toward me without a word, but he takes a step back. He has a few days’ stubble on his face that I can’t help but find attractive. I always liked him like that.

“Thanks for the TV. Could you bring me some books to read?” I ask him, adding a flirty smile. He licks his top lip once before he answers.

“Tell Hayley what you want, and I’ll get it for you,” he says, his voice steady. He crosses his arms against his chest, a dominant stance. I notice that he stares into my eyes, but his gaze doesn’t roam. Not once since I've walked out from the bathroom has he looked at my body.

“Well, aren’t you accommodating?” I say sweetly, coming closer to him.

“That’s not going to work on me, Leighton. I’m a little different than the men who usually pant after you,” he says, his voice gaining strength.

“I know,” I say, holding my palms up, hiding the sting. I shrug casually. “Just an attempt at some friendly conversation.”

He narrows his eyes, then turns to leave.

“What are you going to do with me, Devon?” I ask his retreating back, my voice losing its vibrato.

He turns back around and his green eyes bore into mine. I know that my own are pleading, but right now I don’t give a fuck. I need something, anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits as he walks out, locking the door behind him.

DEVON

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I'm about to tell my uncle about the decision I made.

An eye for an eye.

I've known I’d do it the second George called to say he has something for me, but I wanted to think that I'm a better man than that. Once I tell my uncle about it, it's done. It's set in stone and . . . innocents are going to die in the crossfire. For a brief moment I even consider just calling it off, but then I remember.

There are no innocents in our world. We are born tainted.

I raise my hand to knock on the wooden door, letting it hover there for a second.

“You going in or not?” a voice booms behind me, startling me. Stevie looks at me expectantly, in that either-go-in-or-move kind of way.

“Yeah,” I say as I finally knock. Stevie shakes his head, moving past me, and opens the door.

I'd never just go in like that. Ever since that ride home eleven years ago I've known where the boundaries are, and I've kept to them. He's not my uncle, he's Frank, sir, and I'm one of his men. An employee. Simple as that.

Stevie goes in and I follow. We find Frank sitting in his massive leather chair, papers scattered all over his desk. The office is cold, and has dark walls and furniture. I don’t know how he spends all his time in here. He's gesturing with his hands as he speaks on the phone, his thin brows scrunched up, but that's the only sign that he's displeased. My uncle doesn't have an angry face. I guess, being who he is, he can't let his emotions be on display for everyone to see.

“I found your boy outside,” Stevie tells him after he hangs up. Frank and I flinch simultaneously at Stevie calling me his boy. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous it is.

People always assume we're close because we're family, the only ones left of our blood. They comment on the way we look alike, green eyes, dark hair, so much so we could pass as brothers—he's not old enough to be my father. He was a twenty-four-year-old, just out of college, when my family died, and I, the scrawny thirteen-year-old, became his responsibility.

Frank looks at me, his features composed into perfect indifference. He nods his head, and that's the only acknowledgement I get.

“Keith goes last,” I say after I tell them I want them all dead. “I want him to see.”

Stevie looks at me, surprise and . . . pride at my cruelty evident on his face. He looks at Frank, who nods, not a trace of approval or anything.

“We've got the Moore girl to deal with, as well,” he says, and my uncle gives another non-committal nod. Now it's my turn to look surprised. My eyes dance between the two of them.

It doesn’t sit right with me, at all, that they've obviously been talking about the whole situation behind my back.

“I'll handle it, I already told you,” I say, hoping they didn't make a decision without me.

Stevie doesn't look convinced. I don't know what else I have to do to prove I'm worthy of being one of them. I'm not weak; they both know this. I've “handled” things before, dealt with problems. But for some reason Stevie always tested me, pushed me to do more, probably expecting me to fail like everyone else. I never did.

“I trust that you will,” my uncle finally says. Stevie's shoulders slump in defeat. “Do you have a plan?”

LEIGHTON

“You need cable,” Hayley says, putting her bare feet up on the bed. I glare at her, both happy I have some company and suspicious of her reason for being here at the same time.

She never talks about herself, and she dodges any questions about Devon, almost expertly so, like she's used to doing it.

“Ask the boss if we can get some,” I say dryly.

“I will,” she replies, ignoring my tone.

“What do you get out of being here?” I emphasize the “you”.

“The pleasure of your company?”

“I’m serious,” I say, my tone losing its playfulness.

“Look.” She sits up on the bed, leaning on her elbows. “If you want me to leave, I will.” She moves to stand up.

“Stay,” I grumble, hating the fact that I’m so desperate for any contact, even that of the enemy.

She grins, knowing she has me.

“So, are they ransoming me to my father?” I ask her.

Her face instantly goes blank, her blue eyes emotionless. “I don’t know what’s going on, Leighton. They just asked me to keep you company, and here I am, okay?”

“They or he?"

“What do you mean?" she says, so obviously pretending she doesn't know what I'm asking her.

“Fine,” I huff at her evasiveness.

She raises one finely arched brow. “Don’t be like that. I even brought you my reader to borrow.”

“Really?” I ask, perking up. Instantly my mind wonders if it has Wi-Fi on it.

“Yes, really. It’s my old one, no Internet access, so you’ll have to do with what I have on it,” she says, killing my hope. She gets up and walks over to her handbag lying on the chair, pulling out a reader in a pink leather case. She comes back and hands it to me.

“You are the best,” I tell her in a sing-song voice, ignoring the pang of disappointment. I turn it on, and browse through the books on the first page.

“Kinky girl, aren’t ya?” I tease.

She laughs. “Hey, you’ve probably already read them.”

I skim the titles, not wanting to admit I have, in fact, read most of them.

“Busted,” she croons. I can’t help it. I laugh.

“Thanks,” I tell her, meaning it.

“No problem. There's a shitload of books on there, so it should keep you busy for a while.”

“Do you think you could do me one more huge favor?” I ask her hesitantly, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

“Depends on what it is,” she says, her brows furrowing.

“I’ve never gone this long without drawing or painting. If you could get me a sketch pad and some pencils, at least, I would really appreciate it,” I say to her softly.

“I’ll ask Devon,” she says, with a tilt of her head.

“Where is he these days, anyway?” I ask her curiously. Apart from that one run in two days ago, when he obviously didn't want to be caught, he's been noticeably absent.

She eyes me for a moment, tapping her cheek with her index finger. The bright red polish on her fingernail is a shocking contrast against her pale skin. “He’s a busy man.”

“Kidnapping would be a full-time job,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Sure,” I agree. It’s almost too easy to forget that Hayley isn’t my friend, and this isn’t a casual day hanging out. She’s here out of duty, and I’m here because I have no option.

I’m their prisoner.

It's been at least a week since I've been here. How come nothing has happened yet? Has my father found out where I am by now?

I watch the TV but my mind is working, mulling over these thoughts. This guessing game of what's going to happen next is exhausting me. So far, it's been really anti-climatic.

But I don't want to be caught off guard. I just hope, when the shit hits the fan, I'll be ready for it.

DEVON

I walk the narrow hallway leading to the library. I consider a detour, going up to check on Leighton, my resolve to stay away from her room faltering for a second. I remind myself that she has Hayley if she needs anything, and me going up there . . . is not a good idea.

Sooner or later I'm going to have to tell her what's going on. I'm sure she thinks I'll let her go, eventually. I've never been a menace to her—most of the time I ignored her. Or maybe she thinks that we're holding her hostage in exchange for something from her father—money, property, information. Maybe she's hoping her father will come to her rescue.

I dread having to tell her my intentions, but how can I not? She should know what her family did, what they took from me. She should understand why I'm doing this to her. It’s not going to change her fate, but at least she will get the answers she deserves.

Reaching the library, I slump in the sofa facing the fireplace. I look around, exhaling deeply. There's a sense of tranquility in here. I'd like to say I came here as a child, getting lost in the books, but I have no idea what books there are even on the massive built-in shelves lining the three walls. My eyes find the large family portrait hanging above the fireplace, a photo we took, my father, mother, and I, Joey in my mother's arms, still just a baby. I don't remember posing for it but I've seen it plenty of times.

Frank had it painted and hung it above the fireplace. He knew I spent a lot of time here and wanted me to have a reminder of them, to give me a place of comfort. I smile at my foolish thoughts. I could only wish he was so thoughtful. He probably did it out of some sense of duty to keep the memory of his older brother and his family.

The story of my mother and father is a bittersweet one. They loved each other, I remember that like it was yesterday, but she gave up everything she knew to be with him. My mother was an all-American girl, a middle class daughter of a schoolteacher and a dentist. Her parents opposed the marriage heavily, knowing who my father was and where he came from. Who wouldn’t? She married him regardless, and her family practically disowned her. After all, she did marry a criminal—but the heart wants what it wants.

I look up into her kind eyes, knowing that she wouldn’t like the man I’ve become.

Small hands land on my shoulders, massaging my tense muscles. I lean in to her touch and slump even further into the sofa.

“Tough day?” Leighton says and I freeze. What the fuck is she doing in here? Her hands still and leave my shoulders, no doubt realizing the shift in my mood.

Hayley's face fills my line of vision and I shake my head, trying to clear my confusion but it's not helping. I smile at her uneasily and she beamsback, lighting up the whole room with her smile, relaxing me just a little. She sits down on the sofa, facing me, and props her head on her hand, waiting for me to answer her question.

“Yeah, we had trouble with some paperwork.” My eyes scan her face for any clue she’s realized how unsettled I am about what just happened. I think, rationally, she can't know I just fucking hallucinated Leighton's voice, but I'm paranoid as hell. She could always read me like an open book; that’s why we didn't work out as a couple, she knew I wasn't in it one hundred percent. Not that she was, either.

An experiment, she called our relationship. An experiment that failed.

She just nods in understanding, knowing I won't elaborate because it’s a lie. We don’t keep paperwork and she knows it. I've always tried to keep her out of the business, something I know her father probably appreciates.

“Well, I'm exhausted,” she says, groaning. “That girl is seriously high maintenance, not even kidding.”

“Thank you for handling it,” I say, cringing at the word “handling.” She gives me an amused glance, like I have nothing to thank her for, but she has no idea how much she's helping me by babysitting Leighton.

“Eh, she's not that bad, actually.”

My head snaps to her, suddenly curious. Hayley and I, we're not the most social people, maybe because we always had each other to lean on. So, her admitting to not absolutely hating Leighton's company should stand for something.

“What?” she asks, getting defensive. “She's nice. And we have a lot in common. Did you know she's an artist? I was so surprised.”

I know a lot about her, actually. Of course, I know what everyone knows, like whom she hangs out with, the places she frequents, who her friends are. It's impossible not to know these things about her.

But I know things about her I shouldn’t, too. Yeah, I know she’s an artist. An amazing one, at that.

I wait for Hayley to continue, but she gives me nothing else. I want to smack myself for even considering asking more about Leighton.

“She's far from nice, Hales. Don't let her fool you,” I say instead. Hayley gives me a dismissive huff, and I realize she's warming up to Leighton. “You shouldn't get close to her, you know that.” I try to make eye contact while I say it to show her how serious I am about this, but she avoids my gaze.

“I promised her a sketchpad and some drawing supplies,” she continues, ignoring me.

“No pencils,” I say without even giving it a thought. “Nothing sharp.”

She groans, palming her face in exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

I shrug, but I don't answer her. It's a weapon; she should know this.

“Wow, you really made her out to be the devil in your head, didn't you?”

“You don't know her,” I tell her in the calmest voice I can muster. I'm being unreasonable, but I don't trust her not to hurt Hayley, and I can't have that on my conscience. What would she do to get out? Would she kill? I think she would.

“Well, you don't know her, either,” Hayley says, folding her arms against her chest.

“I know who she is. That's enough for me.”

“Does she know about any of this, Devon?” Hayley asks after a beat.

“No.”

“I thought so.” Hayley sighs dramatically and stands up, straightening imaginary wrinkles from her shirt. She fishes out the keys to Leighton's room and throws them on the sofa next to me. “I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

I want to argue, but that would be unfair as well. She spent close to a week with the girl. I don't know why I didn't expect they'd at least form some sort of friendship.

“Just for a week or two,” she assures me, and I relax, thankful she's not abandoning me after all. “I need to distance myself. I know what must be done,” she finishes, determination lacing her voice.

She walks to the door and stands there for a second, contemplating something. “She's been asking about you,” she says, and exits the library, closing the door behind her.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I get up and start pacing the room. Of course she's been asking about me because why the hell would she miss an opportunity to play with my head? At least when she wasn't here I could avoid her, and focus on things that were important. But knowing that she's just three flights of stairs above me makes it impossible for me to think straight.

I should kill her now. I stop dead in my tracks, seriously considering it. I can't let her live anyway, so what's the point of all this torture? A hollow laugh rips out of my throat, because I know I won't do it until I absolutely have to. So I'll continue to fucking torture myself.

My eyes land on the keys, and I make a snap decision. I grab them and stride with purpose out of the library. I consider stopping at the guest room to get my gun, just in case I decide I should do it, but dismiss that idea after only a few seconds. I climb up to the third floor and unlock her door.

She's asleep on the bed, the sheets twisted around her legs. And she's only wearing her underwear. Of course.

I look at her, and really take in her every curve, her smooth skin, her parted lips. My fingers itch to run through her hair, and I clench my fists. Asleep like this, she almost looks innocent. Almost.

I watch her sleeping, allowing myself another moment of weakness. At least this time she's not awake to witness it. I match my breathing to hers, following the rise and fall of her breasts, calming myself down. I walk over to my chair and sit down.

And wait.