Текст книги "Vendetta"

Автор книги: Sienna Lane

Соавторы: Autumn Karr
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

seventeen

DEVON

“Okay, talk.”

Frank looks around the room, as if drawing inspiration, but I know he's just avoiding looking at me.

I wince in pain as I reach for the glass of water, getting his attention. My uncle looks pointedly between me and the pill bottle on the bedside table, but I ignore him. I'm not taking anything they give me until I get an explanation of what's going on.

If the pills knock me out, there's no way of getting out of bed, either. And Leighton is out there . . .

Finally, he makes eye contact. “Eleven years ago, my—” he begins, then swallows hard, looking away. “Your father called me to tell me we're finally out.”

My father wanted out? But that’s ridiculous. The only way out is in a coffin.

When he doesn't say anything else, I nod, urging him to continue.

“He didn't want this life for you kids. Hell, he didn't want this life for me. Our parents died young in a car accident, and he was left, barely legal, to take care of me. Joe didn’t want the legacy of our father, or to end up the same way he did.”

I frown, thinking how familiar that story is. My dad was a kid taking care of a kid.

“He was always taking care of me.” He smiles affectionately, his features taking on a boyish appearance. Then his eyes go blank. “All my life I resented him for sending me away, away to boarding schools, away to travel abroad, away to college . . . until I got it. When he did the same to you, I got that he didn't hate me or didn't not want me around.”

This also sounds awfully familiar. My mother liked to travel, or so I thought, always taking me with her wherever she went, and we would be gone for so, so long. Dad was always busy, had work, and he never came with us.

When I was ten, I was told I was going to an all-boys school. I remember the temper tantrum I threw, like a spoiled little brat, punching air and slamming doors. Joey was just born, and I thought they were getting rid of me because they got a new kid. The jealousy was eating me up.

My father wasn't a man that showed emotion. He did things, rather than said them, to make you feel loved. A new toy, a pat on the head, letting me play in his office. And when he said I'd only ever be home during school breaks, well, I thought it said a lot about their love. Child logic.

“Your mother knew what he was doing when she married him, but after you came, she wanted out as well. So, he did what he had to do, and he made it happen. Almost. He worked out a deal with Keith Moore.”

“A deal with Keith Moore,” I repeat, disbelieving.

“Yes. When he told me I didn't actually think it would happen. For so long our family has been in the business—” He makes air quotes and it strikes me as so out of character when it comes to him. “—the idea of getting out was just impossible. Once you’re in, you’re in. He made it happen for me. He sent me away and I had a normal life, for the most part. I got through college and had a bright future ahead. Mac—Hayley’s father, he helped, but still.” His voice turns sad, almost wistful. He shakes his head, as if to clear it.

No wonder he resented me. I pulled him out of his life, even though it wasn't my fault.

“What kind of a deal did he make?”

“He would just hand it all over, and in return he'd get protection for his family,” he says, as if that explains it all.

Then it dawns on me. The warehouses in Chelsea. It's definitely something a Moore would bargain for with an Andre, if only to prove they were right. That, and giving up all that power. The lesser the players in this game are, the more powerful you are.

“That's all there was to it,” he continues. “We had money, dirty as it was, but we were good with that. All we needed was for everyone to know we've got the Moore protection.”

“And what of our men?” Because I know with all of them set loose, there would have been anarchy, free, out-of-control players doing whatever the hell they wanted.

He looks at me knowingly, then reaches for the bottle of water and drinks from it. “The day after it happened, I got a call from Mac. He said to drop everything, go straight to your school and pick you up, and then come and see him.”

I remember that day, too. The numbness I felt as I looked out of the car window, the passing scenery a dizzying blur. Walking by my uncle and wanting so bad to reach for his hand, but his cold eyes telling me not to do it. Sitting against the wall, listening to the hushed voices that told me nothing.

“I needed you,” I tell him quietly, looking down at my own glass of water. It feels good to admit it, to tell him this. I pretended, even to myself, that I didn't need him, that I was man enough to deal with it on my own, but I was a fucking kid who’d just lost everything, and the only person I had left rejected me.

“I was always here, looking out for you, Devon. It's—I was advised to keep my distance. Not to show preference.”

“So what then? Do we know who did it?”

For a moment he doesn't say anything, then he nods, continuing the story. “When I came to see Mac, he wasn't alone. Keith was there, himself. I've never been allowed near the man, let alone spoken to him, but what he told me that day, well. Something big was going on, something that went beyond the rivalry of two families. It’s true, it was Keith’s men who did the dirty work.” He gives me a funny look. “You can imagine that didn't go so well with Keith.”

“Who was it?"

He slumps in the chair, running his hands through his hair. “That's easy. It was Stevie.”

I would have bet on Stevie, too, but it still hurts. Family, loyalty . . . it means nothing.

“But?”

“But it goes deeper. There are Keith's men involved, George for sure, but we don’t know how many others. Again, Keith is not happy. And we don't know how many of ours have turned. That's why we brought you here. In a way it's the most convenient thing we could have done. Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“What is this place?”

“A safe house, of sorts. Keith set it up for his family, knowing they’d need to be away while the whole thing blows over. This is where I was supposed to bring her. Her mother’s here as well, has been for a while. To everyone else, they're both in Ireland.”

Finally, I ask the million-dollar question. “So why keep me in the fucking dark? I spent half of my life hating the wrong man. You let me bring Leighton straight to the wolves. I had the fucking right to know this.”

“What would you have done?”

“Killed the bastard.” I would have. The first time he stuffed that fucking gun into my hands, I would have killed him if I had known.

He shakes his head, but it's not condescending, more like he expected me to say that. “And that's why you didn't know. Do you think I didn't want to do exactly that? I had to work all these years with him, look at him every day knowing he took something I loved. He was my brother, your mother was like a mother to me, practically raised me. You think I didn't want to see him pay? What if he's not at the top of it? As long as there's one of them left, you're in danger because it's all yours, Devon. You own it all.”

“I don't want it,” I say without thinking, realizing I haven't said many truer words in my life. “I just want them dead and then I'm done. You can have it all, Keith can have it all. I'm done.”

Stevie, George, none of it matters. Sooner or later they'll be done with. Justice will be served, one way or another.

It's Leighton. I just want her.

This whole thing is a major fuckup. How did I not notice she took the gun? What was I thinking, bringing her to the guest room and not remembering it was there? Well, I know what I was thinking. I wanted to take her out of that room so bad. Her trembling thighs, her fingers tangling in my hair . . .

My uncle always said to keep my wits about me, and I was drunk. I was drunk on her. My head falls into my hands, realizing I really have no one to blame but myself if anything happens to her.

“I fucked up, Frank,” I mumble into my fist. “I wanted to save her, and I only made it worse. You should have told me. I almost fucking killed her myself.”

“You wouldn't have killed her, Devon. You love her.”

My head snaps to his.

“Yeah, we know,” he says, amused. “It's not like either of you were subtle about it, with your longing looks and sneaking around like teenagers. We even made sure no one else knows, because that put her in danger, as well. But I knew you wouldn't have hurt her, that's why I let her stay. She wouldn't have been safer anywhere else.”

“You killed Izzie, didn’t you love her?” I argue.

“Izzie was planted by Stevie. It’s nothing like this situation.”

“Leighton fucking escaped and was almost raped by our own men. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I had it under control,” is all he says. I want to punch him, remembering how bruised and shaken she was after it happened.

“And Keith is okay with this? With the two of us?” I ask, hopeful.

“Are you really asking me that? No, he's not okay with this but it's not the Stone Age. What can he do?”

I can think of many things he could do, and most of them include decapitation and castration.

His hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We'll find her. If she gives them any trouble she gave you, she's still holding up.”

I smile to myself, knowing he's right. “Yeah, she is. Do we have any idea where she is? Anything at all?”

“No, Devon,” he says, his voice turning stern. “Even if we did, you will not get involved, not with that shoulder and being a walking target at this point. Besides, Keith is on it. He'll find her.”

I open my mouth to argue, but his phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning. My eyes are glued to it as he brings it to his ear. It's a short conversation of a couple of yeses and a no, and then it ends.

“How did you find me?” I ask him when he hangs up, hoping he tells me what I want to hear.

“A woman called the police, saying she heard a gunshot.”

She called the cops? She was probably thinking I was safer with them than with my own family.

“It wasn't her,” he says sadly. “The phone call came from a payphone nearby.”

“And my phone, did you find it?” Say no, I plead in my head. She's smart enough to have taken it with her, or at least done something to leave a trace.

“Yeah,” he says, destroying that last shred of hope I had. “We found your phone in your car.” He takes it out of his pocket and hands it over to me. It's my phone, not the phone.

Hope flares once again. I let out a weary sigh, and then grab the pill bottle from the nightstand, making a show of taking one, then another. “Will you let me know if you have any news?” I ask him, a plan already forming in my head.

“I will. And call Hayley, she’s been calling non-stop. We didn’t let her in here, it’s best she doesn’t know everything.”

Patting me once more on my good shoulder, he nods, and then leaves the room. I spit out the pills and grab for the phone, searching through the phone book for a number.

“Didn't expect to hear from you again,” a voice says on the other side of the line.

“I promise it's the last time you’ll hear from me. I need you to write down a number and find out its last location.”

I figure the phone has turned off by now but as long as there's a possibility she had the phone on her when she was taken, I can find her, whether they let me or not.

LEIGHTON

Stevie punches me across my probably swollen face, back in the same room I was before.

“Fucking bitch,” he yells, wiping the spit off his chin. I don’t have it in me to move or resist. Everything hurts. “That was my flesh and blood you killed.”

He didn’t tie me to the chair, or anything. He’s been hitting me, landing punches everywhere for the last hour.

I’m glad I killed the bastard. He deserved to die. I tell him so. Another punch, so hard my vision blurs for a moment. My heavy lids are barely staying up. I feel like I’m about to pass out any second.

George comes in, carrying a bag in his hand. "Boss said to sedate her."

Sedate me? Fuck, no. I didn’t hold on for so long only for them to drug me. If I'm out, there's no way I can get out of this place. I shake my head violently, and start thrashing against the chair. Stevie’s hands grip my shoulders tightly, holding me in place. It fucking hurts but I don't give him the satisfaction of knowing that. He brings a knife to my neck, and leans into my personal space, his foul breath fanning across my cheek. “Stop it or I'll kill you. I am so fucking close to just ripping you all apart,” he says.

I slump in defeat, just hoping he doesn’t keep punching me. I don’t doubt his words for a second.

“Boss said not to touch me,” I say, enunciating the word, but it comes out mumbled. “When Devon finds out what you did—”

“Of course, Devon,” he mocks me. “Your Romeo is dead, he won’t save you this time. You killed him.”

I break out in cold sweat. My heart is pounding so loudly, I'm sure everyone in the room can hear it. “No.”

“Yup, froze to death.” He laughs, a maniacal sound. “Serves him right, the motherfucker. He's been a thorn in my side that just wouldn't go away. And I didn't even have to get my hands dirty in the end. Looks like you did the job for me—princess. Is that what he called you?”

Seconds pass, but it seems like hours until I return to reality, and the buzzing in my ears stops. I hear the sound of sobbing, and then I realize it's me. My heart squeezes at the thought of him lying there. The last thing he saw was me, on the other side of the gun.

I killed Devon.

George nears me with a glass of water, dropping some powder in it and swirling it with his dirty finger. I consider just letting him do it. I deserve it for what I did.

But I still have to warn my father about what's going on. I still have family left. I killed Devon, and I'll bear it forever on my conscience, but I need his death to have meaning, at least. I can't give up now.

I back away from George as much as the chair lets me, trying to see what he's going to give me. “George,” I say through tears, the hysterical note in my voice more than obvious. “Please, don't do this.”

“Leighton,” he says as if he's talking to a child, “it was going to happen all along. It's what happens when your own boss chooses to protect enemy bastards instead of finishing them off, all at the expense of his own.”

“My father's been nothing but good to you,” I say, indignant. George was his advisor, his second in command. Nothing ever happened without him being included in it.

“Yes, but he's gone soft, you know. Times have changed; we need a stronger hand. And Dom, he's got a future ahead of him. You understand.” He has the nerve to sound apologetic about it.

I shake my head violently, jerking away as Stevie grabs for my shoulders, holding me still in place. He grabs my jaw and squeezes my cheeks. “Keep still, bitch.”

George brings the plastic glass to my mouth, holding my jaw down so I drink it. I spit it out of my mouth. He shakes his head at me, and then nods to Stevie. Stevie grabs for my head and tilts it back, pinching my nose, while George pours the rest of the liquid in my mouth. I choke on it, trying not to swallow it, but in the end I run out of air and let it slide down my throat.

eighteen

DEVON

I read the message again. They couldn't have been that stupid, could they? Last location reads one of our warehouses. They're fucking morons, but I'm thankful. At least I know exactly where to go. And I had my phone tracked as well, because they never told me where I am.

I could tell my uncle about it, but I don't. I know it's stupid, I'm wounded and I'm probably no match for however many of them are there, but they think I'm dead, and there's an element of surprise there. They won't expect me to come after her. And who knows who else of our men, or Keith's, is a traitor, and could tip them off that we know the location.

No, I'll have to do it myself. Or, well, with as little help as I can get.

I wait until midnight. I don't know why. Time is wasting, and God knows what they're doing to her, but I can't risk getting caught. Even as I get out of bed and search for any clothes I can find, I know it's a stupid idea. Thankfully, there's a button-up pajama top that will have to do, all the better for not hurting my shoulder trying to wear a shirt.

As I'm fumbling with the buttons, my phone screen flashes, letting me know it's go time. My heart skips a beat. What if I'm late already? What if they did something to her and it's all my fucking fault?

I'd know if she was dead. I can just feel it; I know she's still holding on.

I grab the phone and try the door. For some reason I expect it to be locked, but it opens and I walk out into the corridor, trying to find a way out. As I pass through the dark hallway, I see a figure standing and duck. The pain from my shoulder slices through my body, but I ignore it. I couldn't risk taking any pills, for fear of them slowing me down. It helps, too, keeping me alert.

I hear a couple of unintelligible voices, and then they fade away, until I can’t hear them anymore. I exhale in relief, but stay low as I head for the huge glass doors on the other side of the room. Hopefully, they lead outside.

I open them just a little, and squeeze myself outside, inhaling the cold, fresh air. I look around and want to groan in frustration. It's a fucking garden, iron fence all around, and I don't see a gate or anything like that. The house is an old one, and everywhere I look there are mountains.

I backtrack, but then the figure is back with a friend and there's no way to get inside without them seeing me. I turn back and look at the fence. If my shoulder wasn't so bad, I could jump it. Too bad I have to do it either way.

I run across the garden until I reach the end. The fence only comes to my chin, but it's still a struggle. I raise my good hand and latch onto the railing, then, applying as little pressure as I can on the other, somehow maneuver myself over it, landing on the other side on my back with a thud.

“Fuck.” Now my whole arm hurts, not just the fucking shoulder.

Why couldn't she fucking shoot somewhere else, like my fingers? Or not at all? All she had to do was tell me she didn't want to come with me, and I would have let her go.

Even as I think it, I know it's not true. I wouldn't have let her go, because I was so focused on just the two of us, thinking it should be enough. I didn't stop to consider that she's still losing her family. Of course she would have fought me. God, I'm such a jerk.

I bring my good arm up and cover my eyes, breathing deeply and trying to calm my pounding heart. Finally, I stand up. It's a fucking effort. I look down and the plaid fabric is stained with crimson, spreading fast.

I trek through the snow-covered ground for I don't know how long, hoping I'm going south. My feet are freezing because I don't have any shoes on. I just need to find a road, and then it should be easy. Emerging between the thick trees, my feet finally hit solid ground. I turn my head from one side to the other, looking for any light source. And then I see it, flashing way further down the gravel road. I look back and the house I left is nowhere in sight.

How long until they realize I'm gone?

I walk slowly down the road, already weakening from the blood loss. Not my brightest idea, this. Finally, I reach the car and the door flies open, and Colin steps out.

“Fuck,” he says, supporting me as we walk to the car. “You look like shit, Devon.”

“Let's just get the fuck out of here.”

He brings me to the back door, and it opens. I groan, seeing Amber in the back. “What the fuck did you bring her for? Do you know how dangerous this is?”

“Trust me, man, you want her here,” is all he says.

I want to argue, but then I remember I'm on a mission, so I shake my head, throw my phone in the bushes by the car, and hop in the back with her. She immediately presses a towel against my shoulder, soaking up the blood. I wince in pain.

“Oh, man up already, that bullet barely grazed you,” she says, biting on her lip and pressing harder. She doesn't sound like Soraya or Amber. Quickly, she lifts her hand off my wound and takes off the bandage from my shoulder. This is the first time I've looked at it since I woke up. It looks . . . like it more than just grazed me. I narrow accusing eyes at Amber.

“That was a smart shot. I've seen worse.” She takes my hand and places it over the towel. “Hold that.” Reaching with her arm behind her back, she produces a duffle bag, and takes out a medical kit, looking through it.

“How much do you weigh?”

What the fuck? “How would I know? What do you think you're doing?”

She looks me over, ignoring my question. “How bad would you say the pain is, one to ten?”

“It hurts like a fucking motherfucker, that's how bad it is.”

Her eyes lift to mine, and I realize she's laughing at me, fumbling with a syringe and a small drug vial. My eyes widen, but it's too late to back away. She sticks the needle into my bicep.

“What the fuck did you just give me?”

“Relax, it's just for the pain. It'll take half an hour, but then it should start to ease.”

“I fucking didn’t take any meds on purpose, and you do this? It’ll slow me down.”

“It won’t, it’s not a narcotic. Just calm down, sheesh.”

“Who are you?” I ask in disbelief, looking at Colin in the rearview mirror. He just shakes his head in that don't even go there way.

This is not the sweet Amber, or the seductress Soraya.

“If you start to feel any abdominal pain or tightness in your chest, you need to tell me straight away,” she says, all business. “You're welcome, by the way.”

“What for?” I ask, confused. She can't mean I should be thankful she just stabbed me with a needle containing God knows what.

“Saving your life.” A duh is implied.

“Wha—what?”

“Yeah, if I hadn't been on time the other night, you'd be dead by now. I came to pick up the car. Didn't see that one coming, I have to say. Girl's got balls.”

“Holy fuck, who the hell are you?” I try to sound angry, but I'm really just astounded. Not to mention my shoulder is starting to numb, the pain lesser and lesser, the way she said it would be.

She brings up a badge from her jeans back pocket, and all I can read is FBI before she takes it away.

“A fed,” I say, sounding like an idiot. “How old are you?” For some reason it seems important to know this.

“I'm twenty-six.”

“But you look barely legal.”

“Well, yeah, that's the idea.” And she even says it in her Soraya voice. I'm completely taken aback by the transformation. The woman is good.

As we drive in silence and the pain eases, my anxiety skyrockets. I shove my phone with the warehouse location at Colin until something dawns on me. “Colin?”

“Yeah, man. I've been undercover for a while.”

For at least two years, if I remember correctly.

“You okay?” Soraya slash Amber slash who-the-fuck-even-knows-her-name asks while putting a new bandage on my shoulder. I don't even realize she's doing it until I look at her, the area already numb.

“Yeah,” I say, finally realizing what I just found out. For fuck's sake, is nothing sacred? We've had the feds around us all this time and no one fucking knew.

“Why are you two here?”

“You called us,” Colin says.

I growl in frustration. “I mean, why are you undercover?”

Colin turns around and looks at me, then back to the road.

“The short version?” Amber asks. “There was a buzz something big was about to happen. It took us a while to figure it out—”

“And a lot of cock-sucking,” Colin adds, flat.

“Shit, St—Colin,” Amber says. “It's not like I had a choice, is it? This is why I fucking don't mix business with pleasure.”

“Are you two Mulder-and-Scullying it?”

They're both silent, confirming my suspicions. I laugh, and it's a scary, out-of-my-mind sound. “This shit just keeps getting better and better.”

“Okay, lover boy,” Amber says, her brown eyes laughing with me, but her voice all serious. “So, the plan was to create one central family. Stevie Romano and George McDougal started it years ago.” She looks at me sadly.

Take down the bosses. I get it. It started with the death of my family. But nothing has happened since, not until recently, with the Potenza’s car bomb, and now Gino Fermi.

“You can see why we had to get involved,” Colin continues. “Controlling several clusters is easier than it is to have one powerful family. You people war between yourselves, and it's hard enough infiltrating you like this, but to have you united—you have a very strong code of honor and loyalty as it is.”

“Yeah, strong, my ass,” I say bitterly.

“There's a new boss in training. We think it's someone they can control and influence, but so far, we’ve no idea who it is.” Amber shrugs. “It goes against everything we know about the mob, which is why it's so dangerous. Your whole hierarchy suits us. This would change everything.”

“What's your name?”

“You know better than to ask that,” she answers, tsk-tsk-tsk-ing.

I lean my head back on the leather seat, closing my eyes. “Well, I'm out. No need to control me, or anything. I'm out.”

“Devon Andre,” Amber says knowingly. “I’ve been watching you for far too long to believe that.” She’s been fucking watching me? Hey eyes meet mine. “It's who you are," she says simply.

The worst part is she's right. There's no way out, even though my father thought there could be. My uncle knows it; I know it. I mull over it for the rest of the drive off the mountain, realizing this could mean a few things. I'm in it for life, whether I like it or not. Even if I leave, I'll always be Devon Andre, the son of Joe Andre, the grandson of Mario Andre, one of the biggest mob names in Boston. But the thing that's really bothering me is that this could mean that there's no way Leighton and I can ever make it work. If I stay here, I'm still Devon Andre, and she's still Leighton Moore. Oil and water.

It is what it is.

“We're here,” Colin says, slowing down the car as we near the Boston harbor just as I’m putting on the shoes Amber gave me. He parks on the side of the road.

I glance outside the car window, my surroundings familiar, but we're not quite there. I touch my newly bandaged shoulder, not feeling any pain yet.

Amber hands me a gun and buttons up my pajama shirt again. It's fucking surreal; I have a fed handing me a gun. She rests her hands on my pecs when she's done.

“Stop that,” I tell her.

She throws her head back and laughs, bringing her hands up in surrender. “The meds will wear off in an hour or so,” she says, looking at her watch.

“That's all I need,” I say.

* * *

I try to play it out in my head—if I took someone and held them in one of our warehouses, where would I take them?

There's an iron hatch in the office floor leading underground to a big storage area, separated into two. That's where, I decide. I quickly explain to them where it is, and that's where I'm going. They can cover me, or something. Whatever cops or feds do.

Colin shakes his head. “No, man. You're on your own.”

It takes me a beat until I finally nod, understanding. We are on different sides of the law. “You're not coming back at all?”

Amber snorts. “In an hour this place will be surrounded by feds. Consider it a gift.”

“What? Why—”

“I think I owe you,” Colin interrupts me. “I wouldn’t have died, but you stood up for me. You're a good man, whether you believe it or not. You've got old-school morals and beliefs. If we're dealing with the mob, we'd rather it's you.”

I don't know if I should be insulted or flattered.

I get out of the car, holding the door open. Amber follows me out, and so does Colin. She leans down and takes out another gun from under her jeans leg, throwing it to me. “Just in case.” She winks, smiling. “Good luck,” she says, saluting me, and closes the door, then walks away.

Colin hands me the keys to the car. “Yeah, man.” That’s all he says, turning around and going after her.

I look down at the keys. “What about you two?” I ask. Colin just raises his hand and waves it. I stare at their retreating silhouettes as they disappear behind the building, thinking—well, I still can’t wrap my head around it. They're fucking feds.

I look up at the sky, the stars still visible, although it's early morning. Then I square my shoulders, and head in to get back the woman I love. Whatever happens, I won't let anyone take her away from me.

I walk slowly inside the warehouse, and immediately spot an armed man outside the office. Only one. Cocky bastards. I approach him quietly, holding the gun Amber gave me in my injured hand, the other one secured at my waist. It's not like I plan on shooting; that would only attract attention. I sneak up on him from behind and dig it into his back, clamping my good hand over his mouth. He tenses under my grasp, but I don’t give him time to react. I pull his head to the side and hear the crack in his neck, then lower his lifeless body to the ground.

The lights are off in the office, making me nervous. I can't see a thing in there. I walk, the sneakers Colin brought me making no sound against the floor. It seems to be clear.

I lift the hatch, and as I suspected, the lights are on down there. I descend the stairs, shifting the gun to my good hand. Again, nobody seems to be around. Did they really think no one would search, or find them here?

I open the door to the bigger storage area, pointing the gun inside. It seems to be empty. Then I hear a voice booming behind the other door, the one to the smaller storage room. Suddenly, the door opens, and I move aside against the wall. That fucker, George, closes it behind him, lighting up a cigarette. I emerge from the shadow, my gun already pointed at him.

He looks taken aback at my appearance, shifting on his feet, then opens his mouth to say something. I shoot, straight between his eyes. There's rustle in the room and then the door flies open one more time, Stevie coming out with a drowsy looking Leighton in front of him.

She smiles at me, a huge gash across her cheek and her left eye all swollen. I don't have the time to feel relieved that she’s at least alive because he has a gun against her temple. Why is she smiling?

“What did you do to her?” I yell.

He leers at me. “What didn't we do to her?” he asks, grinding into her back.