Текст книги "Vendetta"

Автор книги: Sienna Lane

Соавторы: Autumn Karr
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

“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.

seven

DEVON

I swirl the amber liquid in the glass then raise it to my lips and down it. I pour another and repeat. I should slow down, but the oblivion this promises is too tempting.

“I knew you'd be back for me,” she tells me. I give her a lazy grin as she approaches.

“Took you long enough. And I'm here for me.”

Soraya nods in understanding. “That's okay, I'll take care of you.”

I pat the arm of the huge leather chair and she walks over and sits down next to me. I put my arm around her waist and she leans into my touch as I down another glass of whiskey.

I don't like whiskey, and that's why I drink it. There's never a risk I'll get drunk if that's my drink of choice, though tonight I'm not pacing myself very well.

Any kind of alcohol is welcome right now.

After my fifth glass, I decide it's enough. I get up and so does Soraya, taking my hand and leading me away. I wobble slightly, but I don't feel drunk. Actually, I love the buzz it's given me. She pulls on my hand, making me realize I've stopped in my tracks, why, I don't know.

“Come on, silly.” Her voice is the sweetest thing right now. And looking her over from behind, with her long hair, even if it's a shade lighter than I’d like, and her petite body, she's perfect. She'll be perfect.

We reach the door to one of the back rooms and she starts searching in her purse for something. I slam her against the door, and drown her surprised squeal with a demanding kiss. My hands on her thighs start exploring up, up under her dress until I reach the edge of her panties.

She pulls away, breathing hard, and gives me a nervous giggle. “Let me find the key,” she says in a whisper, squaring her shoulders, and goes back to rummaging through her bag. Finding the key, she turns away from me to unlock the door. I run my fingers over the sides of her arms and bury my head at the nape of her neck, my touch making her shiver.

I ignore her perfume as much as I can. It's wrong.

Finally, finally she opens the door and we get inside, her hands already fisted in my hair and her lips on mine, her tongue coaxing my lips open. I vaguely register the lights are off, and it suits me. I prefer it that way.

Her mouth leaves mine so she can take my shirt off and I let her. As a matter of fact, I'd rather we're both naked, so I unzip her dress and let it fall at her feet. I look her over. She’s illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows as she unclasps her bra with one hand and lets it fall down, too, leaving her in only black panties.

Something about the way she does it really bothers me, but before I can think that over she leans in for another kiss and her hands go to my belt. I completely shut off as I hear the clang of metal, the sound of the zipper and then my pants are down around my ankles.

Soraya hesitantly reaches into my boxers with her hand, while slowly pulling them down with the other. She takes my already hard cock, and starts stroking me. She pulls away a little, so I lean in and kiss her, walking her backwards toward the bed.

“Say my name,” I mumble in between kisses.

“Wh . . . what?” she says through a moan when I move her panties to the side and feel how wet she is for me.

“Say. My. Name.”

“Oh, God.” Another moan, as I find her clit and start circling with my thumb and slide a finger inside of her, making her arch her back, asking for more. Her hand works faster on my cock, and I'm so ready to take her right here, right now, but I need to hear her say it.

“Just fucking say it.”

She looks at me through her thick lashes, confusion etching her forehead. “Devon?”

I freeze. My hand freezes. It's wrong. It's all wrong.

“Stop.”

She stops. “What's wrong?” I can hear the confusion in her voice.

“I'm sorry,” I tell her, trying to convey with my voice I really mean it. Because I am so goddamn sorry I almost used this girl for some twisted fantasy of mine.

“No, it's okay. Are you all right? Do you need a minute?”

“Give me a fucking century and it won't be enough,” I say, laughing, though it comes out strangled, my breathing still ragged because, honestly, I'm still hard as a fucking rock. She disappears and I pull my boxers up, adjusting myself so I'm at least comfortable.

The lights come on as I'm pulling my pants up. Amber's cheeks flame red, probably because she's still naked apart from her panties, and they're not covering up much. I turn around to give her privacy and hear the shuffling of clothes and her dress zipper.

I sit on the bed and hang my head in shame, wiping my hand on the sheet. The bed dips next to me and we sit in silence for a while. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” I say, groaning as my back hits the bed. “I'd rather just forget right now.”

She gives me a sheepish smile and gets up, walking across the room, and opens one of the drawers. She pulls out a half-full bottle of Jack Daniel's and giggles, walking back to the bed and handing me the bottle. “We're not allowed this in the rooms.” She puts her index finger over her lips in that universal “shush” sign.

“How old are you?” I ask her, before taking a swig straight from the bottle. I've already made my guess she's barely past her teens.

“Twenty-one?” she tries, taking the bottle from me.

“Okay, Soraya, and how old is Amber?”

“Nineteen,” she says, looking down.

“I'm sorry.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “What for?”

“For almost taking advantage of you.”

“Don't worry. It's what I do,” she says, an odd look passing over her features before she hands me back the bottle.

LEIGHTON

The sound of the door opening instantly wakes me up. I can see Devon’s shadow as he walks in the room, toward the bed. He curses when he walks into the coffee table, then chuckles. Wait; is he drunk?

“Devon?” I whisper.

“Leighton.” He sighs softly. I sit up in bed and turn the bedside lamp on. The light illuminates his flushed face, and I know instantly that I was right. He is drunk. Completely wasted. He looks handsome as ever, in a crisp white shirt, a few buttons opened at the top, showing me a hint of his toned chest. He walks toward me, his stride sloppy and uneven. I watch him intently as he sits down on the edge of the bed, leaning close. When his face is inches from mine my nose wrinkles. I lean closer to him, and smell his neck. Perfume. When I look down at the collar of his shirt, there is harlot red lipstick smudged everywhere.

“Where were you?” I demand, pushing at his shoulders. Only then do I notice that his top buttons are done up wrong, one buttoning through the wrong hole.

“I went to see Amber,” he slurs, trying to come closer to me.

“Who the fuck is Amber?” I snap, sounding like a jealous girlfriend, but what the fuck? He turned me down while I was wet and willing, to go and fuck someone else? I was naked, and practically begging him. Why didn’t he want me? I know our attraction isn’t ideal, but I never thought he would do something like this. What the hell is going on in that mind of his?

He was with another woman tonight.

It hurts like a shot to my chest.

After he left, I had to get myself off, leaving me still unsatisfied, but it was better than lying there frustrated all night while he was out, fucking someone named Amber.

I’m contemplating just how stupid I am when Devon leans in and tries to kiss me. He reeks of alcohol and cheap perfume, and I almost want to throw up. As his lips almost make contact with mine I pull back, bringing up my hand to slap him right across the face. I pull back my hand as it starts to burn, but that pain is nothing compared to what I feel on the inside.

He has the nerve to fuck someone else, after turning me down so harshly, and then come to my bed to rub it in my face?

I hate him. Right now, in this moment, I fucking hate him.

My throat stings as he touches his face where I hit him, confusion flashing in his eyes.

“Leighton, you don’t understand. She’s no one,” he says, reaching for me again.

“No one? You left me to go to her. You think you can fuck someone else then come to bed with me?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes. Does he think I’m that easy? The thought makes me furious.

“Let me hold you,” he murmurs, ignoring my question. He reaches out again, sighing in what sounds like relief as his hand makes contact with my arm.

I grit my teeth. “You are such an asshole.”

“She’s not you,” he says, pulling me closer. “Please, come here.”

This time I let him. I cuddle with him, rubbing his back with my palm in soothing circles. A few minutes later and he's out like a light. Perfect.

I sit up and slowly move out of his embrace, freezing when he stirs before settling again. I lean over and turn off the bedside lamp, and then tiptoe to the door. I don’t bother with looking for my shoes or changing out of my t-shirt and pajama bottom, it would only slow me down and I’ll probably run faster barefoot. When I twist the knob, I want to scream with happiness. The drunken bastard didn’t lock the door.

Sloppy, Devon. Sloppy.

I walk outside and close the door behind me, almost wanting to lock him in, but then feeling a twinge of guilt. Who knows when someone would find him? Also, if I run into anyone I might need to come back into the room, as a worst-case scenario.

I decide on heading left and then walk down the hall. The place is deathly silent, and I try to make as little noise as possible as I descend the stairs. I don’t know who's here, or what to expect. All I know is that I need to be stealthy and on guard. I only have one chance at this, because if they catch me they will make sure I won’t be able to get out a second time.

I look for a weapon but only come across a silver candlestick. It’s sturdy enough, and it'll have to do for now. I should have checked his pockets for that goddamned pocketknife he always carries around.

I walk down a set of stairs, and exhale in relief when I see a sliding door. I unlock it with one click and then step outside.

I’m almost free. I breathe in the fresh air as the cold wind hits my face, enjoying the moment for a second before my eyes dart around, looking for the best route to take. There's a door on one side. I assume it leads to the backyard. On the other side is a gate that should lead to the front of the house.

I head toward the gate, thankful that there are no dogs outside, and flip the latch. I close it softly behind me, before I start running. When I hit the front lawn I freeze. I know I shouldn't, I should keep running. There are two men standing there, their posture changing the minute they lay their eyes on me.

I recognize one instantly as the man who was standing in my room. This isn't going to be good. I start to run, too late, and so do both of them. I’m a pretty fast runner, but as I run on the road I can feel something cut my foot.

An arm grabs me around my waist, and a palm lands on my mouth.

“What do we have here?” The one from my room says in a creepy voice. I reach up and scratch him right across his cheek, digging my nails into his skin. I've been trained if something happens, I need to leave a mark, leave a trail. I raise my hand to try and get the other man, but the one holding me overpowers me, grasping my wrists in his, tight.

“Bitch,” he hisses, pulling me roughly.

“Looks like the Moore princess finally came out to play,” the other one says.

Fuck.

I whimper when he rips my shirt open, mouthing Devon’s name.

eight

DEVON

A warm ray of light jolts me awake me from a dreamless sleep. I sit up, a little too fast, and pain shoots through my head. Slumping back against the headboard, I bring my hand to my temples and massage them in circular motion, but it doesn't really help. It's the worst hangover I've ever had. Fucking Jack.

I open my eyes without thinking, and the blazing light only worsens the pounding headache. I squeeze my eyes closed again. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I'm thirsty as hell. It takes me a few minutes to open my eyes again, trying to focus them on anything in the room.

Then I realize. I'm in Leighton's room. In her bed.

“Shit.” What the fuck happened last night? I try to rewind, Leighton, Baroque, Soraya—I cringe at that last memory. What a fucking waste.

And then . . . nothing. I have never allowed myself this. Sure I've gotten drunk before, but never so much to black out. Always keep your wits about you, my uncle would say, and I always listened.

Until last night.

I get out of bed slowly, the drums in my head getting louder. I'm fully clothed, and I reek of alcohol and perfume. It makes me queasy, and I'm about to run for the bathroom when something clicks. She's nowhere in sight. I head for the bathroom, listening for any sounds in there, hoping she's taking a shower or whatever, but when I go inside, she’s not there.

Leaving the bathroom, I scan the room, looking for any clues as to what happened. My eyes find her shoes on the floor next to the bed. Nothing looks out of place.

But she's not in here.

Idiot, I want to yell but I know it will attract attention. So I scold myself in my head. I fucking knew this would happen. The woman is making me into a sad excuse of a man. Always has. Weak. Pathetic.

At least I can finally admit it. Yeah, Devon, there's a reason why you stayed away from her for as long as you have.

And for fuck's sake, I'm not even worried she managed to escape, I'd be surprised she didn't take this chance I've so stupidly given her. No, my stupid, irrational fear is she didn't, and that someone got their hands on her.

The thought is unsettling. I've never had to worry about her like this before. And I'm the one who brought her here.

Fuck.

But surely I'd have heard something, if she's still here, or if someone got her. She'd scream, I'm almost positive.

I move for the door, which is, of course, unlocked. I shake my head at my stupidity. Idiot. Exiting the room, I lock it, and then head downstairs to the guest room, making up a plan in my head as I go.

I smell like perfume and alcohol, but I don’t have the time to take a shower right now. I went to her bed smelling like that, I realize. I cut the feeling of remorse that starts to creep into my mind. It's for the best.

Do I tell Frank about this? I bet Stevie will have a field day with his I-told-you-so. But I have to say something. Maybe I can say it's done? Then I can find her, and . . . and what? Kill her? Yes, because she's a weakness. And I have a duty to my family. And I'll finally be free of this pathetic . . . thing in my head.

I laugh at myself. Yup, pathetic.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I pass it. I get a flash of memory of being slapped across the face. Well, that answers the question of how she felt about me coming to her bed last night.

I put on the first shirt and jeans that I spot. Then I go downstairs to my uncle's study. I can't hide this from him. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up, proving to everyone I’m a failure.

The voices get louder as I descend the stairs, a fear creeping up my spine. I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't look good. There are at least five men in front of Frank’s study, all listening in, trying not to be obvious. They part as I pass. It's completely ridiculous. I knock on his door, and one of them, Jake, I think, opens it for me.

Stevie turns around when I enter, giving me a sneer when I eye the angry red scratch across his cheek. “There he is.”

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Your girl escaped last night,” Stevie replies, and I don't miss the implication in his words. But I don't react to it either.

“What do you mean escaped?” I ask, though secretly I'm relieved. “Wasn’t anyone on watch?”

Frank's eyes lock onto mine. “Well, yes, she tried to escape.”

I move closer to them, making sure I don't change my demeanor and give anything away. She didn't escape. To say a chill runs through me is an understatement. Someone got her. And all because I was careless.

And as I stand in front of Frank's desk, a whimper in the back of the room catches my attention. Frank and Stevie are looking at me, their gazes burning holes through my head, gauging my reaction. I don't turn around even though I want to. I should see the consequences of what I did. But damage control is more important right now. If I turn around, I give them what they want.

“Stevie was there,” my uncle finally says. A surge of pride goes through me because the scratch on his cheek has a whole new meaning now.

“Yeah, I was there,” Stevie says, looking over my shoulder. Don't turn around.

“You've been careless, Devon. She stole the key from Hayley,” Frank adds.

At this I do turn around, curious because we both know that's not the truth. I find her sitting in the corner, her hands bound with duct tape. There are cuts all over her feet. Her shirt is torn, exposing her bra and all the way down to her navel. Her bottom lip is bloodied and swollen, her hair a tangled mess.

I relax my fist, the exact opposite of what I really want to do. I mask my expression, even though her eyes are pleading with me. Her face crumples when she sees me shutting off, and I wish more than anything I could go to her and tell her it's all a show. I turn back to Stevie and Frank instead, mask in place.

“Marky got carried away,” Stevie says, shrugging nonchalantly. Idiot. When all of this is over, however it ends, I'll make sure he dies the worst death possible.

I nod in approval. “Good, that should teach her.”

“She's becoming a problem, Devon,” Frank says.

“I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“No, I want her gone. I'll have one of my guys do it.”

I look at him, stunned. “If she turns up dead it's practically a red flag for Keith,” I say, keeping my tone even, controlled. “We've come so far. Do we want to fuck it all up now?”

He folds his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. I don't think I've ever defied him before. “Don't worry; he'll make sure she doesn't turn up dead. He'll make sure she doesn't turn up, period.”

“Can you even do it?” This from Stevie. “Or are you going all soft because she's a fine piece of meat? Can't say I blame you, after last night.” My eyes flash, a terrifying thought crossing my mind. Would Marky get that carried away? Did Stevie do something to her? “She fought like a little beast, the spitfire. Must be a pleasure to have that pinned beneath you, all pliant and submissive,” Stevie finishes, licking his lips, and adjusting himself.

If I don't leave the room right now, I'll just kill him on the spot.

“Stevie, I'm sure you're just dying to draw blood,” I say politely. “But unlike you, I’m not about to get carried away here.” His eyes narrow at that, but I ignore it. “I brought her here, she's my responsibility, I'll deal with her.” I turn to my uncle. “Are we good?”

His eyes flash with something unrecognizable, but then it's back to the usual indifference. “I guess you'll just have to prove it to me.”

“And I will. Now, this whole thing needs to go down as planned, otherwise it's no use. If one of them lives, and that includes her,” I say, gesturing with my thumb over my shoulder, “it's all for nothing.”

“You're right,” Frank says, glancing at Stevie, then back at me. “We need to keep our heads cool.”

“Thank you, sir.” I turn to walk over to her and take her away from this room, but Frank's words stop me.

“Who is she?” he asks me, and the way he says it leaves no doubt he expects an answer. He wants to make sure I remember who I am.

I continue making my way to her, looking at her in what I hope embodies disgust. She scrambles away from me, and I don't blame her. “She's a Moore,” I say, playing along with this game of his.

“And what about them?”

I lower myself to a crouch, taking her face in my hands. I remind myself it's not the time to assess the damage. She tries to look away, and I follow her eyes, giving her no choice but to meet my gaze and when she finally does, it breaks my heart. I don't want to tell her this.

“They killed my whole family,” I say, looking into her eyes, an almost desperate tone to my voice. Please understand. Disbelief colors her expression, and she starts shaking her head. I hold it steady, dreading the next words I have to say. “And they will pay for it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear slides down her cheek.

“Good,” I hear Stevie say behind me.

I drag her up by her shoulder, adding more force to it than necessary. She cries out in pain, the sound ripping my heart. I push her toward the door and open it, the men in front of it pretending they weren't listening in. They watch me with approval as I all but drag her on the floor toward the stairway.

We round the corner, leaving their murmurs behind, and I stop and take her in my arms. Her body goes limp in my hold, all fight seemingly gone out of her as I carry her up to the third floor. I don't say anything, because what else can I say? I'm sure I've said it all, and she's not stupid.

She knows the way our world works, and why we were a mistake from the very start. That she should have never hoped for anything when it came to me, because ultimately, we're enemies, and you can't afford to have mercy for your enemies. She knows all of it.

I take her straight to the bathroom and set her on the counter. She leans back against the cool tiles while I turn on the water in the sink, adjusting it to the right temperature. I turn back to her and take her bound hands in mine, using my pocketknife to cut the duct tape off, and revealing the angry marks around her wrists. I rub my thumbs over them, my vision clouding with rage. I take a washcloth and run it under the water, then bring it to her face to clean it up. She doesn't even flinch when I make contact, wiping away the blood around her mouth. When I'm done and her face is clean, I lean in and kiss her swollen lip.

“I'm so goddamn sorry this happened,” I murmur against her lips, my voice breaking. I'm sure she knows I don't mean just the cuts and bruises on her face. There are things deep beneath the skin I need to apologize for.

She doesn't respond. Her eyes are unfocused, like she's looking right through me. I wouldn't want to look at me either, if I was her.

I wet the washcloth again, then take her small feet into my hands, wiping around the cuts. Why didn't she wear the goddamn shoes?

I turn the shower on, making sure the water is a good temperature.

“I'll give you some privacy,” I tell her. She just shakes her head, a dazed expression on her face.

* * *

It feels like she's inside the shower forever. I have a brief thought that she might try and hurt herself in there, but I don't really believe it. It just doesn't seem like her.

The door opens, and she walks out, stark naked, not looking at me. I try not to ogle, because it's really inappropriate and there's nothing sexual about it. She walks straight to the bed and climbs on it, and just sits there in the middle of it.

I get up and walk over to her. I take out a shirt from the dresser and a pair of panties and bring them over to her. She doesn't resist me when I pull the shirt over her head, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I run my hands through her wet hair, savoring the silky feel of it. She takes the underwear from my lap and pulls them on herself, then lies down on the bed, tucking her elbow under her head.

I follow suit, lying down on my side, facing her. She brings her free hand up to my face, her hesitant touch whispering over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into her hand, feeling like a hypocrite because I know she's trying to comfort me for what I just told her.

“I wish you were someone else,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her voice. My eyes open and I kiss her wrist hovering over my mouth, wiping away the single tear streaking her cheek with my thumb.

“Me, too,” I say, and I've never meant anything more than I do those two words.

LEIGHTON

I wake up in the afternoon, if I can tell by the faint darkness I see through the sole window in the room.

When it all hits me, I still feel numb. Being locked in this room, Devon lulled me into a false sense of security. With him around, sure, I was scared, but I wasn't terrified, and I was sure I was getting out of this alive because Devon would take care of me.

I don't know why I thought it. He hasn't really done anything to make me think that. But somewhere deep down, I thought he would make sure I was okay, at the end of the day.