Текст книги "Vendetta"

Автор книги: Sienna Lane

Соавторы: Autumn Karr
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

five

LEIGHTON

A ray of sunshine streams into my eyes, causing me to flip over onto my stomach. I grunt with the effort, before stretching my arms over my head, moaning softly.

Another day of doing nothing. Great.

Some people might enjoy having nothing to do all day, but not me. I’d rather be useful than laze around doing nothing productive. I’m one of those people who is usually never home because I’m always out doing something.

I push up onto my knees and then turn my head, squealing in surprise when I see Devon sitting in a chair across from my bed, eyes trained on me. I pull the sheet up, being caught off guard, suddenly feeling vulnerable in my panties and cami.

“'Bout time you woke up,” he says, his lips pursing.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I ask him. He shrugs. “It’s a little creepy.”

“You snore,” he says, an amused grin tracing his lips.

“I do not,” I say adamantly. I so don’t.

“Yeah you do, like an old man,” he says, imitating a sound similar to what I imagine a cat sounds like when it’s being strangled.

“What do you want, Devon?” I demand through narrowed eyes. I regret my question instantly, because his playful demeanor slips, his expression losing any warmth it possessed.

“I wanted to talk, thought you deserved to know what’s going to happen to you,” he says in a controlled voice.

“Please, enlighten me.” I try for strong, unwavering, but my voice falters.

“Now I don't know if I want to tell you,” he says, suddenly staring out the window.

“What? So, you've come here to what exactly? To play with my head? 'Cause you can cut the crap. Either say it or don't. Your mind games don't work on me,” I lie, narrowing my eyes. He turns his head to me in a swift movement, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“You’re lucky to be alive, princess. If it wasn’t for me you'd already be dead,” he says, his eyes searching my face.

“What do you want? A thank you for bringing me here, keeping me locked up? At least George would have gotten it over with already.” I tie up my hair in a messy ponytail. He watches my every movement intently. His eyes linger on the sheet around me for just a second too long.

I let it drop, liking the power I know I’m gaining.

“You think that’s going to work?” he asks in an even tone.

I shrug. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You’re a piece of work, you know that? A little girl who thinks everything,” he says through clenched teeth, waving his hands around the room, “is a game.”

“Is my family safe?” I ask him, moving to the end of the bed. I ignore his little girl jab. He’s only two years older than me. And I know it’s not a game. At this point, I’ve given up on my theory that they want something in return for me. I’m pretty sure this goes way beyond extortion or blackmail.

“For now,” he confirms my suspicions, avoiding my gaze.

I get off the bed and walk over to him, adding more sway to my hips. His gaze locks onto them, and he swallows hard. “Don’t hurt them, Devon,” I say softly, hoping it will work. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to my family. There's nothing I wouldn’t do to protect them.

Devon narrows his eyes at me. “You aren’t in a position to ask for anything, Leighton. And if you think that—” he points his finger to my hips, “—will get you anywhere, you're even worse than I thought.”

I flinch, as if slapped. “Fuck you.”

“Well, you'd like that, wouldn’t you?” he snaps, standing up and twining his fingers behind his head. He pulls on his hair in frustration.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” I say, the vehemence in my voice surprising even me. “My dad—”

His head snaps in my direction. “Your dad, what? Where is he, Leighton? You've been here for a week, and I haven't heard a word about anyone looking for you. I could just kill you, and no one would ever know what happened to you,” he says, sounding smug.

“If you’re going to kill me then just do it. Stop with all the fucking games!” I yell.

Devon punches the wall and I wince. That must have hurt. The enormity of the situation hits me, and I can’t help the sob that escapes my throat. Devon spins, taking in the look on my face. He squeezes his eyes shut, and exhales heavily.

“Don’t fucking cry, Leighton,” he says, trying to sound gentler, but I still hear the anger beneath it.

“I’m not,” I whisper, as the first tear drops down my cheek. Embarrassed at my show of weakness, I hide my face in my hands, my body shaking with silent sobs. When a hand rubs my back soothingly, I lean toward it, welcoming the comfort. I put my face into his chest and fist his shirt, sobbing loudly. Why is he comforting me? This whole thing is so messed up.

We are so messed up.

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters under his breath. I raise my head and our eyes connect, his gaze softening. I feel like it’s the first time he really looked at me since I’ve been here.

“Is your hand okay?” I ask, rubbing my thumb over his now red knuckles.

“I’m fine,” he says, obviously not wanting me to fuss over him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Devon?” I whisper. He lifts my chin up with his finger, and I search his face for a clue to my fate.

“I don’t know, Leighton. I don’t fucking know anymore,” he says, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

His lips burn my skin.

“You’re going to have to stay here,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I know. I know you won’t hurt me,” I tell him, letting my eyes show him that I truly believe that. He instantly freezes, stiffening, and taking a step back.

“How do you know that? Why the fuck would you think you know what I would or wouldn't do?” he snaps, running his hand through his hair.

“Devon, I . . .”

“You don't know me,” he spits.

The realization hits me so suddenly I want to throw up. He's right. I know nothing about him.

“I’m not a good man, Leighton,” he continues, his voice pure acid. “I’m not a hero. I brought you here. Me.” He points an accusing finger to his chest. “You shouldn’t forget that,” he finishes in a harsh tone, walking to the door. He slams and locks it behind him.

I sit back down on the bed and stare at the spot on the wall he punched.

DEVON

The cigar and weed smoke in the room only worsen my pounding headache. The annoying repetitive music doesn’t help, either. Or maybe I’m just irritable. I didn’t sleep a minute last night, and the day seems to just drag on and on.

I sat in that chair for five hours, just watching Leighton sleep. Every now and then she would let out a moan, and I don't even want to admit what that did to me. I smile, remembering what a restless sleeper she was, constantly tossing and turning. An image of her top riding up, showing off her flat stomach, flashes in my mind. I kill the useless smile.

I didn't tell her what I’m going to do. Not because I've changed my mind, but because I didn't think I could control myself if she tried to change my mind. She doesn't know better, and denial is a powerful thing, but I just can’t hear that from her.

I'm at Baroque, a private gentlemen's club my family owns in East Boston. It's really just a nice word for whorehouse. There are half-naked women everywhere, serving men. There’s also an hourly strip show, and private lap dances. You can even spend some alone time with one of the girls.

I'm here with my friends, though I call them business associates. I don't keep friends—it gives people all the more chance for betrayal. It's business because these are the people I work with.

Danny, the person who calls me his best friend, and also happens to be a drug dealer, dragged me out because apparently I need to loosen up a little. Ever since I broke up with Hayley I haven't really shown any interest in women.

I don’t want to admit it but I'd rather have stayed in, close to Leighton. I would have, but I didn't want to raise any suspicion.

Danny takes a drag from his blunt, and then passes it to the girl sitting on his lap, his left hand exploring under her skirt. Her hand clutches to his wide forearm, and she’s trying not to be loud, but it’s really obvious what they’re doing. It's disgusting, but nothing I haven't seen before. I’m just waiting for them to take this business elsewhere so I can be on my way home. My uncle's home.

I didn't exactly meet Danny. We were just sort of thrown together, practically since birth, with him being Stevie's nephew and all. He even looks like Stevie, with short brown hair and brown eyes, his head barely reaching up to my shoulder.

Did I think of him as a friend once upon a time? I did, when I was younger. Danny never had to prove himself, Stevie just accepted him the way he was. His parents are both alive and well, although he never paid much attention to them. Of course we were friends. Hell, at one time, I even wanted to be him.

Now? Not so much. It's nothing in particular; we're just past that stage when you're friends because you're forced together. In my eyes, we're just business acquaintances. I make sure the goods are delivered; he's just one of many that distribute them for me.

My family dabbles in everything these days. Prostitution? Check. Extortion and racketeering? Check. Drug dealing—that’s my area—check. It’s easier this way, because we’re still in the business, but keeping a low profile. My uncle ceased all the money laundering operations when he became the boss. It attracted too much attention from the feds.

A sexy brunette with heavily made-up eyes walks up to me, smiling like she just won the jackpot. I don't recognize her but she probably knows who I am. Everyone does.

Danny gives me a lazy grin, nodding his head toward her. I ignore her, busying myself with pouring another finger of whiskey, but she doesn't take the hint. She waits until I set my glass down after taking a big gulp of throat-burning liquid, and then plops herself on the arm of the leather chair I'm sitting in. Her hand somehow lands at the back of my neck where she plays with my hair, looking at me expectantly.

I smile, but that's all I give her.

“Devon, you could use some fun,” Danny tells me, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It's like he doesn't even know me.

“Yeah, Devon. I'm Soraya,” the girl tells me. She leans over, her hot breath fanning my ear, and says, “It's really Amber. I'm not supposed to say.”

“You must be new.”

She nods, her chocolate locks jumping up and down with the movement. Her boobs, practically in my face, jump up and down, too, but I keep my eyes trained on her face. “Yup,” she says. “First day.”

“I'm sorry, Soraya,” I say, letting her know her real name is safe with me. “Not interested. Pass it on.” I look around to find at least four other women watching me, sending suggestive glances my way.

I'm used to this attention. It's not even about my looks, it's just the simple fact that I'm an Andre, and they all think I'm a catch. It used to drive Hayley crazy for the short time we were together, like she didn't know it was like that before.

For a second I think Soraya will press on, a thoughtful look on her face, but then she shrugs. Giving me a wink, she jumps off my chair and goes off to her next conquest. I relax, hoping no other girls will approach me.

“You're no fun,” Danny says, shaking his head at me. I flip him off, because that's what friends do, except I really mean it, and he’s not really my friend.

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he spins around fast, almost knocking the girl off his lap, but she wraps her arms around his neck for support. He recognizes Colin, another one of our friends, and then turns back to the girl, giving her another lazy grin. She wriggles in his lap, and he smiles even wider at her, then leans his head at the back of the chair while she dry humps him in front of us.

Colin takes a seat in a chair next to mine. “Hey, man,” he says, taking my glass and finishing off my whiskey. I nod in response, not offended by his action. I wasn't going to drink it all anyway; the last thing I need is a buzz right now. He looks over my shoulder, searching the room. I notice his gaze lingering on Soraya, something flashing in his eyes before he masks it.

I want to shake my head at him. He’s so predictable.

Colin is a small-time loan shark, though he's always been too nice to actually collect. I met him two years ago when he started working for the Fermi family. After they realized he’s not cut out for it, having lost them more money than he made them, he got the kiss of death. Unfortunately, once you’re in, you’re in, and the only way out is in a coffin. I paid off his debt, but he’s still living on borrowed time.

I know he won't last in this world. It’s just a matter of time until he turns up dead. The thought doesn’t even make me sad. It is what it is.

“How's the old man?” he asks me, eyeing the couple making out in the chair across from him.

“Not old,” I say. Frank is only thirty five.

“Heard about the shipment.” Colin is also a gossip. If anything gets him killed, that will.

“No big deal.” I shrug. One of our own, Digger, turned on us and tipped off the authorities about one of the containers. He admitted to working for Keith. I took care of it personally.

Two bullets to the head, and a whole lot of bribery for the mess he made.

“What happened?” Danny asks, detaching himself from the plaything in his lap for the moment. Colin starts to explain what he heard—most of it wrong, but the gist of it right. I tune them out while they talk about how no one knows who ratted us out.

My cleaner, Saul, took care of that.

I scan the room to find Soraya already sitting in the lap of her next prey, an older man I vaguely recognize from this club. God, she can't be more than eighteen. Her eyes find mine, and she gives me another wink, and then turns back to the older guy, giggling like a schoolgirl. Playing the part, like everyone else.

I want to feel sorry for her, but no one made her come here. Either way, she's better off here than on the streets. We don't take the girls’ money, we make enough on the booze and drugs, and the material we collect for blackmail with their help is more than enough. They’re well taken care of, and we hold them under a contract that’s beneficial for both parties, although a little more beneficial for us.

“Heard about the Moore girl?” Colin’s words catch my attention, his voice squeaking a little with excitement because it’s juicy gossip. Anything about Leighton is. Sometimes it was impossible to avoid her, no matter how hard I tried, because she's always getting herself in some sort of trouble.

I focus my attention on their conversation, but pretend not to listen.

“Sweet, sweet Leighton,” Danny says, his voice suggestive, and I can barely restrain myself from punching his face in. “What about her?”

“She ran off to Ireland after some old guy,” Colin says. “Again.”

I can see why they would think that, although it wouldn’t be with an older guy. She's disappeared before, sometimes for months, only to come back home, and no one held it against her. I understood her in a way. Being her daddy's princess and the only daughter in the family, I’m sure it could get overbearing.

I consider this new bit of information. If Keith is letting this rumor spread, it means he doesn't know where she is. This is good.

“Oh, well.” Danny waves his hand, landing it with a smack on his playtoy’s ass. She giggles, and then grinds herself on his lap, throwing her head back with a moan. “Been there, done that.”

No, he didn't. I may think the worst of Leighton, but she would never stoop so low.

“Yeah, we know,” I tell Danny, keeping my voice casual as I lie through my teeth. God knows he's bragged about it before. Many times. Almost as many times as I’ve wanted to pound his head in.

I make a show of looking at my watch, and then stand up. “I'm out,” I tell them. Colin stands up, too, a show of respect. I want to laugh because he shouldn't stand up for me, but I just nod at him. Danny is back to making out with the toy in his lap, making loud smacking noises. He doesn’t acknowledge my leaving and I don’t really care.

* * *

I park my car in the garage and make my way inside. Once inside my room, I take off my clothes, which reek of cigars. I take a quick shower to get rid of the smell before lying down, with my hands behind my head.

I allow myself to wonder what she could be doing right now. Probably sleeping, like she did last night when I went into her room.

I force myself to think about something else, like the scene at the club. Soraya, Danny, Colin. Keith.

Leighton.

It's no use.

I sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. I'm pulling at my hair so hard I might just rip it all out.

I pause for a second before I get up, contemplating. What’s the harm in going up there again?

I throw sweatpants on over my boxers and go up to the third floor. I unlock the door and enter the room. She's sitting on her bed reading, thankfully wearing some proper clothes. Her eyes meet mine, her eyebrows drawn in confusion.

I take a seat in my chair. She doesn't go back to reading her book, her face transformed into an expression of annoyance.

“Princess,” I say. “Apparently you ran off. Again.”

Her eyes water because she knows what it means, just like I knew. Nobody knows where she is. She's trying not to let herself cry, but a single tear streaks her cheek. I can’t stand her crying. It just doesn't suit her. I want to go over to her, but I don't, of course, I'm not making that mistake again. Besides, I said it on purpose, gave her a message.

Now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

She wipes the tear with the back of her hand, and once I see her face again, it's schooled into perfect control. She actually thinks she can get the upper hand with me.

I remember that little striptease, and suddenly it's hard to breathe.

“So I'm wondering,” I continue, before she gets any ideas, “did you really sleep with Danny?”

Her look changes from anger to confusion to realization. She bursts into laughter, and, fuck, my heart swells, because it's the best sound I’ve heard all day.

That thought sobers me up.

“What, your friend, Danny, the short sleaze? I don't think so,” she says, seemingly lost in thought and I freeze mid-smile. Then she laughs again. “Oh, you should see your face right now. No, I have better taste than that.” She gives me a pointed look.

I don’t want to know what her taste is, really. So we sit in awkward silence when I leave that comment hanging.

“Are you going to keep watch over me now? Afraid the lock and the bars won't hold me in?”

“Yes,” I tell her. In reality, I have no idea why I'm here.

“Devon,” she says, her voice losing its pitch. “What are you going to do with me?”

I ignore her because I don't want to lie to her. And I don't want to tell her the truth now that I’m not acting on impulse. Not yet.

“Devon?”

I close my eyes and lean my head back. I'm not afraid she'll try anything; she's not the one in control right now.

She huffs and I hear the rustle of sheets, and the click of the lamp. I sit in the darkness, I don't know for how long. After her breathing evens out, I close my eyes, too.

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.