Текст книги "Vendetta"

Автор книги: Sienna Lane

Соавторы: Autumn Karr
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Being in the arms of those slimy men, being taunted and leered at, I realized how stupid I've been. It's not just Devon in this house; it's not just him who makes final decisions.

Devon's uncle is cold and unfeeling. I have no idea how he grew up with that. He is not like him, at all.

My breath hitches when I remember the moment I thought Stevie was going to rape me.

My family killed his? I glance over at Devon, hoping that it isn't true, but knowing it probably is. This whole thing is so messed up. How can he even look at me? He must despise me. He's been putting up with my shit this whole time when he didn't have to, all the while knowing that my family destroyed his.

When I saw him in his uncle's office I could have cried in relief. But the Devon I saw at that moment was a person I've never seen before, not even when he brought me here first. I never want to see that Devon again. He was cold, distant and emotionless, the kind of man who could look someone in the eye and kill them without an ounce of remorse. It scared the shit out of me.

I lay my face on his warm chest, glad that the trembling has finally stopped. We hadn't said much to each other before falling asleep, but I appreciate him holding me, making me feel safe, even if it isn't real. It looks like I'm going to pay for the sins of my family with my own life.

I guess this is what my life is about, right? Has always been about; family, pride and loyalty. Although I haven't killed anyone, I bear the sins of my last name, and now I face the consequences.

I have been envied my whole life for my status, wealth and material possessions.

If only they could see me now. I stifle a sob, thinking no money on the world will save me out of this situation.

“Hey,” Devon says, pulling me closer.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him, not knowing how to make this better. He makes a sound deep in his throat, but doesn't reply. Really, what is there to say? It's not okay, nothing can be forgiven or overlooked, and it doesn't matter how I feel about him because it doesn't change anything.

Devon rubs soothing circles on my back, offering me what comfort he can. He may wear his mask so well, but underneath I know that he’s a good man. He didn't deserve to lose his family.

Will my death really give him peace? This is the last thing I think before falling asleep again.

* * *

“Morning,” I say, when I see Devon awake and watching me, propped on his elbow.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick with sleep.

I nod, because we both know I’m not, but that it doesn’t really matter.

“What’s your plan for today?” I ask him, my voice wavering slightly.

He stretches his arms over his head. “I have something to do, but I’ll try to get it done as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” I say, grateful that he wouldn’t be leaving me alone all day.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?” he asks, studying my expression.

Averting my gaze, I stare down at my hands. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I ran. They caught me.” I shrug like it’s no big deal.

“Did they hurt you?”

My head lifts sharply. “You mean did they . . . ”

“Touch you,” he says, his voice soft, almost breaking. He swallows hard, waiting for my answer.

“No, I mean. Stevie squeezed my . . . ” I gesture at my chest nervously. He nods, understanding. “But that’s it. I think he wanted to . . . and the other one held me.”

“Fucking assholes,” Devon growls, his hands turning to fists.

“I struggled, so that’s when they were rough, but then your uncle came out, and they backed off. I was scared, Devon. The look they had in their eyes, it terrified me,” I admit, closing my eyes.

“You didn’t tell them I left the door open. Why?” he demands, his voice hardening.

“Why, Leighton?” he repeats when I don’t reply.

“Why do you think?” I spit back at him, hating him for asking this question.

He puts his hand on my sore shoulder lightly, careful not to hurt me. “Tell me. I want—I need to know why you'd protect me, after everything?”

“Because of this,” I snap, leaning forward and capturing his lips with my own. He responds instantly, taking my mouth in a punishing kiss. He starts to suck on my bottom lip, and I run my hand up his shirt, feeling each taut muscle of his six-pack. He moans at the contact, but gently pushes me away.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding defeated.

“I know what’s going to happen,” I say sadly, huffing out a breath. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but right now I don’t care. Kiss me, Devon.”

Slowly, he brings his lips to mine, and gently kisses me. He pulls back a little before kissing me deeper, his tongue tasting mine. I make a sound in my throat when he gently sucks on my bottom lip, carefully avoiding the cut on it.

The door suddenly opens, and we pull away from each other, but not quick enough.

“What the fuck, Devon?” Hayley says, her eyes wide in disbelief. She looks shocked, but I don’t miss the flash of anger that crosses her face when she looks me straight in the eyes.

“Hales,” he says, sitting up in bed. She turns and leaves, slamming the door behind her. Devon jumps out of bed, but to my surprise he kisses me quickly on the forehead before following her out. The sound of the door locking makes me squeeze my eyes shut.

DEVON

I stuff the keys in my pocket, running after Hayley. I don't reach her until she's outside, and I see her retreating figure heading toward her car.

“Hales, wait up,” I yell after her. She stops, her shoulders squared. I jog to where she's standing and turn her around to face me. The expression on her face surprises me. I fully expected her to be . . . I don't know. Sad, devastated, brokenhearted.

Why did I even expect that? She's the one that broke up with me.

No, she's livid, now, fuming.

“What the fuck were you thinking in there, Devon? I could have been anyone. Anyone!”

I raise my hands up in a calming gesture.

“Don't treat me like I'm some raging lunatic. Are you fucking crazy? You didn't even lock the fucking door. You're lucky it was just me. You could have just lost everything over some slut.”

“Hey, now,” I say, a serious tone to my voice.

“Then what was that? If I walked in there a few minutes later would I have seen something far more compromising? You denying what I just saw?”

I could. I could tell her it's not what it looked like and she'd take my word for it, but I don't want to lie to her. I never did. And it's exactly what it looked like.

“Thought so,” she says smugly, her hands on her hips. She sighs. “You're never so careless.”

“I know,” I tell her, glad that she seems to understand. “I can't seem to do anything right these days.”

Her eyes find mine. “You can talk to me. I wish you never stopped.”

I swallow, hard. I stopped talking to her, my best friend, because there are things she's better off not knowing. I couldn't tell her how torn I felt about myself, about who I am, who I want to be. The reasons that make me question everything about me. She just wouldn't understand.

And, if I'm honest, I don't want to hurt her. I hate to admit it, but she was never it. She knows it, too, it's why she broke up with me—not that she loved me either, but she doesn't need me throwing it in her face.

So I ignore her pleading eyes and say, “What are you doing here?” instead.

Her shoulders slump, defeated. Another sigh. “I came to check on you. Dad said I should,” she says, and then shakes her head. “But you seem to be doing just fine.”

“Hales,” I start, but she interrupts me, lifting her palm in front of my face.

“No, I'm not letting you off the hook. I'm not letting you destroy everything you've done so far for that . . . ” I give her a hard look, daring her to say it again. I know she doesn't even think of Leighton as a slut. Hayley is not one of those girls who talks shit about other people. “For that girl,” she finishes.

“I'm not.”

“Then explain, please.”

I glance at my watch, though what I have to do doesn't have a time schedule. “Can it wait? There's something I have to do first.”

“Now?” Her face is a picture of disbelief.

“It won't take long. And you can wait for me with Leighton.”

“So now she's waiting for you?”

“Later, please?” I ask her, leading her toward the house. She nods, although reluctantly.

I think of going in to say goodbye to Leighton, but I don’t want to give Hayley any more reason for suspicion. I place the key to the room in her hand and tell her to lock up.

As I back toward the car, I gesture to Marky to come with me. He gives me a quizzical look, but doesn't say anything, just follows after me.

“Where to, boss?” he says as we near my car.

“We have a shipment,” I say, daring him to question my words.

He doesn't, as I expected. He sits in the passenger seat of my car and I drive us in silence to one of our warehouses near the produce mart.

Once we're parked, I get out. Marky gets out as well and rounds the car. “Boss?” he says, looking around.

I just wave with my hand, telling him to follow me. “I have to get some papers first.”

Leaving him just outside the office, I walk in, and I head to the desk. Opening its drawer, I pull out a folder of papers, but it's not what I'm looking for. We don’t really write anything down, it’s just something I’m used to saying. Rummaging through the drawer, I call out, “So, how about last night?”

“Yeah, what a night,” Marky says back.

I come out of the office. His wide back is turned to me, and his dark-haired head bowed down, reading over some car magazine I left lying around.

“What happened out there?”

“Nothing, boss, we just wanted to have some fun. She fought, let me tell you.” His voice gets an excited tone to it. I can actually hear him grinning, reliving the moment. The picture in my head is not a pretty one. I know it's not his fault, because he says, “And she is who she is so I figured—”

Logic, right? She's a Moore, she's being held against her will, she's basically at our mercy, we're planning this huge thing to take every member of her family down. It's only logical he would assume nothing is off limits.

I know this.

But I don't really care.

“Figured what exactly, Marky?”

He turns around at the hardness in my voice. Eyeing the gun in my hand, he swallows hard.

I could do a grand monologue, waxing poetic on how I really don't want to even think about other men's paws touching Leighton, and this is why he has to die. Does he not get that if I brought her here, she can't possibly be his to take? To even try something like that?

I could let him explain, and he would just confirm what I know—that he assumed it's okay, or maybe he did what Stevie did.

Or I could give him a chance to fight back, because it's the honorable thing to do. That almost makes me laugh: honorable criminals. Who the fuck even cares about honor anymore?

Maybe this is my chance to be a better man. I could just let it go, because it was an honest mistake.

I don't do any of this.

I shoot him in his left hand, the one he probably had all over Leighton, then the other. His hands, that caused so much damage to her beautiful face. He screams, a pitiful sound that does nothing but anger me even more. I come closer to him, his eyes wide as I put the barrel of the gun into his mouth, pointing upwards.

The final shot ringing through the empty warehouse is nothing short of satisfying.

I watch the crimson splattered all over the wall as I make a phone call to Saul. “I've made a bit of a mess,” I say after he picks up.

LEIGHTON

The lock rattles just as I’m walking out of the bathroom, fully dressed. I think it’s Devon again, but the second it opens Hayley storms into the room staring daggers at me, her hands on her hips. The air is suddenly thick with tension.

“What kind of game are you playing at, Leighton?” she finally says after a few tense moments. She purses her lips and watches me intently. Her whole attitude toward me has changed, and I know that our friendship, new and fragile as it was, is something we’re never going to get back.

“I’m not playing any games,” I say right back to her, crossing my arms against my chest.

“I’ve never seen Devon act this irresponsibly,” she says, more to herself than me as she starts pacing up and down the room. “He’s normally so in control of his emotions and actions.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell her, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. Is it really her business, what happens between Devon and me? I know this situation is messed up right now, but it is what it is. There’s no point pretending it's not happening, or looking the other way.

Especially since it won’t make a difference in the long run.

“How about an explanation?” she says, plopping herself down ungracefully onto the chair next to my bed.

“Look, Hayley. I don’t see why you think I owe you an explanation. I thought we were, well, not friends, but at least friendly. Clearly I was mistaken. I know you’re probably here because Devon told you to babysit again, so let’s just sit here and watch TV without talking. How about that?” I say, my tone belligerent.

Her face softens a little. “We are friends, you and I. But I’m Devon’s friend first, and I worry about him.”

“Devon is a grown-ass man,” I tell her, turning the TV on.

“He is, and he usually has his shit together. I don’t think you understand the position you’re putting him in.” She swallows hard before continuing. “You’re meant to die, Leighton. It's not just his decision. You're as good as dead with or without him. It’s not fair, it’s fucked up, but it’s the damn truth. With whatever you two have going on Devon is going to be in a lot of shit either way, isn’t he?”

“He’s either going to risk everything he believes in to save you, or he’s going to have to kill you and live with that regret for the rest of his life. What do you think that’s going to do to him? You need to stop this before it goes any further, Leighton.”

“I’m sorry, I’m the one dying in this equation, and you’re asking how Devon is going to live with himself?” I ask, gaping. “You know, when I met you I thought you were too nice for this world, and it looks like you’re finally showing your true colors.”

She shrugs. “You know it’s the truth.”

“Is that it? Or is this jealousy speaking?” I ask bluntly, watching her face for her reaction. She gives me nothing at all.

“I care about him, we’re best friends,” she says calmly. “Do I love him? Sure. Not the way you’re thinking, though, I know that he’s not the man for me,” she admits, tilting her head back on the chair, she closes her eyes and inhales deeply. “This is fucked up.”

Yeah, like it’s her life on the fucking line here. “Where did he go?”

“He had business to take care of,” she says shortly, opening her eyes to look at me. She cracks her knuckles. I hate that sound.

“Devon has beautiful women throwing themselves at him. You must have beer-flavored nipples or something,” she mutters to herself. I ignore her. Let her think what she wants, because she doesn’t know anything. I won’t be lowering my guard around her anymore, that’s for damn sure.

I flash her a fake smile and turn to face the TV. “So, when did you and Devon break up?” I ask her casually. I turn my head in time to catch the surprised look on her face. Yeah, like I believe for a second there wasn't anything between the two of them.

“Four months ago,” she admits with great reluctance. My memory flashes to that time, and I frown at this piece of information. How did I never see them together? Then again, I didn't see him that much because I avoided him, the same way I know he avoided me.

“We've been best friends forever so we were like, ‘Hey, let's give it a go.’ It made sense,” she says, glancing at me and shrugging. Then she sighs. “He wanted us to work so bad, but, God, I know it will sound shallow but when we . . . ” She gives me a shy smile. “When we made love . . . ”

I swallow the knot in my throat, feeling sorry I asked her anything. This feels like a stab straight to the heart, that he wanted someone else so much. That he made love to her.

I've been fooling myself with this forbidden love fantasy all my life. I was sure he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

“I mean yes, it was wild and passionate, everything I expected,” she continues, giving me a duh look.

I think I'm going to throw up right here in front of her.

“What happened? Did he cheat?” The words are out of my mouth before I think it over, before she says something to make me feel even more sick than I'm feeling right now.

She shakes her head condescendingly, like she feels sorry for me. “No, and if you knew Devon, you'd know how ridiculous that question is. I broke up with him, and we’re still friends. And twenty questions is over.”

“Fine by me,” I snap. Stuck in a room with his ex-girlfriend that he made love to. After he left me to go fuck someone else the other night. Yeah, it keeps getting better and better. This shit could only happen to me. I braid my hair and pretend to watch whatever stupid show is on, but my mind is reeling.

After an hour of excruciating silence, I’m ready to scream. She must have told me all of this on purpose, just to rub it in my face. Why else, if she thinks there's something going on between us? I’m also getting pretty damn hungry, and it's making me cranky. Most pathetic of all, I miss Devon, anyway, despite what I just heard.

How did this happen?

“He's the most loyal person I know,” Hayley says, breaking the silence. “You need to stop whatever you're doing with him, Leighton. I'm not jealous, the two of us were never meant to be, and I have nothing against you. If things were different . . . but I care about my friend. If he's loyal to you, you don't even understand the shitstorm it will cause. Just think, Leighton, think who you are and who he is. It's never going to work, even without all of this.”

I lean forward and put my face into my palms.

“You've taken enough from him already,” she delivers the final blow, making my eyes water. I'm glad she can't see it.

That's all it comes down to. In the grand scheme of things, my unrequited . . . crush, whatever, it's nothing compared to what my family took from him. I know he did his best to stay away from me, I just never thought it went beyond this rivalry between our families.

All my life, even when we were kids, I did everything and anything I could to get Devon's attention.

It may hurt like a bitch to find out he never cared back, that I've been fooling myself into thinking we had some epic connection, but I don't want him harmed.

“You're right,” I tell her, exhaling deeply and leaning back. She nods at me, but her attention has already switched back to the fictional lives on TV.

I only wish she weren't so right.

nine

DEVON

There's nothing to killing a man.

The first time I did it, I was sixteen, just a boy, really. My uncle sent me out with Stevie to take care of some business. On the way there, Stevie's expression got serious; too serious, I thought. After he parked the car he looked at me, taking out his gun. Then another. I remember the dread I felt when he pointed the gun at me, but then he laughed at my expression. I laughed, too, pretending I understood the joke.

I almost shit my fucking pants then.

He turned the gun handle my way. When I did nothing, he nudged it toward me, and I hesitantly took it into my hand. It was heavier than I’d expected, and the cold metal shocked my fingers, but I steadied my hand and gripped the handle like my life depended on it. I thought of making the same joke Stevie made, but chickened out at the last second.

He explained it to me: This is how you unlock it, and This is how you aim, and Keep your hand steady, take a deep breath, and exhale when you pull the trigger.

It felt like I was being initiated into a secret society, a special order.

Stevie took me into the warehouse, toward a black sedan parked inside. He opened up the trunk—two pairs of wide eyes stared at me. They weren't big men, but they were bigger than me. Stevie dragged one out, and the man whimpered, a girly sound. He resisted Stevie's pull, but to no avail, as he rounded the car with him then threw him on the floor. Then he cocked the gun and fired off three shots straight to his head.

I wouldn't have done anything about it even if I hadn't been stunned, frozen in place.

“Your turn,” Stevie had said, giving me a grin as he went back and dragged the other man out and over to me, practically throwing him at my feet.

The gun became heavy in my hand; so heavy I thought I would drop it if I didn't grip it harder.

“Do it, Devon. Just like I told you.”

And I did. I held onto that gun for dear life with my sweaty hands as I raised it. I kept them steady as I cocked the gun. I inhaled. I exhaled.

Time didn't slow down, the earth didn't move. It was over in a second.

Stevie fired another bullet into his head. For good measure, I guess.

He came over to me and slapped me on my back, and then he left me to look at the two slumped bodies on the ground.

I kept waiting for that nausea to kick in. I kept waiting to feel different. I just killed a man, for fuck's sake. But none of it came to me. It disappointed me. For sure, it meant I was a bad man. It thrilled me because, yeah, I'm an Andre. I have the proof lying in front of me, its head blown apart.

“I've made a bit of a mess,” Stevie said into his phone.

* * *

I shake off the memory of that day long ago as I walk the aisles of an art supply store in Cambridge. I never feel bad after I kill someone. Usually, I just get it over and done with, and then I move on. There are no feelings associated with it.

So I ignore the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction as I pick up random drawing supplies: pencils, colored and graphite, sketching pads, charcoals.

The girl at the checkout gives me a flirtatious smile. “Oh, you're an artist?” she asks, batting her eyelashes.

“No, my girlfriend,” I answer automatically, returning her smile politely.

“Lucky girl.”

“Yeah.” A stand with erasers and sharpeners catches my attention, reminding me I didn't get her any. I grab some and add them to my pile. I look around to see if maybe I could have gotten something else as well, but decide it's enough.

It's more than I should be getting. I bet Hayley will love this.

I stop on the way home at a donut place. I frown, trying to remember if I know what her favorite kind is. In the end, I just get two boxes with every choice available.

* * *

I open the door, and Hayley looks up at me, smiling until she sees the bag in my hand. Then she purses her lips, shaking her head. Leighton is on the bed, her gaze fixed on the television, ignoring me. I drop the bag on the floor and place the boxes with donuts on the bed, then walk over to Hayley. She stands up and gives me a kiss on the cheek as I give her a half hug.

I catch Leighton rolling her eyes.

“Leighton,” I say. She ignores me.

“That took longer than you said,” Hayley says, jabbing my chest with her finger. “I have to go, but I'll be back tomorrow to talk.” She glances at Leighton, and then looks back at me. “Don't think you're off the hook.”

“I'll be here.”

“I'll see you tomorrow, Leighton.” Leighton harrumphs, but doesn't say anything. Hayley shrugs, giving me another smile, then turns and leaves the room.

I lock the door from the inside, then pick up the bag with the art supplies and cross the room. The pencils clatter against each other as I spill the contents of the bag, breaking the thick silence in the room. Leighton's eyes stray to the heap on the bed, the hard lines on her forehead softening for a moment, then she looks at me, and I almost do a double take at her shuttered expression. Her eyes are guarded, not giving away any hints of what she’s thinking.

I start to go to her, but then decide against it, and sit in my chair instead.

“Can I trust you with those?” I ask her, pointing at the pencils.

“What could I possibly do? Stab you to death with a pencil?”

At this, I get up and walk over to her, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She's trying to look anywhere but at me, so I take her chin in my hand and make her look me in the eyes.

“I wish things were different, Leighton.”

“But they're not. You have to do what you have to do, Devon, and I have to do what I can to protect myself,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest in a protective stance.

I search her eyes, trying to see how serious she is. Her breath hitches as I skim the pad of my thumb over her bruised bottom lip, her lips parting slightly in invitation. I lean in and take the same lip my thumb just grazed between mine, needing to taste her, our foreheads touching and her face still cupped in my hands.

I expect her to respond, to kiss me back as I taste her lips, to tangle her fingers in my hair and pull on it until it hurts, but she doesn't do any of that.

“Kiss me back, dammit,” I whisper against her lips.

“Please don't touch me again,” she responds. I let go of her as if she's on fire. “You're being so unfair to me, Devon.”

I get up and cross the room before I do something to make things worse.

“I'm sorry,” I say, my back turned to her as I unlock the door. I don't think I've ever apologized to someone so much in my entire life. I look back at her sullen expression once more and then leave the room.

LEIGHTON

He’s sorry.

I know he is, but it doesn’t change anything. If I’m going to die no matter what, at least Devon will be okay. If anyone finds out about the two of us . . . why didn't the possibility of that ever cross my mind?

I think about how he lost his whole family. He shouldn't have to suffer any more than he already has. That doesn’t mean I want to die, or that I’m going to stop fighting or accept my fate. If I get the chance to escape, I’m sure as hell going to take it. If only there was a way for both of us to win, but I just can’t see it.

Oh, God, I can't even imagine what that must have been like; to have your world torn away from you in the blink of an eye.

I stare at all the beautiful art supplies on the bed while rubbing the back of my neck. Hayley is right. She’s a bitch, but she’s right. Devon is loyal, almost to a fault, and if he decides to go all in with me I can't even imagine the outcome.

I may have nothing left to lose, but he has everything. I can’t do that to him.

What happened, all those years ago? Why did my dad do this? I rack my brain for any piece of memory, but I was just a kid. I don't remember anything significant at all.

Maybe I'm better off not knowing. I'm on the verge of begging Devon for their lives, as it is. I understand what he has to do, but it's my whole world.

Not that it will matter. I'll be gone as well.

I run my fingers along the charcoals. I know that I need to warn my father about this. They're my blood. It's not like I thought they planted trees for a living.

I eat first, knowing once I start drawing I’ll probably never stop.

For some reason, I feel lonelier than usual. I think it’s because Devon could be here right now, but I’m the one who pulled away. It would be so easy to give in.

So easy. And selfish.

And to be honest, I'm hurt. I'm trying not to let it get to me, but I'm so damn hurt by what he did.

I pick up the pencils and open the sketchpad, and then make myself comfortable on the bed. Then I draw.

* * *

“Leighton,” I hear Devon say. I look up to see him standing right in front of me.

I put the pencil down. “Hey.”

“You didn’t even hear me come in,” he says, frowning.

“Sorry, I kind of get lost in the zone.”

“I can see that. I called your name twice before you looked up.”

“Thanks for the art supplies,” I say quietly.

His eyes soften. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat much,” he says, looking at the donuts, disapproval etched on his face. I only ate one, and even that I forced down.

I shrug. “Not very hungry.”

He leans in closer to me, and I flinch when his finger touches my cheek. He instantly pulls it back, scowling.

“What, you seriously won't let me touch you now?” he asks, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“It’s better if you don’t,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow.

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes bore into mine, studying me, making me squirm.

“Yeah, it’s exactly what I mean.” I stand up from the bed and move toward the chair where he usually sits, feeling trapped by his gaze all of a sudden.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he says under his breath.

“No one is forcing you to be here right now,” I say, my tone emotionless. Except, I don’t want him to go. Devon doesn’t reply. Instead, he lies on the bed with a frustrated growl.

“Come here, Leighton,” he says, staring at the ceiling.

“No.”

He repositions his body and lifts his head up, so he can see me. “Come here,” he repeats.

I ignore him.

“You telling me that you don’t want to come here and lie in my arms until I have to leave?” he says, his voice knowing. I do want that. I want that more than anything, but sometimes we don’t get what we want.

I should know. I've wanted him all my life, and he was someone else's.

“What changed since this morning?” he asks, sitting up.

“I had some time to think things through.” I make it sound harsh, angry. I sit down in his chair, staring across the room. “Where were you the other night?”

“What?”

“The other night, when you came home drunk. Who’s Amber?” I don’t know why I ask it. It will only hurt me more once he admits he left me to go and screw someone else’s brains out, but maybe it’s what I need to hear.

His eyes widen. “Fuck.”

“Just tell me.”

“Leighton,” he says softly, reverently, so much emotion in that one word. He rubs his face wearily, looking frustrated and tired. He mutters something under his breath and then stands up and walks toward me, a purpose to his stride.

He lowers to a crouch in front of me, as close as he can get without actually touching me.

“Nothing happened,” he says, his eyes roaming my face. He takes my hand in his. “Nothing happened.”

I look away. I don’t believe him.

He lowers his head and I close my eyes, shuddering when his lips make contact with my skin. His mouth lingers on my cheek, and I can feel his reluctance when he moves away.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks, his eyes guarded. He already knows what I'll say. I almost want to prove him wrong.