Текст книги "Vendetta"

Автор книги: Sienna Lane

Соавторы: Autumn Karr
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

“Thanks for this, I needed it.”

“Please don’t thank me,” he says, lowering his voice. He sits next to me, putting his hands in the hoodie pockets.

I sigh, and stare at the house in front of us, searching for the sole window of the room I'm in. It's a huge three-story house, with stone walls and a large deck. It’s a mansion, really. There’s a smaller house to the side of it, probably a garage or something. I guess nothing sets it apart from the other houses in this area. It's not hard to locate the window of the room I’m in. After a while I realize there is only one with wrought iron bars.

I look at him curiously, and open my mouth to ask him what the deal is with the bars, but then I close it. Neither one of us says anything.

I close my eyes and inhale the fresh air I've so foolishly taken for granted before. The wind, the smells. . . It hits me, right then. I’m not willing to give this up. I’m not ready to leave this world.

And who is this person I’ve turned into, that I was letting myself become accustomed to this fate? I open my eyes and tilt my head to study the handsome man next to me. His eyes are closed, too, as if he's enjoying this moment of freedom with me.

My love for Devon is my greatest weakness. It has me confused, blinded. Determined to become a martyr for a crime committed by my family.

Weak. This is not who I am.

Did I think, in the end, that he would love me enough to spare me, and my family? If I’m being honest with myself, I guess, maybe I did. I realize bitterly that’s exactly what I was holding onto. A small slither of hope that all would work out in the end. Maybe I read too many books, too many unrealistic happy endings.

If Devon loves me even a quarter of the amount I do him, by this point he should know that he can’t kill me. He should know and realize that a love like this shouldn’t be sacrificed for anything—even revenge.

More death won’t bring back his family. Maybe the death of my family would be fair justice in his book. But my own death? How is he going to come out from that? Not unscathed, that’s for damn sure.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says, his eyes wide open, and back on me.

“Is that not a quality you want in a woman?” I tease, my lips twitching.

He smiles, standing up and offering me his hand.

“We have to go back already?” I whine, not wanting to leave.

“Not yet, come on,” he says, taking my hand in his and pulling me up off the bench. I suppress a squeal when he picks me up and holds me like a bride, one hand on my butt and one arm around my shoulder. I pull the jacket harder around me, making sure my torso isn't pressed up against him. He carries me through the dead, frozen grass behind the tree where we just sat, until we reach a small playground with a swing set.

I grin playfully. “A swing?”

He smiles again, showing off his white teeth, and wordlessly sets me on it, my legs dangling. He stands behind me and starts to push me.

“I can push myself you know,” I point out, brushing my hair out of my face.

“What’s the fun in that?” he says, pushing me once more with a hand on the small of my back. The wind blows in my face as I swing over and over again, so many times I lose count. I almost have the urge to jump off the swing and jump into the grass, like I used to do when I was a kid. The swing comes to a halt, and Devon pulls my back against his warm front. I lift my head up to look at him smiling down at me.

“Your face is all flushed,” he says, leaning down to kiss my dry lips.

“Do we have to go back now?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“Yeah, we better. Come on."

I get off the swing, and busy myself, brushing off my ass in case there's anything on there from the swing. In reality, I don't want him to see my eyes tearing up, but I could blame it on the wind.

“We’ll come out again, all right?” he says when I finally face him, playing with a lock of my hair. “Besides, I think you have something to take care of as soon as we get back inside,” he adds, taking a step forward, a devilish glint in his eye.

I take a step back and he frowns. Before he has the time to think it over, I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, averting his attention. “Is that right?" I ask as we retrace our steps toward the house.

My prison. But not for much longer.

“Why did you push me on the swing?” I ask, shaking that thought off.

“I remember as a kid, it used to make me feel free.” That's all he says, and he doesn’t need to explain anymore. He wanted me to feel free, even for a moment. Even if it was an illusion.

What he doesn’t know is I intend to be free once again.

On our way back to the house, we spot a figure by the parked car in front. I can tell by their build it's a man, gesturing wildly with his hands as he yells into the phone, pacing back and forth next to the vehicle. Devon and I look at each other, the same question on his face that I'm sure mine shows. My hand flies into the jacket's inner pocket and grips the gun I found in Devon's room, its coldness shocking my fingers. I relax them, mentally scolding myself for almost giving it away, and pull my hand out, careful not to catch his attention. Devon crouches behind the low stone wall near the backyard entrance gate and gestures for me to do the same. I follow him down and press my back against the wall.

“Who is it?” I whisper-yell, looking at him.

He doesn't reply, but shushes me with his hand. His eyebrows scrunch in concentration: I actually see him straining to hear the conversation. All I can hear is a voice occasionally rising, but the only word I make out is “soon,” yelled so loudly I jump a little. Devon places a hand on my shoulder, probably to reassure me.

A car door slams, and then I hear the sound of an engine starting. I peek up from the wall to see it driving off, the tires screeching against the wet pavement.

I turn to look at Devon, and ask him about it again. He ignores me, his eyes on the spot where the car disappeared. He shakes his head as if to clear it, and then finally looks at me, a blank expression on his face.

“Who was it?” I ask for the third time.

“No one,” he says shortly. His tone of voice tells me it was definitely someone, but I don't ask again. What does it matter to me? If I play my cards right I'll be out of here soon enough, and then it will all be over.

We make it back to the house without seeing anyone else. I panic for a moment, thinking we'd go into the room we were in earlier for some reason, but he leads me straight to my—his—room.

After locking the door, Devon undresses himself and slides between the sheets, beckoning to me. I go into the bathroom instead, and carefully hang the jacket on the door, then I strip and walk out of the bathroom in his boxers only, holding them at my hips with my hands. His hungry eyes roam my body, and when they reach my waist, I let the boxers fall down as well and step out of them. I smile when I realize he's already stroking himself under the sheet.

I point at him with my finger as I walk in his direction. “If I remember correctly, you have a promise to keep.”

I get into bed and straddle him, leaning down and taking his mouth in a hungry kiss, pressing myself against him to feel his body warmth. He pushes my shoulders and we pull apart, my breathing already heavy and my stomach fluttering in anticipation as I feel his hard cock pressing between my thighs.

“Leighton?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my eyes on his lips.

“Whatever you were thinking out there, just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” he whispers, running his large hands down my back and stopping on my ass, squeezing. Instead of replying, I capture his lips in another demanding, needy kiss, making us both forget everything but each other.

thirteen

DEVON

My hand falls to the space next to me, only to find it cold and empty. It's not exactly a case of déjà-vu, but I get a familiar sense of dread.

I let down my guard, again. I keep doing it around her, like she's not here against her will.

I prop myself up against the headboard and look around the room. Nothing looks out of place. But it was the same the first time she escaped. If I'd known she'd get another one of her ideas again when I took her out, I'd never have done it.

Liar, I think to myself. Of course I would have, I wouldn't even think about it.

My gaze lands on the bathroom door, then follow the slither of light filtering under it.

“Fuck.” I reach for the door before I even know it. I burst inside, startling Leighton in a tub full of water. It sloshes all over the rim when she jumps up.

I raise my hands in a calming gesture. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

Settling down, she looks me over from head to toe. Then she lets her head fall back and covers her eyes with her arm. “Can you go put on some clothes?”

“Sure,” I say, walking out and looking for my boxers. I pull them on, then go back into the bathroom and sit down and lean my chest against the tub, my fingers playing with the hot water. I raise my head in her direction. “Are you okay?”

She snorts, splashing me with water. “Yeah, just sore.” She laughs, a melodious sound that makes my heart skip a beat. “I'll be fine.”

Well, that explains it. If it wasn't me, it was her waking me up for more. We fucked, we made love, then fucked again.

I'm not a possessive man by nature. I don't put claim on things or assume they belong to me, people included. Growing up, after my whole family disappeared, I never felt like anything belonged to me, or like I belonged to someone. I was Devon Andre, the son of Rebecca and Joe Andre, and then I was nobody. The title of the son, the heir to this mobster empire, it didn't belong to me. They were gone, and so was I.

And the only thing I had left was revenge.

Until Leighton. I knew, the second I touched her in that dark alley, that I had finally found someone to belong to. Too bad it was the one woman I wasn't allowed. Even if things weren't the way they were, even if I didn't want to wipe out every one of her family members from this planet, I wouldn't be allowed near her. Because I am an Andre, and she is a Moore, and we don't mix. Her father would castrate me if I came anywhere near his only daughter. My father, if he were alive, would probably send me far away, just to keep us apart.

In a different world, a different story, in any universe, we aren't meant for each other.

And I belong to her wholly. Completely.

“So, random question.” Thankfully she breaks my thoughts, leaning over the edge of the tub. Droplets of water cascade down her body. I wet my lips, but really I want to lick each and every one of those drops of water off her skin. She quickly sits back down, giving me a reprimanding look. “Don't even think about it, I'm not kidding.”

I shrug. It's not my fault she's sexy as hell, and I can finally touch her after all this time. “I missed you,” I tell her, looking straight ahead. There's a moment of silence. “What's your question?” I finally ask after she doesn't say anything to my admission.

It stings, but I ignore it. What did I expect?

“What's with the iron bars on the windows in this room? Were your parents worried about your safety, or something?” She whispers the words parents, like I'll break down crying if she says it any louder.

“Not really. After . . . after it happened, my uncle came to take over. He had them installed.”

She ponders this for a second. “But only in your room?”

“Yeah, maybe he was afraid whoever took them would come back for me?” I make it sound like a question because I really have no idea why he did that. When he had them installed in my room, I thought it was just that my room goes first, and then all the others would get the bars, too. Then I just forgot about the whole thing.

“I guess. That man gives me the creeps.”

“Yeah, he can be intimidating,” I say, laughing. I remember a time or two when he had come over to see us, and he was definitely not the man he is now. He never said much, but there was a lightness, a warmness in his eyes. Something he doesn't have now, not even when it comes to me, his only remaining family.

Or maybe that's just the thing. Maybe he thinks I'm not supposed to be here, either.

Water sloshes as she stands up. I get up from the cold travertine and she extends her hand to me to help her out. I take the towel she left on the vanity then dry her off carefully, inspecting the two hickeys on her neck and then frowning at the red and purple finger-shaped bruises on her collarbone. She tilts my chin up with her finger, then leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips, forgiving me. It doesn't make me feel any better, but I let her kiss me, enjoying the way her soft lips mold to mine.

She pulls away and smiles, putting her hands around my neck and burying her face into my shoulder. I press myself against her warm body, skimming my hands down her waist but going no further.

“I missed you, too,” she whispers. I try to ignore the sense of relief I feel when she says it, but find myself squeezing her even tighter against me. “I kept asking myself if it was something I did, if you heard something from someone to just pull away like that. All I needed was for you to talk to me.” She brings her head up, searching my eyes. “I just needed to know why,” she continues when I don't say anything. “The night I came after you, that's all I wanted to ask.”

“What night?” I ask, confused. She never came after me, not that I remember. If she ever did, if she ever said a word, I wouldn't have been able to stay away from her. I hated her for not saying it, and I was grateful at the same time.

“The night you met up with that asshole, George.” She says it slowly, like she's explaining something to a child.

And for good reason, because my face must tell her I had no idea she was there for me. I thought she’d followed George, or maybe she saw us talking and wanted to see what it was about.

The last thing I expected was to hear this. If she didn't follow me that night, she wouldn't be here.

We finally separate and she walks over to the door, where her robe and my jacket are hanging. She puts her arms through the sleeves of the silky robe. This time I appreciate how sexy the whole package is. Tying the sash around her waist, she gives me one last smile and walks out of the bathroom.

“So, was it him?” she asks when I follow her out and sit on the bed, pulling the sweatshirt over my head.

“Was it who?”

“The man we saw last night. Was it your uncle?” She sits next to me, and points at the fast food place name on the bag I brought the night before, scrunching her nose. “Hate that place, by the way. Dom always makes me go there, he loves their bacon cheeseburger.” She shudders. “Yuck.”

I can't help laughing, but it's a disappointed laugh. And I thought it was her favorite; that's how well I know her. Serves me right when I've wasted my whole life pretending to hate her.

“It wasn't him,” I lie for no reason—maybe to convince myself, rather than her. “You'll never see my uncle yelling or displaying emotions like that. He's like stone.” Which is why I found it hard to believe my own eyes, witnessing that scene last night. I have never seen him like that.

But it was him.

I try not to let my mind go rampant, thinking up scenarios in which he's hiding things from me or plotting against me, but it's so damn hard. He wouldn't turn on his own flesh and blood, would he?

It kills me that I get a resound yes, he would, in my head. No matter how distant and cold he is, I always thought somewhere deep down he cared about me. But there's a lot of money at stake. So much power, it frightens me. And I'm the only one standing in his way, even if it doesn't seem like that. I'm the rightful heir to my father, not him.

But none of this makes sense. Why now? And what would he get from me hating Keith and his whole family, when he could just get rid of me and be done with it?

I palm my face, groaning. I have no idea what's going on, and I hate it that I'm doubting him like this. But obviously something is happening that I don't know.

Leighton starts rubbing my back in soothing circles and kisses me on the neck. “Do you ever hate living like this? Do you ever wish . . . ?”

“What?”

“I don't know, that it was all different. That we could run—”

A bang on the door cuts her off. We look at each other in panic. I'm in my boxers and a sweatshirt and she's in a flimsy robe with nothing underneath. I jump and snatch my jeans while pointing to the bathroom. “Lock the door.”

She nods, doing a quick sweep of the room and grabs a handful of clothes, the ones I took her out in last night included. Then she's gone, the lock on the door clicking.

I pull my jeans on and wait for my heartbeat to calm down when another bang comes, making it jump again. I know it's not Hayley: she'd knock, or let me know it was her somehow.

I slowly walk to the door, and then unlock and open it, my posture casual. My uncle looks me up from head to toe, and his eyes flash with something I can't identify.

What the hell is he doing here? I glance back at the bathroom door, wondering if he ever came by before, but then I realize I have the only key.

I stand aside for him to enter, hoping he doesn’t notice how nervous I am. Actually, I’m not nervous, I realize. For some reason, I’m terrified. He looks around the room, then at me, his eyes full of questions.

I point to that stupid bag of food she doesn't like. “Brought her food.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied, and sits in the chair. I sit on the bed awkwardly, realizing it's not exactly hiding what we've done all night, and when I see him take in the scene knowingly, I want to kill myself for being so stupid.

Show them you care, and they'll know where to strike.

“Where did you go last night?” I ask, hoping it will distract him. It does the job. His eyes widen for just a second, but then his mask is back on, cold as ever.

“Emergency,” is all he says. What emergency? There's nothing he has to deal with personally; he has people for everything.

Leighton opens the door, thankfully wearing a long-sleeved turtleneck and some sweatpants. She starts toward me and I shake my head, trying not to be obvious about it. She stops and folds her arms across her chest and stands there, just as awkward as I am.

It's a fucking disaster. Could we act any more guiltily?

I get up and motion for her to sit, begging her silently to just do as I say. She doesn't look at me but follows my instruction.

My uncle looks between the two of us, an uneasy expression on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him.

“Can we talk outside?” I ask, as calmly as possible.

He nods and I follow him out of the room, locking the door behind us. Turning around, I give him an impatient look.

“What's going on?”

He's silent for a beat, until finally, he says the words that shake my world. “It's fair you should know we're moving the girl.”

Who the fuck is this “we” he's talking about? I sure as hell wasn't asked or informed about this. I look at my uncle and my earlier thought hits me like a lightning bolt. This is not my ally, family or not. He kept me in the dark; he devalues everything I do. And now he's taking her away.

And right at that moment, I know for sure. I don't want to lose her. I was already wavering on my decision to kill her. Hell, I knew I couldn't do it the second I saw her lying unconscious in that parking lot when my first instinct was to save her.

I love her. And whatever happens, I will not let him take her away.

“We didn't discuss this.”

“Yes, well,” he says, waving his hand flippantly. “Seems you two have gotten closer than you should have. I don't want your mixed feelings ruining this whole thing when we're so close to finally getting what we wanted. She's a distraction, and I need your head in the right place. It's simple.”

Shit, that means I won't know where she is or what they're doing with her.

Okay, time. I need to know how long I have.

“You're right,” I say, keeping my expression neutral. “When?” Please don't say right now.

“Tomorrow morning.” I refrain from exhaling in relief. He holds my gaze, looking for something, but I just nod.

“And where?” I try.

“It doesn't matter. She's not your responsibility anymore.” It was worth a shot. He puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes lightly. I want to rip it off his body. “You understand, I'm doing it for your own good.”

Isn't that something people tell you when they're about to do something that's definitely not for your own good?

“Yeah, you're right,” I say, nodding like the good nephew who doesn't question his uncle's decisions. “I've been distracted, it's not good.”

“Good,” he says, lets go of my shoulder and leaves.

I go to the kitchen and get her some milk and cereal. It’s not like I have time to make a run for some proper food. This will have to do.

I walk back up to her room, a bowl and a spoon in my hands. She's still sitting in the same spot where I left her, looking at me expectantly. I walk over to her and she takes the bowl from my hands.

“Trouble at one of the warehouses,” I lie, avoiding her gaze. I don't want to worry her until I work it all out.

She looks down to the bowl, swirling the flakes with the spoon. “Okay,” she says when she looks back up before taking a spoonful into her mouth. It sounds forced, but I shrug it away. She must be as shaken as I am by him coming here.

As she eats, I sit in silence and try to come up with some sort of a plan.

We have until tomorrow morning. That means shit; I can't do anything in that short amount of time. But it's more than if he took her away right now, so at least it's something.

Her words come back to me. We could run. We could. For a start, we just need to get away from here. I would need to call in a few favors; there must be someone I can trust. We just need to get out of here. I can definitely make that happen.

And then we'll figure it out.

LEIGHTON

I place the bowl on the bedside table, the sound of it echoing through the room. Devon is lost in his own world, and I’m still trying to process what I overheard. When he walked back into the room, a mask shuttering his expression, I waited patiently for him to talk to me. And when he didn’t, I was disappointed.

No, I was fucking shattered.

They're moving me, away from Devon, away from his protection, and he has nothing to say about it. Not even a heads up. Does he even care what his people are going to do to me? What are they going to do? Where are they taking me? Does Devon listen to everything his uncle says? Just following him blindly like that?

So many questions, but the man in the room with me isn’t talking, isn’t saying a word. My life is hanging in the balance, my fate, yet he doesn’t deem me worthy enough to know the truth.

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and watch as he stares blankly into space. I have no idea what’s going on in his mind right now. I know he loves me. And I know this whole thing is probably hard on him, but we're running out of fucking time here.

Suddenly he stands up, and shakes his head as if clearing it. With a hesitant look my way, he forces a smile and closes the space between us. I flinch when he leans down to place a kiss on my lips, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy, lost in his own head.

“I have to head out, but I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” he says, looking around the room, then down to his hands. He lifts one hand up and runs it through his hair. “Do you need anything?” He still won’t look at me.

Is that a trick question? How about to get the fuck out of here before they take me? “I’m fine. Are you sure everything's okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice even.

“Like I said, just some business I need to take care of, don’t worry about it,” he says softly, his gaze roaming my face. He has the decency to break eye contact when I keep staring up at him, looking him in the eye as he lies to my face.

“Okay,” I say, dragging out the word. Letting him know that I know he’s not being honest. He looks relieved that I’m not calling him out on it. We’re playing this stupid game where we both know everything isn’t right, but we're pretending otherwise.

“Get some rest,” he says quietly, his eyes softening as he watches me fidget with the sleeve of my sweater. Another quick kiss, and then he’s gone.

I start pacing as soon as I hear the door lock. I can feel myself start to panic, the adrenaline hitting me. I grab the closest object, the cereal bowl, and throw it at the door. The plastic bounces pathetically off the wooden door, and then falls to the floor.

I run to the bathroom and lock the door in case he comes back. My shaky hands take the gun out from his jacket. I'm not good with cold weapons, but I can shoot a gun. Thank God it was the one thing my father insisted on.

I weigh it in my hand, and then release the magazine. Three bullets. That's all I have. I click it back in and put it in the jacket pocket where I found it. I bring my hand up to wipe away the angry tear sliding down my cheek.

He's just going to let them take me away, like I don't matter at all.

Sliding down the tiled wall, I break out in silent sobs. It's true what they say about a thin line between love and hate. I fucking hate Devon Andre. He's brought nothing, nothing, but pain to me. His silence hurt me, his every touch scarred my skin, and I still held onto him and hoped that he'd realize some things are to be put above everything else. Love should matter.

But his love is poison, the kind that breaks you and makes you wish you were dead, if it only meant he was happy. I was ready to die at his hands because of that love.

This is it, I think, finally coming to terms with what I'll have to do. The end of the fucking road.

I’m going to have to try and save my damn self.