Vendetta

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.

“I want pancakes for breakfast.” I decide to be difficult, narrowing my eyes at him, daring him to say no.

“Fine,” he grumbles, taking a step toward me, leaning in, his face just inches from mine. His eyes dance between my lips and my own eyes. For a second, for a terrifying and exciting second, I think he’s going to kiss me. I could help him. I could just close the small distance between us and finally taste his lips after all this time. I can see that he wants it, but he’s fighting it.

We stand like that for what could be mere seconds or maybe minutes, I don’t know. I can see it in his eyes when he decides not to do it, feel him retreating, stepping away from this situation as he always does. He backs away toward the door, his eyes still holding mine, pleading not to push him when he’s so close to snapping. My shoulders slump in defeat and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to hate him.

“Fuck,” he practically growls, and then I hear the door slamming. My finger flies to my lips, wishing I’d closed that space between us. I open my eyes and stare at the door, willing it to burst open and for him to barge in and just kiss the living daylights out of me.

But he doesn’t.

I know the two of us is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had. My dad would probably flip out at the thought of it, let alone if he found out it happened.

My hand falls limp by my side. He’s coming back soon and I need pull myself together, pretend I wasn’t burning up inside for him.

I tidy up my bed, and put all my dirty clothes in the laundry basket. I don’t know who washes my clothes, but Hayley takes them out. She even brought me a bag of new clothes the other day.

All designer.

Where is Hayley, anyway? I was actually getting a little fond of her.

I walk into the bathroom, stripping down to my birthday suit and turning on the shower. When it’s the perfect temperature I step in under the water. I frown at my prickly legs that really need to be shaved. Not like Devon is going to give me a razor.

I really think he overestimates me.

I dry my hair and my body, walking out into the room wrapped in a towel. A short, bald man stands next to my bed, leering at me. I scream, run back into the bathroom, and lock the door behind me. It’s a flimsy lock that even I could probably pick, but a lock nonetheless, giving me some security.

Who the fuck is that man and why is he in my room? I stand against the door until my breathing evens, then I dress back into my pajamas, since I didn’t take my fresh clothes into the bathroom, and put my ear against the door, listening.

Silence.

I wait about ten more minutes before I open the door. Seeing that the room is empty, I sigh in relief.

Fucking creeper.

Ten minutes later, Devon walks in, scowling, with a plate of pancakes in his hand.

“What the hell, Devon?” I shriek, my voice shaking.

“What now? You changed your mind about the pancakes or something?” he says sarcastically, slamming the plate down on the table harder than necessary. It's plastic, so it doesn't make any noise, but the pancakes slide around on the plate.

“This isn’t a joke,” I say, crossing my arms in a protective gesture.

“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“One of your fucking minions was in my room!” I yell, letting my expression show him how I felt about it.

“What the fuck? I said the room was off limits,” he says in a low angry tone. His words shouldn't feel so good to hear, but they do. They give me just a little hope.

“He just stood there, staring, then left,” I point with my finger at the place where the man was standing. “He looked like a serial killer.”

“I’ll take care of it. Eat,” he demands and storms out of the room.

DEVON

I pound on my uncle's door and enter without waiting for permission. He looks over from what seems to be a heated discussion with Stevie, but when they see it's me they stop talking.

Stevie looks furious. Frank's face is perfectly neutral.

“Devon.” Frank rounds the table and takes a seat in his leather chair. I watch his eyes, but as usual, they give nothing away. I've never seen him and Stevie fight about anything. Everything my uncle says Stevie just does, no questions or objections.

“I said I'll handle it,” I tell them both through clenched teeth.

Frank nods at the same time Stevie shakes his head, like he's disappointed. “I know you will,” Frank tells me.

“So why in the world did you send one of your goons in her room?”

My uncle's head snaps to Stevie in question. “Did you go in there?” he says, his voice low.

“You scared the crap out of her, Stevie,” I tell him.

He just shrugs like it's no big deal. I walk up to him and grab him by the collar of his jacket before I even realize what I'm doing. “That. Room. Is. Off. Limits. Understand?” I shake him with each word for good measure.

Frank clears his throat, stealing my attention. He gives me an amused look. “Calm down, Devon. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his table. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself down and let Stevie's jacket go. He stumbles back.

Walking to the other side of the table, I'm about to sit when he says, “Why the fuck were you in her room all night? You spend an awful lot of time with her, is that your way of handling it?”

I storm back toward him and grab him again, getting into his face. He tries to look like he isn’t shaken and holds it together, but I see him slipping.

“Mind your own goddamn business,” I spit in his face, adding some ice to my words.

“Devon,” my uncle says, a little harsher.

“I said I'll handle it,” I say, feeling like a stubborn thirteen-year-old boy.

“Sit, Devon.” He looks at Stevie and points to the door. “We're done. Get out.” It's almost funny watching my uncle put someone ten years his senior in their place.

Stevie looks down, then back up, nods and moves for the door.

“Stevie,” Frank says. Stevie's eyes lock with his. “Don't let this happen again.”

He nods again and leaves the room, but not before giving me a parting scowl.

My uncle waits until the door clicks shut and then gives me a pointed look. He leans forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table and connecting his palms together.

“You know better than this.”

I shift in my chair. “Better than what, sir?”

“Better than to show your emotions like that. You—” he points at me, “—just gave him—” his finger shifts to the door, “—ammo.”

“He went against my word,” I say, although I realize he's right. Show them you care, and they know where to strike.

Even the people who shouldn't work against you will do it, given the chance. Just look at George.

“Look,” my uncle says. “You know how I feel about her being here. Not good. And I don't care what you do with her—kill her now, or fuck her and then kill her. As long as she's not in the way, I don't care.”

My fists clench into tight balls at his words, but like he said, I shouldn't, I don't react.

“Will that girl be a problem for you?” he asks, his voice sure, like he knows all my secrets.

“Will Stevie be a problem?” I ask him back, keeping my own voice even.

“Up to you,” he says and waves his hand toward the door, dismissing me.

I get up and walk out of his study, half expecting him to give me some parting words of wisdom, but, turning back, I see he's already concentrating on some papers in front of him.

I head out, throw my leather jacket on, and get into my car, thinking. I don't know how Stevie got into her room; I clearly remember locking it behind me. Her eyes come into my mind. She was trying so hard to look tough, but I saw the fear behind them. I turn the ignition, starting the car, and head for the hardware store, feeling like a fucking hypocrite the whole way there.

Because as dangerous as Stevie is, I'm nothing less. But I won't let him near her again.

“Don't you have people to do that?” she asks me in amusement, as I try to change the lock on her door. Sadly, I'm no handyman, and she's right. My uncle does have people doing this sort of shit around the house.

“I'd rather keep other people out of this room.” I give her a pointed look. “I'm sure you appreciate it.” I fight a particularly stubborn screw with my screwdriver, and when it finally turns, I take it out and hold it up, grinning like I just won a wrestling match.

“My hero,” she says, clasping her hands together in a mock swoon. Her words cut like a knife, no joke.

I install the new lock with much less trouble, and try it out a few times, locking, unlocking, locking it again, rattling the doorknob, all the while listening to her monologue soundtrack. I got the deadbolt lock, God help her if I lose the keys. Or me, if I get stuck inside with her.

“Do I get a key?”

I don't dignify that with an answer.

“I'm bored,” she says in this high-pitched whiny voice. I mentally slap myself because I find it adorable. “Why won't you talk to me?”

“Because you're annoying and it's testing my patience.”

“Well, I’m going to keep talking anyway. What's the worst you could do? Tie me up and gag me?” My head snaps to her, and she smirks, knowing she's got me.

“Try some children’s books for a change,” I tell her, pretending nonchalance. My head is swimming with images of her, tied up, naked. This is how dangerous she is to me.

I make use of the fact I'm turned away from her and adjust my already tight jeans. I move for the door to get out before it's too late, but her hand lands on my forearm.

“Come back tonight,” she says. “I don't feel safe after this morning.”

I want to shake some sense into her. I'm not safe, stop making it out like I am. But I just nod instead, earning me a smile, and exit the room.

LEIGHTON

I can’t hide my happiness when Devon returns that evening, holding a pizza and a bottle of soda. He sets the food down on the table, telling me to come and eat. I walk over quickly, opening the box and pulling out a piece.

“Where were you all day?” I ask around a bite of pepperoni.

“Out,” he answers, standing and watching me intently instead of eating.

“Doing what?”

“Stuff,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.

“What kinda stuff?” I ask, licking the cheese off my fingers. When he doesn’t reply I look up into his green eyes, concealed by heavy lids. I know that look.

“What?” I ask, taking another slice.

“Hayley will be back in a few days,” he says, shifting on his feet.

“Okay,” I say, because I don't know what else to say. I’m pretty sure he’s insinuating that he’s not going to be around anymore.

“You know that I hate your family, right?” he asks, staring straight at me.

“You don’t hate me, Devon,” I tell him, knowing that it’s true. Devon's been good to me; he hasn’t hurt me once since I've been here. He gets up and starts pacing, running his hands through his inky black hair.

God, he's beautiful.

“No, I don’t hate you, Leighton,” he finally says. “But you should hate me. You will hate me.”

I look down at my piece of pizza, no longer feeling hungry. I put the slice in the box and wipe my hand on the napkin.

“I know George wanted to kill me,” I say. “And you saved me.”

His silence is answer enough.

“Can we just pretend? Just for one night?” I ask him. He turns to me as if he's going to cut me down, until he sees the look on my face. His expression softens, and he gives me a slight nod. He sits down next to me and picks up a slice of pizza. I watch as his teeth tear off a bite, and think there is seriously something wrong with me to be turned on by him right now.

We finish eating, and sit on the couch and watch some random TV movie in silence. Devon sips his drink, and I watch his throat as he swallows. My gaze roams down further, to his toned chest peeking out of his black V-neck shirt.

I want him.

Truth be told, it’s not like I’ve had any action since I’ve been here, nor for a while before I was brought here. And my BOB is safely tucked away under my bed at home, gathering dust. I slowly remove my thin sweater, leaving nothing but a tank top underneath. Devon glances away from the TV to watch me. Lust consumes me, making me feel bold. Invincible.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice huskier than usual.

“You said we'd pretend,” I say softly, moving closer to him.

“Leighton, fuck, I don’t think . . . ” His eyes are at the hem of my top, where my hands are.

“Don’t think, Devon,” I say, standing up and pulling it over my head, dropping it aside. I walk backwards to my bed and undo the clasp of my bra, letting it dangle on my finger and then fall to the ground. I take my sweatpants off, leaving me in nothing but my panties. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell me to stop, I sit down on the bed and watch him.

The heat in Devon’s gaze, the intensity in his expression makes me feel like I’m the sexiest girl in the world. He stands up slowly, and walks over to me, his eyes still connected with mine. He gets down on his knees, so his face is almost level with mine. I watch as he takes his fill of me, a soft curse escaping his lips as his gaze touches my breasts.

“I don’t want you,” he says hoarsely, but there’s no fight left in his voice. My breathing hitches as I wait for him to finally touch me.

I don’t dare speak. Putting my palm on his cheek, I decide to make the first move since he won’t. Bringing his face closer to my body, I gasp when his tongue finally peeps out and slowly traces over one nipple, and I know that he’s decided to give in. He pulls my nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, and then running his teeth over it. I squirm under his touch, wanting more.

His mouth releases its torturous hold on my breast and trails wet kisses up my chest, my shoulder and my neck. By the time he reaches my mouth, I can feel how damp my panties are, and my thighs are trembling. He swipes his tongue across my lips, begging entrance. He kisses me hungrily, delving into my mouth, tasting me. He pushes me back onto the bed with the force of his body, grinding his hips into mine. I feel his erection pressing into me, and it gets me even more excited. Grasping my wrists in his hand, Devon lifts my hands above my head and presses them into the mattress. His other hand traces from my temple, over my cheek and jawline, and finally rests on my neck. Pulling his mouth away, he rests his forehead against mine, his breathing as heavy as my own.

“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.