Vendetta

by

Sienna Lane, Autumn Karr

acknowledgements

We just wanted to say thank you to everyone for giving Vendetta a chance! We‘re completely overwhelmed with all the amazing support we’ve gotten these past four months.

Thank you to our beta readers: Trisha, Christine, Celeste, Stephanie, Michele, Jess and Megan.

Kara Brown, thank you SO MUCH, to the moon and back, for reading over V at least twenty-eight times with us (if not more!) You’ll never know how much your support means to us and your enthusiasm for the story is often why we kept going. Thanks for the late night brainstorming sessions and for never getting frustrated with us, even if we messaged you in the middle of the night panicking because Leighton and Devon won’t speak to each other.

Special thanks to Love Between The Sheets and As The Pages Turn for all their hard work. If it weren’t for you ladies, we’d probably still be “thinking about” the release blitz and the blog tour.

Thank you to Ari at Cover It! Designs! We received so many compliments on our amazing cover.

Thanks to our editor extraordinaire, Lauren McKellar. We are so glad you’re a part of V-team, and we appreciate your enthusiasm and how fast you got the book back to us.

Pepper Winters - Thank you for all your support throughout this process!

To everyone who messaged us wanting to read Vendetta, we couldn’t be more thankful for your interest and support.

We hope you enjoy Devon and Leighton’s story.

Lots of love,

Autumn Karr & Sienna Lane.

prologue

Have you ever known that you shouldn’t do something, but did it anyway? Sometimes temptation outweighs risk, want trumps all consequences.

It was one of those moments.

It was a moment that started a hurricane that would sweep us away into the world of imperfect love and vicious hate. Insatiable lust. Excruciating pain. Guilt, and temptation.

That one look. That first tentative touch. Just two people who found each other in the dark.

It was as simple as that.

And it was just as complicated.

But nothing worth having ever comes easy.

one

LEIGHTON

I slowly crouch lower behind the rusty car, hoping, no, praying that they don’t see me. How do I get myself into these situations? You’re a stupid, stupid girl, I tell myself, for coming after him here. It’s true that I often get myself in trouble, but this is crossing the line, even for me.

I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. I'll have to tell my dad, and then a man’s death will be forever on my hands. Forever on my conscience.

But I can’t not tell him. George is supposed to be loyal to him, someone he can trust, and he needs to know whatever nefarious scheme he’s planning. I knew all along George was up to no good, there’s just something insincere about his presence.

He’s a rat.

A traitor to my family.

My hands touch the wet, dirty pavement on the parking lot, making me cringe. A stray cat watches me from under the car, its eyes glowing in the dark. I stay silent and listen, only hearing snippets of their conversation, but nothing to indicate what they're talking about, not really. And he's talking to him.

Devon Andre.

I’ve never spoken to Devon before, but I’ve seen him around.

A lot.

We both pretend we don’t know the other.

It’s easier that way.

Our families don’t like each other, and I don’t know why, exactly, but I can guess. I’m not completely naïve, and though I’m not told the exact ins and the outs of the world I live in, I do know what kind of things go on. The kind of things my family, and Devon’s, too, partake in.

Devon Andre. A head of thick black hair, cut shorter in the back and longer in front, partly concealing one of his green eyes. Tall, lithe, and with just the right amount of muscle, Devon belongs on the covers of magazines.

It’s such a shame.

“Here it is,” George says, producing a legal-sized envelope. Devon looks at it, taking a step back as if the envelope was a weapon, and not just a piece of paper. He runs his hands through his hair before slowly reaching his hand out to take it, but then he turns away, bracing his wrists behind his neck.

What the hell is in that envelope? I squint, trying to get a better look, but it’s so dark and I can’t risk getting caught.

I quickly take out my phone from my handbag. If I’m going to throw around heavy accusations I’ll need proof. Just to be sure. I crawl on my knees and elbows, closer, hiding behind the car’s flat tire, to at least record their voices clearer against the waves crashing in the Boston harbor. I turn on the camera then freeze. The flash goes off, illuminating two figures standing just a few feet in front of me. Fuck. I always forget to turn the stupid thing off. Wide-eyed, I watch as their heads snap in my direction.

I hear a muttered “fuck,” and get off the ground, instinctively starting to run toward the exit but by then it’s already too late. Someone grabs for my hair, halting my escape, and I’m confronted by George’s beady eyes.

“Traitor,” I whisper loud enough for him to hear, my pleading eyes darting toward a stunned Devon.

A sharp glint catches my eye as George raises his hand, and then everything goes black.

DEVON

For a second I just stand there, watching her petite body slump to the ground. Then I snap out of it.

“What the fuck?” I whisper-shout at George as I walk to where he's looming over her unconscious body. I lean down to check if she's breathing, trying to see if she’s hurt. I don't know if she took a hit to the head when she fell, but she’s not moving.

“Shit,” George says, pacing around her, the gun he hit her with still in his hand. “Shit, she must have heard everything.” Suddenly he halts his pacing and looks at me, squaring his shoulders. “You have to go, I'll deal with this.” He drags me up and stuffs the fat yellow envelope in my hand as if it's on fire, already pushing me toward the parking lot exit.

I resist his push and look at him, disgusted. He just knocked a woman half his size out cold. I follow his calculating gaze toward her small body, making my fingers itch for the gun in my jacket pocket.

I know I shouldn't care. What the fuck is she doing here, anyway?

“Deal with this how?”

He just gives me a look.

“You can't be serious. Are you fucking nuts? If Keith finds out, you're done.”

“I'm done if I let her spill. Just mind your own damn business and get the hell out of here before someone else sees us together,” he says, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead.

Of course, now’s the time to show he’s not nearly as confident as he likes others to think.

“It's going to look suspicious if she just turns up dead,” I try to reason with him. I hate that we have to work with George. I don't know why, I just don't trust him. The fact that she probably followed him here doesn't escape me. That's how reckless he is. Unfortunately, my uncle trusts him, and he's the only man we've got on the inside.

We both freeze at the moan that resonates above the constant noise in the harbor. I stand still, waiting to see if she wakes up, gets up, screams. Something. She moans again, but it's more of a sigh this time. I exhale in relief. It takes me a second to realize George is about to hit her again. Without thinking, I push him away from her.

“I'll deal with it,” I say, already knowing it's probably the worst decision I've ever made.

What the hell do I do with her? Where do I hide her? And how the hell do I stay away from her?

Maybe it's better to let him handle it. If things go according to plan, she's better off dying now.

George’s pinched features relax, his shoulders slumping. “Just make her go away.”

I crouch and check to see if she's gained consciousness but she's still out cold, her breathing even. I get up, fold the heavy envelope and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans. Then I bend down, picking Leighton Moore up, and throw her over my shoulder, walking away from the darkness of the parking lot that just decided her destiny.

For something so small, she’s not light at all, and it's not a short walk to my car hidden in an alley a couple of blocks down. It's even longer because I have to take a couple of detour alleys, just to make sure I stay out of sight. There are cameras all over this city; someone is bound to notice a man carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulder. Not to mention that in a few hours when they realize she’s missing, someone will be looking for exactly that.

It's so fucking cold I can barely feel my limbs, and my breath’s coming out in puffs every time I breathe out. I curse as my foot slips on the icy pavement and I almost fall down. She makes a whimpering noise as I strengthen my hold, ignoring the placement of my hands on her ass.

Please don't wake up. I know the minute she wakes up she’ll start kicking and screaming and the last thing I need is attracting someone's attention to check what all the commotion is about.

I shake my head, muttering another curse. I should have just left her there. It's not like I have an overwhelming urge to play her knight in shining armor. God knows she's not a damsel in distress. The woman is poison, like all the Moores are. Unfortunately, despite what people think about me, I can't stand men hitting women, and I'm sure as fuck George wouldn't have minded taking another swing at her. We may be criminals, but we're not complete assholes.

She moans again as I put her in the backseat of my black SUV and buckle her in. I round the back, and open up the trunk, looking for something to bind her with. I shake off the fleeting thought that maybe she wouldn't fight me. It's Leighton Moore, for fuck's sake, of course she would.

Fishing out the cable ties, I go back and secure her wrists, then her ankles. It doesn't seem like enough. I don't want to see her eyes when she wakes up, which could be any second now, so I remind myself to hurry the fuck up. I take off the scarf from around her neck, feeling the silk under my fingers for just a second. Then I pull out my pocketknife, and slice it in half. I blindfold her, and then gag her with the other half.

At this point I know it’s probably overkill, but I've never kidnapped a woman before, so who knows? Plus, it's Leighton. She's not just any woman.

Of course I know Leighton Moore. I only wish I didn't.

I knew who she was the first time I laid my eyes on her. It didn’t make any fucking difference in the grand scheme of things. I was doomed to keep seeing her and not being able to do anything about it.

Shaking off that thought, I finally get in the car and start it, backing out and getting the hell away from this place.

When I'm far enough away, I pull over into a secluded woodland area on the side of the road and just sit there, my car idling. What the fuck do I do with her? I could take her to my place, I guess, but I'm barely ever there. Most of the time I’m either at my uncle’s house or I’m out, working. I take out my phone and stare at it, contemplating. I glance back at her, and realize I have no choice. I have to call my uncle.

LEIGHTON

My head aches, the throbbing sharp and unbearable.

I try to open my eyes, blinking furiously, but something's in the way.

I’ve been blindfolded.

I try to move, to sit up, but I've been restrained with something sharp cutting into my wrists tied in front of me. My ankles won't move either. My mouth is gagged with silky cloth, and I’m so parched I would give anything for some water.

I squirm on the seat, the leather squeaking under me as I try to move. I make a noise against the gag, trying to scream, but it comes out like a pathetic moan.

Whoever is driving ignores me.

The motion of the car is making me feel nauseous. I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life. I squirm again, screaming into the gag. The music volume goes up.

Fucking asshole.

Where are they taking me? Who is driving?

I can feel the seat belt against my chest, holding me in place—at least on the outside. Inside I’m screaming, frantically needing to escape. I take short breaths in and out of my nose, trying to calm myself. I can’t afford to panic right now; I need to think.

It can’t be more than thirty minutes later when the car slows, and then comes to a halt. I listen intently over the music trying to figure out what's going on—and then there’s silence. The door opens, and then slams shut.

George? Devon?

Or someone else completely?

In this case, I think I’d rather the known devil.

My door opens what feels like years, but can’t be more than minutes, later, and someone leans over to unbuckle me. I smell a hint of spicy masculine cologne, something light and expensive. Familiar. I lean in, letting the scent envelop me.

I’m gripped by my hips and pulled to the edge of the seat, and then something hard digs into my stomach as he flips me over his shoulder. I flinch at the pain in my ribs from his not-so-gentle handling. He walks quickly, taking long strides, not once faltering.

We climb some stairs, each step making my stomach queasier. His steps are even, until he stops, and I hear the telltale sound of keys clinging against each other. He doesn't put me down even while he unlocks the door. His breathing is steady, he isn’t even panting.

Devon Andre. It’s him; I know it. He throws me onto a soft bed like I'm a sack of potatoes. I bounce once, before falling face-first into the mattress. Without warning, he flips me over and takes the blindfold off.

I stare into green eyes, framed with thick black lashes.

I don't know why I feel relieved. They don't look friendly at all.

Hard, cold eyes. Sinister.

He grins, eyeing me blatantly from head to toe, and it makes me shiver.

“Leighton Moore,” he says in a mocking tone, stuffing the piece of my scarf he used to blindfold me in his jeans pocket. The sound of his voice sends chills up my spine. He leans into my personal space, keeping eye contact the whole time and untying the gag at the back of my head.

The gravity of the situation settles in around me. It's not a dream, is all I keep thinking. This is real. Shit.

He walks out of the room, leaving me alone and helpless. And really fucking confused, because I can’t think of a single reason why he would do this.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I glance around, taking in my location. My eyes scan the walls, frantically looking for a window. When they finally land on one I exhale in relief. Maybe I can get out that way.

Devon walks back in. This time I take him in, dressed in a black T-shirt that hugs his body perfectly, and jeans, his standard. He pulls a knife out of his pocket as he nears the bed, making my breath hitch.

He wouldn't.

Actually, I can't say I have any idea of what he’s capable of, but it seems I’m going to find out. I’ve never heard of him being ruthless, but who knows. Obviously he hates me enough; otherwise I wouldn’t even be here.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do something like this to a Moore?” A humorless laugh escapes his full lips. “And now I have the princess herself,” he continues, turning the knife over in his hand. “What do you think I should do to you?”

He comes closer, so close his controlled breath mingles with my shaky one. Locking his gaze to mine, he slides the ice-cold knife up my leg, from my ankle to my knee. I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the tear that slips out, streaking my cheek. His thumb catches the tear, then he brings it to his lips, his intense eyes boring into mine, and he licks it. The sick bastard. The knife continues its trail, sliding up my thigh and under the knee-length skirt I’m wearing. When he lifts the skirt up slightly, another tear escapes.

“Should I go higher?” he asks in a deep, low voice. I squeeze my eyes shut but refrain from shaking my head. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me beg. The knife gains more pressure but then he suddenly lifts it off my skin, and then I feel it cutting through the plastic tie on my wrists. I open my eyes, following his every move.

“You try anything, and I’ll kill you.” He points the tip of the knife at me when he says it, looking me over from head to toe. Over the years he’s given me a few dirty looks, but he’s never looked at me like this.

With such loathing. Like I’m nothing.

“Or maybe I’ll let my men have you before I do,” he continues, although I hear the falter in his voice. I wish it gave me hope, but I don't feel it.

He squares his shoulders, then leans down and cuts the tie holding my ankles together. I stand up as soon as I can, just to feel my legs again. He pushes me back onto the bed, where I fall against the mattress.

“Did I say you can fucking move?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest, the knife still in his right hand.

I whimper, shaking my head. He turns around to leave.

“Why did you bring me here?” I dare to ask.

His whole body stiffens, and when he turns back he gives me a slow evil grin. Shaking his head, he says, “You are not that naïve.”

DEVON

I descend the stairs from the top floor, jiggling the keys to the room I just locked Leighton in as I pass two of my uncle's men. They nod at me, but they don't say anything.

“Nobody goes up there,” I say, with as much calm as I can muster. It should be a given, but I want them to get the message loud and clear.

I may not be in charge around here, but my word still stands for something.

Inside, I'm anything but calm. The news must have spread by now that Leighton fucking Moore is locked up in a room on the top floor of a house full of people who want nothing but to harm her.

I don't live here, but it's a huge well-guarded estate, and nobody comes in or out if they're not allowed, so that should be enough to keep her inside. I hope she doesn’t try to escape, but that'd be really underestimating her. Sooner or later, she'll get an idea.

Reaching the guest room, I close the door and lock it behind me, taking off my heavy jacket and setting it on a chair in the corner. I exhale deeply, unbuttoning the top of my shirt and pulling out the envelope I stuffed in my pocket. It feels heavy and rough under my fingers. Exhausted, I slump onto the bed, stretching my neck left, then right, and running my hands through my hair. Looking for any kind of distraction, I glance around the room, at the sterile white walls and the black furniture, devoid of any personality, but it’s no good. I can't put it off anymore.

I open the envelope.

It’s different than I expected this moment to be.

There’s a deep hole somewhere inside my chest where a heart should be, because I feel nothing as I read that the skeletal remains of three bodies were found at the new high school construction site.

I feel nothing as I read that the bones belonged to a man, a woman, and a small child.

Without emotion, I go over the evidence and look at the photos of personal effects they found with the remains—a golden watch, a set of wedding rings with a date engraved on them, some disintegrated clothes. A red toy car that used to be mine.

This isn't news to me. I had eleven long years to come to terms with what I know is the truth.

My whole family is dead.

It doesn’t hurt anymore. Now, it’s a simple fact.

On a windy September night, the Moores took down my family. Rebecca, thirty-three years old, my mother. Joe, thirty-five years old, my father. And Joey. Just shy of five years old. My little brother.

For eleven years we’d had no word of them. They were just . . . gone.

There's no doubt in my mind I wasn't meant to be standing here right now. That there was supposed to be a fourth body in that unmarked, long forgotten grave. Why else would my uncle come and pick me up from boarding school the morning after they disappeared? Why else has he kept me guarded for the better chunk of my teenage years?

I’ve been waiting for solid proof for so fucking long. I figured they would try and hide the evidence, but that fucker George did his job, for once, saving the police report that was supposed to disappear.

The Moores and the Andres have been at it long before I was around. I knew that if anyone had reason to do this, it was them.

And now, we finally have proof.

I pull out the knife and the silky material from my pocket. I cut it in half, enjoying the way the sharp blade rips through the silk.

Now, I can finally get my revenge.

two

LEIGHTON

I wake up covered in sweat. When did I pass out? I lift my hand and touch my throbbing temple, wincing in pain and squeezing my eyes shut, praying that the pounding in my head goes away.

“Shit,” I curse when I replay in my mind what happened. George hit me, and Devon kidnapped me. Do they have a death wish? My dad would castrate both of them for touching me.

Any man in my family would.

I take in my surroundings. The room I’m in is decorated in black, white and red. The bed I’m lying on is plush, the smooth sheets underneath me satin. It’s not much smaller than my own room. I'd almost like it, if I wasn't here against my will.

My eyes scan the rest of it, looking for any means of escape. They clearly kidnapped the wrong girl if they think I’m going down without a fight. The sole window is barricaded by iron bars on the outside, and there are two doors on one side of the wall, one of which I assume is a closet, and one more on the opposite which I know is the way out.

I get up, and the dizziness rushes to my head, making me slump back onto the bed. I try again, this time slower, waiting for it to hit again, but it doesn't. I walk to the door silently, and slowly turn the doorknob. Locked. As I had suspected.

I try the window next, finding it sealed shut. I rattle it in its frame, but it won’t budge. And even if it would, it won’t serve any purpose. A glance through the window confirms my fears; there are no other houses or busy roads in sight. Even if I attempted to scream for help, none would come.

I walk to the two doors. One of them is a small closet, completely empty, and I give up straight away on searching it for anything that can help me escape.

The other door leads to a bathroom, and contains only one small octagon-shaped window with frosted glass. I stand up on the edge of the bathtub and try to open it, even though it’s most likely too small for me to fit through. The only thing I’m able to do is move it slightly to let fresh air in, but I’m greeted by another set of iron bars preventing anyone from getting out or in, even if I could squeeze myself through it.

Giving up on the window as a means of escape, I look around for anything I could use as a weapon. I like to think I can be pretty resourceful when I need to be. However, my search comes up empty. Unless I want to make a shank out of a toothbrush, the way my cousin Dom showed me how to do it.

The sudden emotion at the thought of him is overwhelming. Dom is the closest thing I have to a brother. After my godfather, his dad, went to prison, my dad took him in as his own son. Dom always took care of me, ever since we were children. If he were here, he’d know what to do.

I will myself not to cry, because he’s not here, so what’s the point? I could waste time feeling sorry for myself, wishing someone were here to help, but I was taught differently.

I have to fight.

I make use of the bathroom, and can’t help but pause when I pass the large mirror. My black hair is disheveled and knotty, falling down to my hips. My blue eyes are slightly red, and wide in my face. My whole right cheek is puffy and bruised, where that bastard George hit me.

He’s going to regret doing that.

I splash some water on my face, and decide to look around one more time. There has to be something I could use. Anything.

And then it hits me.

The mirror.

I look around for something to smash it with, but the only thing sturdy enough is a lamp with brass stand on the small bedside table. I guess it’s going to have to do. I use it to crack the mirror, and manage to pull out a piece of glass, cursing when I accidentally cut across my palm.

Exiting the bathroom, I look around the room to find something to wrap the piece of mirror in. My eyes land on the flimsy scarf he used to gag me. Fucking asshole. I wrap it around one end, making sure it’s as thick as I can get it so as not to cut myself again when I use it. After hiding it under my pillow, I sit back down on the bed to wait for whatever he has in store for me.

I play out various scenarios in my head, hoping to prepare myself for whatever is going to happen next. My fighting skills are limited to basic self-defense, a few classes here and there. I should have been better prepared for this moment, I realize. There’s only one thing I’m skilled in—shooting. My father insisted on it, and Dom taught me how to shoot. It doesn’t mean shit, since it’s doubtful I’ll be lucky enough to get my hands on a gun.

I don't know how much later, the door opens, and he walks inside. He’s shadowed, but I’d recognize his silhouette anywhere. He carries a plastic plate of food and a bottle of water, and places it on the floor.

On the floor. Like I’m a pet, or something.

My stomach growls loudly as the food smell hits my nose, reminding me I haven’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch.

“What do you want from me?” I ask him, trying to keep my voice strong and unwavering. I assume I’m here so he can collect a ransom from my dad, but I could be wrong. I know that he’d willingly pay whatever they want in order to get me back.

Devon stands there, watching me in silence. When he finally takes a step forward I stand up and walk straight up to him. The way he eyes me with disdain makes me bristle.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” I spit out at him, my hands trembling in fury.

“I'm pretty sure I already did.” He gives me a cocky grin that I'd really like to wipe off his face. “You're here, aren't you?” he asks, lifting his shoulder in a shrug. I move closer, invading his personal space, hoping to get any kind of reaction from him. He shakes his head, watching me in amusement. “Yeah, that's not going to work this time.”

I lift my hand to slap him but he catches it before I make contact with his face. I maneuver my leg to knee him in the balls but he blocks me just in time. I elbow him in the stomach, which is as hard as a rock, and I’m sure it hurts me more than it does him. Gripping my upper arms, he drags me through the room, pushing me face down onto the bed.

“You raise your hand to me again and you will regret it. Next time I'll send someone up here who isn’t as nice as me. Now get used to your surroundings, cause you’re going to be here for a while,” he says.

I inch my hand under the pillow searching for the piece of glass. As soon as he takes his weight off me, I turn and swing my arm, trying to cut him anywhere I can. It's a small victory when the shard makes contact with his arm, cutting his skin, but it’s nothing serious. He grabs me by the shoulder and pins me down again.

“Fuck,” he curses, taking in the weapon. I squeeze it in my hand and try to swing again, letting him know I won’t give it up. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” He pries the shard out of my clenching fingers, and then puts his hand around my neck, squeezing.

Warning.

“You move, and I’ll fucking kill you,” he growls, strengthening his grip. I let my body go limp.

He looks at his hand around my throat, and then his eyes find mine. I try to swallow, but he's practically suffocating me. He snatches his hand away and I gasp for air.

“I didn’t even think of the fucking mirror,” he mutters to himself, sounding shocked, and maybe even a little impressed. He pulls out some rope from his back pocket. His fucking pocket. The man is psychotic.

“Now, you’re going to stay here like a good girl until I clean up your mess,” he says condescendingly, binding my hands together, raising them above my head, and then tying them to the iron headboard. “Try and move, and you'll regret it.”

I can still feel his fingers wrapped around my throat. I fucking despise him.

He strides out of the room, coming back with a bag, dustpan and broom, and various tools. I ignore him as he cleans up, and when I hear the drill I know he’s taking down the rest of the mirror. I squirm, trying to remove the binds, but he’s tied them too tight. Bastard must have been a boy scout or something. Just my luck.

“Anything else up your sleeve?” he asks, chuckling as he walks past the bed and outside the door, the broken mirror in his arms.

I bang my head on the headboard. Seven fucking years of bad luck, all for nothing.

This time he comes back empty handed. He leans over me, untying me, and frowns when he sees the blood dripping down my palm. I rub my wrists as he leaves once more. Each time he locks the door behind him, obviously not taking any chances. He returns what must be half an hour later, carrying a huge bag.

“Clothes, toiletries and shit,” he says, dumping the bag on the floor. Then he surprises me by throwing me a package of Band-Aids.

I look at him curiously, my eyes dancing between the Band-Aids and him.

“Don't want any more blood on my sheets.”

I narrow my eyes. Fucking asshole. I grab for the package, taking out one Band-Aid. His gaze burns through me, but I ignore him. I apply it to the cut across my palm, and then I touch the side of my face, trying not to wince in pain. “I could use some painkillers, too,” I tell him.

“Yeah. Tough luck,” he says, shrugging.

“Why the hell are you being so mean?” I never thought he would be like this. The Devon in my head is someone else completely.

“I'm just being me.” His words are cold, emotionless. Realization hits me—this really is him, no matter what I made him out to be in my head.

“Look . . . ” I say, but his back is already turned to me. Without sparing me another glance, he leaves.

The sound of the lock is final, and echoes throughout the room.

I want to call out, I want to beg for some answers, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

How is this going to play out?

I try to make up some plan in my head. I might not be able to fight him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up. Obviously I can't escape, not without some heavy strategizing.

My stomach rumbles. I can still smell the food he brought in. I'm so hungry, but I’m not stupid enough to eat it. Who knows what he did to it?

I sit on the bed, wrapping my arms around my legs. I put my head down on my knees, and allow myself a moment's weakness.

How the hell am I going to get out of here?

* * *

Devon walks in a couple of hours later and studies me where I sit, huddled on the bed.

“Nice to see you’ve calmed down,” he says dryly. I don’t respond, my eyes darting to the door behind him.

“Don’t even bother. I really don’t have it in me for another round with you,” he says, taking a seat on the chair across from the bed, rubbing his hand over his face. I notice he has his arm patched up, and it gives me a secret thrill.

“You said you’ll kill me,” I tell him, shrugging. What did he expect, that I’d just sit here and wait for whatever he has in store for me? He should have known I’d keep fighting.

“Look.” He raises his head, pinning me with his emerald stare. “This situation is what it is. You're only here because of your own stupidity. You knew better than to follow people like us to dark places and expect to walk away. But you got caught, and the reality is that you’re here and need to be dealt with. I’m the only person standing between you and instant death right now. Everyone else in this place wants you gone.”

“And what do you want?” I ask, pulling the sheets closer to my body.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it and runs his hand through his hair. He gets up from the chair and eyes the untouched food on the floor, frowning. “Don't worry about that,” he finally says, bending down to pick it up. His shirt rides up, revealing his tanned back for just a second, and I think there’s something wrong with my brain for ogling him after everything that happened since last night. “For the time being, you need to stay here, and I’m warning you right now not to cause any trouble.”

My eyes snap to his, narrowing. He wants me to be his good little prisoner. Yeah, that'll happen.

“And if I do?” I ask.

He heaves a frustrated sigh, looking up at the ceiling.

“Then you die, Leighton,” he states. The way he says it, his tone perfectly even, as if he doesn’t care either way, has me panicking.

Although Devon and I haven’t spoken before, we have seen each other plenty of times over the years. A party here, a night out there—it was impossible to ignore him. People in these circles tend to flock together. If I said we grew up together it would technically be true, although we never socialized—at least not in the usual way.

It just feels wrong that he would want to intentionally hurt me. The way he's looking at me tells me he's serious, though. Apparently, I will get no compassion from Devon Andre.

“What are my chances of getting out of here alive?” I ask, deciding I have nothing to lose at this point.

Devon looks down at the floor for a few moments. And then he leaves without a word.

three

DEVON

I shouldn't have brought her here. The thought echoes in my mind as I sit in my uncle's office discussing this new turn of events regarding my parents. Everyone's putting their two cents in about what should come next, the excitement palpable in the room. But I'm not listening to any of it; instead, I'm wondering how I got myself into this mess.

Over the years, I’ve had many theories as to who it was that killed my family. Apart from us Andres, there are three other big families in Boston—two more Italian, and an Irish one.

We’re good with the Potenzas, but that’s a recent development. Seeing as they operate outside of the city at their headquarters in Rhode Island, I never even suspected them. Either way, they have their own worries. A couple of months ago someone set up a bomb in Anthony Potenza’s car. No one important died, only the driver, but there were rumors it was an inside job.

The Fermis are a Jewish-Italian family. Word is, they have been lying low after a bust a couple of years ago, but I still see their men doing business. Neither family had any reason to want my father dead. If anything, we co-existed peacefully in this city, our paths crossing a couple of times, but nothing mention-worthy ever happened between us.

The Moore clan, Leighton’s family, is a different story. There’s been some bad blood between them and the Andres even before I was born. Mostly it comes down to one thing: the warehouses, all over Chelsea. During the Prohibition the Moores controlled them, using them as storage for smuggling alcohol, until one of their bosses lost the control in a poker game. Pat Moore, Leighton’s great grandfather, lost them to a young Mario Andre, my grandfather.

It didn’t go down so well. Pat ordered a hit on my grandfather, but was taken down himself—by his own men, leaving a wife and two sons behind. They’ve been under our control ever since, but the Moores still claim warehouses belong to them.

It’s a pride thing.

It made the most sense that Leighton’s father, Keith Moore, would act on it. According to Stevie, my uncle’s right-hand man, who’d worked for my father as well, the feds were busting left and right during that time. No one was paying attention to what the Irish were doing.

“Devon,” my uncle says. I snap out of my musings, and look around to find three sets of eyes looking at me impatiently. Not my uncle, though. Frank's face gives nothing away. I focus my attention on him. “I need to talk to you after we're done here.”

You wouldn't think much of it, the way he says it in a monotonous voice, but everyone knows not to assume anything by the way he talks or looks at you, even more so if there are other people around, like his men. It could be a big deal, or maybe it's not. My mind wanders to that room on the third floor.

It might be a big deal.

“Yes, sir.” I don't call him Uncle. When my parents disappeared and he came to get me from school, on the way home he said things would have to be different now. He wouldn't be my uncle anymore, and he couldn't play favorites. I'd be one of his men and soon, I would have to prove myself.

I was thirteen years old. And I'd only seen him a handful of times before that.

His two men take this as their cue to leave and I watch them retreat, but Stevie doesn't move.

People underestimate Stevie. He may not look like much—short, bulky, and not threatening at all—but then again, neither does my uncle. Stevie is lethal when he needs to be. That's why my uncle keeps him close. That was why my father kept him close, too.

I throw a wary glance toward Stevie, unsure if I should speak about Leighton in front of him, but my uncle gets straight to the point.

“The girl?” he asks, not looking at me when he says it. He busies himself reading over the papers, the gory details of my family's demise.

“Third floor, the big bedroom,” I answer.

Stevie gives me a strange look, and then exchanges a meaningful one with Frank. I feel like I just failed a test. “That isn’t exactly prisoner accommodations,” he says dryly.

“It’s secure,” I reply, keeping my voice flat.

“You know, I didn’t think you had it in you,” my uncle says, giving me a once over and nodding. “I wouldn't think you'd bring her here, straight to the vultures.”

I shouldn't have. Normally, I wouldn't have, either. I don’t give him an answer, and he doesn’t seem to expect one. He never does.

“She’s a looker, that Leighton Moore,” Stevie says, studying me. His gaze doesn’t waver. I want to squirm under it, but I stand still and lift my shoulder in a shrug.

“Her beauty doesn’t change her blood.”

Stevie chuckles, and it's a chilling sound.

“Don’t be swayed by her looks. She’s just a woman,” Frank says. “If you want to get her out of your system, then by all means have at it. But don't fuck this up.”

The fact that he assumes I’m attracted to her has me worried. Someone must have said something to give him that impression, because there's no way he knows me well enough to make that assumption by himself. Maybe one of his men has seen me eyeing her in the past, because God knows I've probably done it. I need to nip this in the bud before it goes any further.

“A pretty face is just a pretty face, you should know this better than anyone,” I say, keeping my expression serious. His face sours at my words.

Izzie, Frank's wife, had to be taken care of because Stevie had her followed and it turned out she worked for the Moores. My uncle didn't seem too broken-up about it, but who knows? I think, more than anything, his pride was wounded.

“That it is,” Stevie adds, as if he read my thoughts. Frank keeps his eyes locked to mine, searching for something. I hold his gaze, giving nothing away. Seemingly satisfied, he slides the papers my way across his desk, pointing with his fingers toward them. I take the papers, hoping my fingers don’t tremble, even though I read this over and over the night before.

Unidentified skeletal remains. Wedding rings. A red toy car. I read the words. I repeat them in my head so many times I start to feel sick.

“This is who she is,” he finally says, gesturing to the report. I nod, because I know what he's saying. She's a Moore, and they're poisonous snakes. “I expect you'll handle it when the time comes.”

“Yes,” I say, but my voice falters. I clear my throat. “You have nothing to worry about; I'll take care of it.”

* * *

I don't know why I knock on her door before I unlock it. She's nowhere in sight but I hear the shower running. I put the bag of takeout down on the bedside table, and then sit in the chair in the corner.

I scan the familiar room. Nothing looks out of place, but I'm sure she turned it upside down trying to either find a way out, or something else to attack me with. It pissed me off this morning, but now I'm just amused. I'd never have thought of the mirror.

A couple of minutes later she walks out wearing a silky bathrobe, every curve of her body perfectly outlined in it, the hem reaching just under her ass. I should have gone and got her the clothes myself, because I'd never have picked out something so revealing. Her wet hair is hanging all the way to her waist. It’s a tangled mess of ebony as she runs her fingers through it, and then twists it up and over her shoulder. My fingers itch to follow hers.

Her back is turned to me and for a second I just take in the elegant way she moves, her feet making no sound as she makes her way across the room. My eyes trail up her toned calves and higher to the hem of the robe, hungry for more.

She stills for a moment when she sees the food, but she still doesn't acknowledge me at all. She unties the sash, letting the material fall down her shoulders. My eyes linger on the curve of her neck, and then follow the robe as it slips further down, revealing a body that could bring a man to his knees. She trails her fingers down her side, her every move so deliberate. I can almost feel her soft flesh under my fingertips as my eyes follow the path of her hands.

I hate what it does to me. I should never think of her body as something so perfect. I know there’s a reason I should just stand up and walk out of the room, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it is right now. I was always forgetful of things that matter in her presence.

I'm hard in less time than it takes me to get up and walk over to her. Somehow I find myself standing behind her as I tangle my fingers into her hair, pressing myself into her back. She spins around, placing her palms on my chest, and pins me with her icy blues, unashamed that all of her is flush against my body, the only thing separating us my clothes. Her hand fists my shirt, her gaze unwavering from mine. I recognize the look she’s giving me, daring me. Go on, she says with those eyes. Touch me.

I want to touch her, so bad.

I relax my fist in her hair, then clear my throat and avert my gaze, hating myself for this moment of sudden weakness. I inspect the white wall to my right while she releases me and walks over to the bed and puts some clothes on.

Game over.

“Devon.” My name on her lips grates on my nerves. It’s the first time I hear her say it. She sounds a lot more composed than she did last night and this morning. Either she's putting up a front, or she actually realized her theatrics won’t get her far. I wouldn’t expect anything less from her.

“Leighton,” I say, trying to put some venom in it, but even to my own ears it doesn’t sound like a curse. I shift on my feet uncomfortably, and her eyes snap to my crotch. My erection is still clearly visible, and draws a satisfied little smirk on her lips. I walk over to the door and open it to leave.

“It’s safe,” I say, pointing to the food on the bedside table before I walk out and lock her in again. I lean my forehead against the coolness of the door and pull my phone out of my pocket.

“Hales,” I say after she picks up. “I really need your help right now.”

I’m staying the hell away from this room.

LEIGHTON

I can’t stop the smirk that curves my lips. Devon may try to appear unaffected by me, but I know otherwise.

I walk toward the food he brought in: a club sandwich and fries. I don’t ask myself why exactly I believed him the instant he told me the food was safe, I just have a feeling that it is. I try to pace myself, but my hunger takes over, and I end up inhaling the whole thing. I sip the water, and then put it down, exhaling heavily.

What next? I am so damn bored in here, there are only so many hours that I can sleep and plot revenge. I wish I had a book, a music player . . . something. I’m going crazy. I stretch out my arms above my head. I realize that I need to stay active somehow. I know that the second I get the chance, I’m going to run, and I’m going to need to keep my strength up.

My mind drifts back to Devon. Aside from scaring me to death last night with that knife, he hasn't done me any harm. George hit me, not Devon. I know that doesn’t mean Devon isn’t planning something. I’ve quickly realized he’s no choirboy, but at least it gives me a little hope.

Watching him over the years, hearing rumors about him, I’ve learned a thing or two about Devon. When he turned eighteen and his uncle finally gave him more familial obligations everyone expected him to fail, proclaiming him the spoiled, good-for-nothing nephew. For some reason, he was never in the business before, at least, not in a way anyone knows about. Now he’s both feared and respected, running their operations without a hitch.

I never doubted him for a second.

And women—they love him. I was always curious about why he's not much of a man-whore as his looks and position would allow him to be. He lets them down easy, politely, but he doesn’t engage them. Word is he likes quality, not quantity.

I try to keep the bitterness out of my thoughts. If he weren't keeping me locked up in this stupid room, I'd almost respect him.

I take the hairbrush from the bathroom and run it through my hair, not wanting to deal with the inevitable knots if I were just to leave it. The side of my face still hurts, but not as much. At least that’s what I try to tell myself. The truth is I’ve never been hit before. I run my hand gently down from my temple to my jaw. Since he took the mirror, I can’t even check to see how it looks, or if it’s getting any better.

My dad would flip out if he saw me like this. They must be out looking for me by now. If anyone would notice I’m gone, it’s Dom. I wonder how long it will take him to find me, to figure out that George is a fucking traitor and that he’s planning something with the Andres.

I walk to the bed and sit down, tapping my foot on the ground. The silence is killing me. How long are they going to leave me like this? I should be grateful that I’m here, not locked up in the basement or getting tortured or killed, but I assume they’re going to try something eventually, so why wait? I really need to figure out their game plan. Is Devon the only one I will see? Or will there be others?

I hate this.

Not knowing.

Being at his mercy.

Being weak.

I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow hard. Hold it together, Leighton. I quickly wipe away the lone tear that drifts down my cheek. I refuse to let him see me like this, let him know that he made this of me.

I'm a Moore.

I’m sure as hell not going to make it easy for him.

* * *

Hours later, the door finally opens, and I am fully expecting Devon to walk through. Instead, a tall slim girl enters. I eye her warily, not knowing what to expect. She seems familiar somehow, but I can't put my finger on it.

Neither of us moves. She tucks her curly blonde hair behind her ear, her wide, blue eyes trained on me. She's wearing black jeans paired with a white blouse and black boots. Stylish, yet casual, and all designer. The floral scent of her perfume drifts through the room.

“You must be hungry,” she says in a soft voice as she places some food on the side table. She picks up the bag of trash from the last meal and puts it on the floor outside the door, pushing it further away with her foot. I think she's going to leave, but she comes back in, closing the door behind her and looking as if she wants to say something. My gaze rakes over her, sizing her up.

I could so take her.

“Whatever you're thinking, you better stop it. There are two guards standing just down the hall,” she says, amusement dancing in her blue eyes. “Men everywhere.”

Of course there are.

I stare at her for a moment, watching her body language, the expression on her face. She’s not bluffing.

“I’m Hayley,” she says, taking a seat in the same wooden chair Devon sat in earlier. She places her arms on each side of it and studies me.

“Make yourself at home in my humble prison,” I say dryly, leaning over to see what food she brought me. A burger and fries.

“I just thought you could use some company. You must be bored out of your mind,” she says, watching me as I eat the burger.

“And who are you, exactly?” I ask her, picking up my burger. I don't bother denying the boredom.

“Hayley,” she repeats. I lift my head up and stare directly into her eyes. They’re clear and friendly and I see no anger or hate lurking behind her calm façade, but some people are good at faking that sort of thing.

“I meant who are you in the grand scheme of things, Hayley?” I ask her, taking a bite of the burger.

“I’m a family friend of the Andres,” she says, glancing around the room curiously.

“Whose room is this?” I ask her, continuing with my meal. Her curiosity has piqued my own.

She shrugs, but doesn’t answer my question, so I continue. “Do you know what’s going to happen to me?”

“I don’t know what they plan on doing with you, Leighton Moore, but the least I can do is drop by and keep you company now and again,” she says.

“Can you bring me a television?” I ask hopefully. I hate to ask for anything from these people, but I need something to amuse myself. And Hayley doesn't seem so bad. I stop that thought. She must know I'm here against my own free will.

Hayley purses her lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

With that she gets up and leaves, offering me a sympathetic smile before the door locks behind her. Her sympathy pisses me off.

I finish my meal, forcing myself to eat everything offered.

With nothing else to do with my time, I have the longest shower in history. Looking through the clothes I’ve been given, I choose a pair of yellow sweats and a snug T-shirt. Who chose these clothes? I have so many questions, and no freaking idea about any of them.

The next time I see Devon, I’m going to demand some answers.

DEVON

“So, you're holding Leighton Moore locked up, eh?” Hayley says when she finds me in my uncle’s library, my head in my hands. It’s the only place in this mausoleum of a house where I can actually think, and after what happened earlier I need to clear my head.

I say nothing. She knows who Leighton is, just like I do.

“God, Devon. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking, Hales, that I’m almost there. And she was in the way.” It seems like a plausible excuse. Hayley knows all my theories about who's responsible for my family’s disappearance and, well, death. I'd hate to admit to her I only brought Leighton here because I didn't want George killing her just like that—it seems stupid when you think about it. She's not any safer from me.

“Hey.” Hayley puts her hand on my shoulder and I look up at her, a golden halo around her head from the lights behind her. I always thought she looked like an angel with her beautiful blonde hair and those baby blue eyes. “What's going on?”

“They found them,” I say, my voice breaking. “The new high school construction site.”

“So? This is nothing new,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, sitting next to me. If it was anyone else I might have been offended, but Hayley accepted the truth long ago, the same way I did. “This is what we needed. Do we have a plan?”

I'm not surprised that she's including herself in these plans, whatever they are. My uncle is letting me call the shots on this one, as they discussed this morning. Because it's personal to me. Like they weren't his family, too.

This is the ultimate test. I know what he expects, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it, too. And even if I didn't, he wouldn't let it slide.

“An eye for an eye,” I tell her, letting the words settle around us. I don't feel any different for finally voicing my plan.

Hayley nods, squeezing my shoulder harder. She was always supportive of my decisions, whatever they were. It's what best friends do. Or, best friends and ex-girlfriends, in Hayley's case. She's the only person in this world I'd trust with my life.

I met her in front of her father's office the day after my parents disappeared. Her dad is the DA, Mackenzie Fletcher. My father and he grew up together. When my uncle got me from boarding school, the first place we stopped was their house. I sat on the hallway floor, my arms limp at my sides, when she approached, carrying some chocolate in her hands. She shared it with me, and held my hand while they talked inside, not saying a word.

We've been inseparable since, though I never felt her father approved. I’m not exactly the kind of person someone like him would want his daughter to associate with.

For a while we just sit there in a comfortable silence.

“If you can't let it go . . . ” she says.

“I can't let it go. It's not right, and I owe it to them,” I say, my voice gaining more conviction with each word.

“She wants a television.” Hayley changes the subject, amusement lacing her voice. “The girl is held prisoner by the nephew of a sworn enemy, and she wants a television.”

“I'll get her something. Will you help me out with her?”

“Why, are you scared of that little girl?” she asks.

“She’s not that much younger than you. And, if you were me, you wouldn't go in there either.” I give her a pointed look.

“Oh my God,” she says in mock outrage. “She didn't?”

I groan out in exasperation and lean my head on the wall behind me, looking up. “Oh, she did,” I say as a vivid image of Leighton's naked little body plays in my head. I swallow hard, hating myself for the pang of regret I feel for walking out of her room.

“Wow, I'm actually impressed she'd dare to try and seduce the unattainable Devon Andre,” she says, thoughtful. She turns to me, and her lips curve into a smirk. “Like you'd fall for that. Doesn't she know anything about you?”

I swallow hard, remembering my weakness.

four

LEIGHTON

I didn’t ask for a TV so I could catch up on the latest reality shows, even though that's clearly going to be a plus.

As soon as Hayley leaves the room after delivering my TV, I turn on the local news. I know the way my dad works. If he thinks I went missing unrelated to business, he'd call in his police contacts. I'd probably be on the news as a missing person.

On the other hand, if he had any idea that I’m missing because of who I am, because of him, he wouldn’t call the police. He'd keep a lid on it, and deal with it on his own. I definitely wouldn't be on the news, if that were the case.

I watch news station after news station for two hours, my vision blurring from staring at the TV so much, but nothing. My dad must have his own suspicions about my disappearance.

I exhale in relief. Just a little while longer. I hope.

I’ve noted Devon's absence, and wonder what, exactly, he’s doing. Hayley's been coming here for three days straight, breakfast, lunch and dinner. No sign of him.

And who is Hayley to Devon? She's been nothing but nice to me, but I know better, and people like that usually don’t exist if they are in any way related to one of the families. No one lives like us and remains completely unscathed, entirely innocent.

I watch show after show, passing the time. If the Andres don’t kill me, boredom surely will.

I wake up early the next morning, having fallen asleep with the TV on. I turn it off and have another long shower—it’s not like I have anything better to do. I dress in denim shorts and a tank top, and walk out into the room barefoot.

I’m surprised to see Devon standing there, placing down my food on the bedside table. The slight flinch he makes when his eyes meet mine lets me know that he was hoping to leave without being seen. Well, I guess that answers why he hasn't been around. He’s been avoiding me since the other night.

“Devon,” I greet, walking toward him.

He glances at the TV, and then back toward me without a word, but he takes a step back. He has a few days’ stubble on his face that I can’t help but find attractive. I always liked him like that.

“Thanks for the TV. Could you bring me some books to read?” I ask him, adding a flirty smile. He licks his top lip once before he answers.

“Tell Hayley what you want, and I’ll get it for you,” he says, his voice steady. He crosses his arms against his chest, a dominant stance. I notice that he stares into my eyes, but his gaze doesn’t roam. Not once since I've walked out from the bathroom has he looked at my body.

“Well, aren’t you accommodating?” I say sweetly, coming closer to him.

“That’s not going to work on me, Leighton. I’m a little different than the men who usually pant after you,” he says, his voice gaining strength.

“I know,” I say, holding my palms up, hiding the sting. I shrug casually. “Just an attempt at some friendly conversation.”

He narrows his eyes, then turns to leave.

“What are you going to do with me, Devon?” I ask his retreating back, my voice losing its vibrato.

He turns back around and his green eyes bore into mine. I know that my own are pleading, but right now I don’t give a fuck. I need something, anything.

“I don’t know,” he admits as he walks out, locking the door behind him.

DEVON

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I'm about to tell my uncle about the decision I made.

An eye for an eye.

I've known I’d do it the second George called to say he has something for me, but I wanted to think that I'm a better man than that. Once I tell my uncle about it, it's done. It's set in stone and . . . innocents are going to die in the crossfire. For a brief moment I even consider just calling it off, but then I remember.

There are no innocents in our world. We are born tainted.

I raise my hand to knock on the wooden door, letting it hover there for a second.

“You going in or not?” a voice booms behind me, startling me. Stevie looks at me expectantly, in that either-go-in-or-move kind of way.

“Yeah,” I say as I finally knock. Stevie shakes his head, moving past me, and opens the door.

I'd never just go in like that. Ever since that ride home eleven years ago I've known where the boundaries are, and I've kept to them. He's not my uncle, he's Frank, sir, and I'm one of his men. An employee. Simple as that.

Stevie goes in and I follow. We find Frank sitting in his massive leather chair, papers scattered all over his desk. The office is cold, and has dark walls and furniture. I don’t know how he spends all his time in here. He's gesturing with his hands as he speaks on the phone, his thin brows scrunched up, but that's the only sign that he's displeased. My uncle doesn't have an angry face. I guess, being who he is, he can't let his emotions be on display for everyone to see.

“I found your boy outside,” Stevie tells him after he hangs up. Frank and I flinch simultaneously at Stevie calling me his boy. I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous it is.

People always assume we're close because we're family, the only ones left of our blood. They comment on the way we look alike, green eyes, dark hair, so much so we could pass as brothers—he's not old enough to be my father. He was a twenty-four-year-old, just out of college, when my family died, and I, the scrawny thirteen-year-old, became his responsibility.

Frank looks at me, his features composed into perfect indifference. He nods his head, and that's the only acknowledgement I get.

“Keith goes last,” I say after I tell them I want them all dead. “I want him to see.”

Stevie looks at me, surprise and . . . pride at my cruelty evident on his face. He looks at Frank, who nods, not a trace of approval or anything.

“We've got the Moore girl to deal with, as well,” he says, and my uncle gives another non-committal nod. Now it's my turn to look surprised. My eyes dance between the two of them.

It doesn’t sit right with me, at all, that they've obviously been talking about the whole situation behind my back.

“I'll handle it, I already told you,” I say, hoping they didn't make a decision without me.

Stevie doesn't look convinced. I don't know what else I have to do to prove I'm worthy of being one of them. I'm not weak; they both know this. I've “handled” things before, dealt with problems. But for some reason Stevie always tested me, pushed me to do more, probably expecting me to fail like everyone else. I never did.

“I trust that you will,” my uncle finally says. Stevie's shoulders slump in defeat. “Do you have a plan?”

LEIGHTON

“You need cable,” Hayley says, putting her bare feet up on the bed. I glare at her, both happy I have some company and suspicious of her reason for being here at the same time.

She never talks about herself, and she dodges any questions about Devon, almost expertly so, like she's used to doing it.

“Ask the boss if we can get some,” I say dryly.

“I will,” she replies, ignoring my tone.

“What do you get out of being here?” I emphasize the “you”.

“The pleasure of your company?”

“I’m serious,” I say, my tone losing its playfulness.

“Look.” She sits up on the bed, leaning on her elbows. “If you want me to leave, I will.” She moves to stand up.

“Stay,” I grumble, hating the fact that I’m so desperate for any contact, even that of the enemy.

She grins, knowing she has me.

“So, are they ransoming me to my father?” I ask her.

Her face instantly goes blank, her blue eyes emotionless. “I don’t know what’s going on, Leighton. They just asked me to keep you company, and here I am, okay?”

“They or he?"

“What do you mean?" she says, so obviously pretending she doesn't know what I'm asking her.

“Fine,” I huff at her evasiveness.

She raises one finely arched brow. “Don’t be like that. I even brought you my reader to borrow.”

“Really?” I ask, perking up. Instantly my mind wonders if it has Wi-Fi on it.

“Yes, really. It’s my old one, no Internet access, so you’ll have to do with what I have on it,” she says, killing my hope. She gets up and walks over to her handbag lying on the chair, pulling out a reader in a pink leather case. She comes back and hands it to me.

“You are the best,” I tell her in a sing-song voice, ignoring the pang of disappointment. I turn it on, and browse through the books on the first page.

“Kinky girl, aren’t ya?” I tease.

She laughs. “Hey, you’ve probably already read them.”

I skim the titles, not wanting to admit I have, in fact, read most of them.

“Busted,” she croons. I can’t help it. I laugh.

“Thanks,” I tell her, meaning it.

“No problem. There's a shitload of books on there, so it should keep you busy for a while.”

“Do you think you could do me one more huge favor?” I ask her hesitantly, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

“Depends on what it is,” she says, her brows furrowing.

“I’ve never gone this long without drawing or painting. If you could get me a sketch pad and some pencils, at least, I would really appreciate it,” I say to her softly.

“I’ll ask Devon,” she says, with a tilt of her head.

“Where is he these days, anyway?” I ask her curiously. Apart from that one run in two days ago, when he obviously didn't want to be caught, he's been noticeably absent.

She eyes me for a moment, tapping her cheek with her index finger. The bright red polish on her fingernail is a shocking contrast against her pale skin. “He’s a busy man.”

“Kidnapping would be a full-time job,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Sure,” I agree. It’s almost too easy to forget that Hayley isn’t my friend, and this isn’t a casual day hanging out. She’s here out of duty, and I’m here because I have no option.

I’m their prisoner.

It's been at least a week since I've been here. How come nothing has happened yet? Has my father found out where I am by now?

I watch the TV but my mind is working, mulling over these thoughts. This guessing game of what's going to happen next is exhausting me. So far, it's been really anti-climatic.

But I don't want to be caught off guard. I just hope, when the shit hits the fan, I'll be ready for it.

DEVON

I walk the narrow hallway leading to the library. I consider a detour, going up to check on Leighton, my resolve to stay away from her room faltering for a second. I remind myself that she has Hayley if she needs anything, and me going up there . . . is not a good idea.

Sooner or later I'm going to have to tell her what's going on. I'm sure she thinks I'll let her go, eventually. I've never been a menace to her—most of the time I ignored her. Or maybe she thinks that we're holding her hostage in exchange for something from her father—money, property, information. Maybe she's hoping her father will come to her rescue.

I dread having to tell her my intentions, but how can I not? She should know what her family did, what they took from me. She should understand why I'm doing this to her. It’s not going to change her fate, but at least she will get the answers she deserves.

Reaching the library, I slump in the sofa facing the fireplace. I look around, exhaling deeply. There's a sense of tranquility in here. I'd like to say I came here as a child, getting lost in the books, but I have no idea what books there are even on the massive built-in shelves lining the three walls. My eyes find the large family portrait hanging above the fireplace, a photo we took, my father, mother, and I, Joey in my mother's arms, still just a baby. I don't remember posing for it but I've seen it plenty of times.

Frank had it painted and hung it above the fireplace. He knew I spent a lot of time here and wanted me to have a reminder of them, to give me a place of comfort. I smile at my foolish thoughts. I could only wish he was so thoughtful. He probably did it out of some sense of duty to keep the memory of his older brother and his family.

The story of my mother and father is a bittersweet one. They loved each other, I remember that like it was yesterday, but she gave up everything she knew to be with him. My mother was an all-American girl, a middle class daughter of a schoolteacher and a dentist. Her parents opposed the marriage heavily, knowing who my father was and where he came from. Who wouldn’t? She married him regardless, and her family practically disowned her. After all, she did marry a criminal—but the heart wants what it wants.

I look up into her kind eyes, knowing that she wouldn’t like the man I’ve become.

Small hands land on my shoulders, massaging my tense muscles. I lean in to her touch and slump even further into the sofa.

“Tough day?” Leighton says and I freeze. What the fuck is she doing in here? Her hands still and leave my shoulders, no doubt realizing the shift in my mood.

Hayley's face fills my line of vision and I shake my head, trying to clear my confusion but it's not helping. I smile at her uneasily and she beamsback, lighting up the whole room with her smile, relaxing me just a little. She sits down on the sofa, facing me, and props her head on her hand, waiting for me to answer her question.

“Yeah, we had trouble with some paperwork.” My eyes scan her face for any clue she’s realized how unsettled I am about what just happened. I think, rationally, she can't know I just fucking hallucinated Leighton's voice, but I'm paranoid as hell. She could always read me like an open book; that’s why we didn't work out as a couple, she knew I wasn't in it one hundred percent. Not that she was, either.

An experiment, she called our relationship. An experiment that failed.

She just nods in understanding, knowing I won't elaborate because it’s a lie. We don’t keep paperwork and she knows it. I've always tried to keep her out of the business, something I know her father probably appreciates.

“Well, I'm exhausted,” she says, groaning. “That girl is seriously high maintenance, not even kidding.”

“Thank you for handling it,” I say, cringing at the word “handling.” She gives me an amused glance, like I have nothing to thank her for, but she has no idea how much she's helping me by babysitting Leighton.

“Eh, she's not that bad, actually.”

My head snaps to her, suddenly curious. Hayley and I, we're not the most social people, maybe because we always had each other to lean on. So, her admitting to not absolutely hating Leighton's company should stand for something.

“What?” she asks, getting defensive. “She's nice. And we have a lot in common. Did you know she's an artist? I was so surprised.”

I know a lot about her, actually. Of course, I know what everyone knows, like whom she hangs out with, the places she frequents, who her friends are. It's impossible not to know these things about her.

But I know things about her I shouldn’t, too. Yeah, I know she’s an artist. An amazing one, at that.

I wait for Hayley to continue, but she gives me nothing else. I want to smack myself for even considering asking more about Leighton.

“She's far from nice, Hales. Don't let her fool you,” I say instead. Hayley gives me a dismissive huff, and I realize she's warming up to Leighton. “You shouldn't get close to her, you know that.” I try to make eye contact while I say it to show her how serious I am about this, but she avoids my gaze.

“I promised her a sketchpad and some drawing supplies,” she continues, ignoring me.

“No pencils,” I say without even giving it a thought. “Nothing sharp.”

She groans, palming her face in exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

I shrug, but I don't answer her. It's a weapon; she should know this.

“Wow, you really made her out to be the devil in your head, didn't you?”

“You don't know her,” I tell her in the calmest voice I can muster. I'm being unreasonable, but I don't trust her not to hurt Hayley, and I can't have that on my conscience. What would she do to get out? Would she kill? I think she would.

“Well, you don't know her, either,” Hayley says, folding her arms against her chest.

“I know who she is. That's enough for me.”

“Does she know about any of this, Devon?” Hayley asks after a beat.

“No.”

“I thought so.” Hayley sighs dramatically and stands up, straightening imaginary wrinkles from her shirt. She fishes out the keys to Leighton's room and throws them on the sofa next to me. “I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

I want to argue, but that would be unfair as well. She spent close to a week with the girl. I don't know why I didn't expect they'd at least form some sort of friendship.

“Just for a week or two,” she assures me, and I relax, thankful she's not abandoning me after all. “I need to distance myself. I know what must be done,” she finishes, determination lacing her voice.

She walks to the door and stands there for a second, contemplating something. “She's been asking about you,” she says, and exits the library, closing the door behind her.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I get up and start pacing the room. Of course she's been asking about me because why the hell would she miss an opportunity to play with my head? At least when she wasn't here I could avoid her, and focus on things that were important. But knowing that she's just three flights of stairs above me makes it impossible for me to think straight.

I should kill her now. I stop dead in my tracks, seriously considering it. I can't let her live anyway, so what's the point of all this torture? A hollow laugh rips out of my throat, because I know I won't do it until I absolutely have to. So I'll continue to fucking torture myself.

My eyes land on the keys, and I make a snap decision. I grab them and stride with purpose out of the library. I consider stopping at the guest room to get my gun, just in case I decide I should do it, but dismiss that idea after only a few seconds. I climb up to the third floor and unlock her door.

She's asleep on the bed, the sheets twisted around her legs. And she's only wearing her underwear. Of course.

I look at her, and really take in her every curve, her smooth skin, her parted lips. My fingers itch to run through her hair, and I clench my fists. Asleep like this, she almost looks innocent. Almost.

I watch her sleeping, allowing myself another moment of weakness. At least this time she's not awake to witness it. I match my breathing to hers, following the rise and fall of her breasts, calming myself down. I walk over to my chair and sit down.

And wait.

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.

“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.

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.

I shake my head. He nods once, and leaves the room without looking back.

I stare at the door for a few minutes after he leaves, wanting him to come back, but needing him not to.

I bury myself into the chair, his chair, and let the tears put me to sleep.

ten

DEVON

I drop off her breakfast, and try to talk to her, but she ignores me. Hours later, when I bring her lunch, it’s the same thing again. She doesn't say anything to me at all, doesn't even spare me a glance. But at least she eats the food.

How much of a jerk was I, leaving her like that to go and see another woman? Even if I had done it, if I lost myself in Amber, it would never compare.

She's drawing, a lot. The first sketchpad is full, and when I first stole a glance at what she's been drawing, it caught me off guard. Why I deserve to be the focus of her drawings is beyond me. She shouldn’t waste her talent on me.

I'm the monster that brought her here. I'm the monster that's going to take everything away from her, until she's gone as well.

What the fuck was she doing in that parking lot, following George? She's not stupid; she should have known better.

My pocket beeps with a text message, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shift in the chair, pulling out my phone and glancing at it quickly to read Hayley’s message that she’s coming over tonight. My uncle clears his throat at the interruption, looking at me disapprovingly.

What is this, a fucking school? I'm so sick of this crap, the way he just silently disapproves of everything I do without actually telling me how much of a failure I am in his eyes.

I'm sitting in his office, discussing killing a whole family to prove I'm worthy enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm still that thirteen-year-old boy he picked up from the boarding school.

I never saw him much before that day. My dad never mentioned him, as if he didn't even exist, and I had better things to do than to ask. My mother used to travel a lot, always taking me with her, so it’s not like I even needed an uncle. Then the whole thing happened, and he appeared out of nowhere ready to claim his place as “the boss.”

Why did it never occur to me that he might have had a hand in what happened to my family? When I look at him, I don't see my uncle. I don't see my father's brother. I see a man of power, wanting more power. It's never enough.

“Devon,” he says, looking at me expectantly. When he sees he has my attention, he says, “Will you deal with George?”

“Yeah,” I answer, though I'd rather not be the one to talk to him. He just really pisses me off.

“Make sure to let him know how important it is he gives us the right info. We can't afford to make any mistakes right now.”

I nod, though I can't seem to ignore that this is all so convenient. Once the Moores are gone, we, or rather, he will get it all. Nothing to fight over. No more worrying if we're stepping on their turf. No one will speak up when he claims it.

But the proof doesn't lie. It was Keith who tried to hide the evidence of my parents' identities. And is my uncle really so power hungry that he'd kill his own brother? Why am I still alive, then? In theory, I'm the rightful heir.

I forget all about my suspicions later that day when I go to pick up a shipment. I pass one of their restaurants on the way there. I see Keith getting out of his car, surrounded by his men. Dominic Moore, his surrogate son, is standing beside him, all six feet of him, dressed in a fine suit, his dark hair slicked back. I hate the guy. He was always around Leighton, watching over her like a hawk.

Keith says something, slapping Dominic on the back, and he laughs, shaking his head. He looks back, and his bushy eyebrows knit together when he sees me, and then he nods at me. He fucking nods at me.

Dominic, to his credit, doesn’t acknowledge me, the way Keith shouldn’t have.

I nod back, though I have no respect for this man.

* * *

Hayley is already waiting for me in the library when I'm finally home. I'd say I dread this conversation, but I don't. I'm almost positive she's the one to blame for Leighton's behavior since yesterday morning.

I know I shouldn't care; it's for the better to keep our distance. I find myself trying to figure out a way out of this mess. I know I owe it to my parents and Joey to see this through, but I keep thinking at what cost? Would they even want me to do this?

And, truth be told, I don't want Leighton to hate me.

So, as Hayley smiles at me, and stands on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek, I move away and ask her, “What happened yesterday after I left?”

“What happened?” she asks, her eyes wide with pretend innocence. I recognize it so well.

“You tell me. When I left, she didn't hate me. When I came back, she couldn't stand to be near me. So something must have happened in between, and you were the only one with her.”

“I just explained some things to her, Devon,” she says, an air of arrogance around her, something she picked up from her father. This is the side of Hayley I never liked. She likes to meddle in things because she thinks she knows best. “Like, if she cared, she wouldn't put you in danger like she did yesterday morning. You both should have known better.”

I start to pace the room, frustrated, and then stop in front of her, looking down. “You have no fucking idea what's going on.”

“Then what is going on? I thought I had it figured out, that she was playing some game with you to get herself out of this, but clearly I'm wrong. And you stopped talking to me ages ago,” she says, waving her hands in exasperation. “How can I know if you won't tell me?”

I turn my back to her, and look straight into my father's eyes above the fireplace. “You wouldn't understand,” I say to both of them.

“And then she started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know what to say, what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what to think of this, Devon.”

I turn back to her. “What questions?”

Hayley looks down at her hands and starts playing with the rings on her fingers.

“What did she ask, Hales?”

“She asked about you, and me. About us.”

I can't help myself. I lose it. “What the fuck, Hales?” I yell, striding toward her. “What did you tell her?”

She starts crying. Of course, she fucking starts crying.

Now, I've been friends with Hayley for a very, very long time. And the tears I see, they're not sad, or scared. I've seen her cry these tears whenever she knew she did something wrong. When she took my music player and lost it, she cried these tears. When she broke up with me, she cried these tears. These tears are guilty.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Hales,” I say, approaching her slowly and crouching in front of her. “This is important. What did she ask?”

“Just about us. When, how long—no, not how long, just when.” She finally looks up, but won't meet my eyes. “I may have over-shared.”

Her words fill me with icy dread. “What did you tell her?”

She sobs harder, covering her face with her palms. I thread my fingers behind my neck to keep myself from ripping her arms away so she would look at me. “Hayley, what the fuck did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” she yells. Finally, she looks at me, straight into my eyes. “She was ruining everything, I just wanted her—”

Fuck.

Hayley's voice fades completely in my ears, just background noise. She knows everything, is all I keep thinking. And I realize for the first time, I don't want her to know. It matters so little at this point, but I don't want her to know how much I fucked up.

I don't want her to hate me.

“Why the fuck would you do that, Hales? I thought we were over. You—” I find myself yelling at Hayley, my hands squeezing her shoulders. “—you were the one who broke up with me.”

I don't believe for a second she didn't know what she was doing.

“You're hurting me, Devon,” she whispers. I loosen the grip on her shoulders, and then let her go. She falls back into the sofa.

“It's not about you and me. I just wanted her to back off,” she says, through tears. “You're going to lose everything over her. I just wanted her to back off because I know you, and you've already made up your mind.”

I shake my head at her, so disappointed. First, that she assumes what's in my head. Second, I can't believe she thought it was her right to do something like this. Even though I get where she's coming from, I just don't get it.

“It's her, isn't it?” I hear her say, but I'm already out the door and on my way up, the keys to Leighton's room in my shaking hands.

LEIGHTON

The door opens but I don’t react; I just continue to draw. He approaches me hesitantly, walking slowly across the room. He looks down at what I’m drawing, and stills. I don’t acknowledge his presence.

He clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

I lift my head. “I really have nothing to say to you.”

“I spoke to Hayley,” he says quietly.

When I don’t reply, or show any reaction, he continues. “It wasn’t her place to say any of those things to you.”

I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. I'm not going to show him just how much this hurts.

“Leighton,” he says, his voice pleading.

“What do you want from me, Devon?” I ask, putting the pencil down. I lay the sketch of my mother on the bed, and give him my full attention.

He sits down next to me. “Can I talk?”

“So talk,” I say, staring up at him, keeping my expression blank.

“She has no idea what she's talking about. She had no right.”

I sigh. “That sounds like an issue you need to take up with her, not me.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“No, I don’t. If you and Hayley are having communication problems, then speak to her about them. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a drawing to finish,” I say, looking pointedly at the door.

“I never wanted her like that,” he says, moving closer so he’s right next to me. “I promise.”

I get up to move away from him, needing that space between us. I lift up my hands. “Again, Devon . . . ”

“No, just listen, please,” he says softly, following after me. “I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone. I've always wanted you,” he whispers.

And this is when I snap.

“You want me?” I ask, my voice gaining steel. “Because it sounds to me like just a short few months ago you wanted her more than anything. What did she say? Oh that’s right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “’He wanted us to work so bad.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, drawing out and exaggerating the last two words as much as I can to get my point across. Yes, I know that I’m jealous and feeling just a little bit sorry for myself right now, but I don’t give a fuck.

“It wasn't like that—” he starts, but I continue my rant.

“Now, as much as I like hearing about you ‘making wild passionate love—’” My voice breaks on the last word. He squeezes his eyes shut. Hearing myself say it out loud, acknowledging it, and him not denying it, I can actually feel my heart rip in two. “—to a woman you want so badly but can’t have because she dumped you, I’d rather you all just left me the fuck alone.”

I turn away from him, hiding my expression. He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me, holding me to his warm chest. I feel his frantic heart beating against my back. I break away from his embrace and turn to face him, my hand flying swinging before I even realize what I'm doing. He grabs my wrist mid-air, and I rip it out of his grasp and deliver that slap straight across his cheek.

“Don't you dare fucking touch me again! You wanted me? You had me, you bastard. You came and went as you pleased, you fucked me whenever you felt like it, then you ignored me, and it fucking hurt, but I let you do it because I knew you had to deal with your hang-ups but you wouldn't even speak to me and tell me what's going on.”

“Do you understand how fucked up that was? You used me and I let you, because I thought we had some cosmic love that could beat all your stupid demons, but you fucking threw me away to jump into a relationship with a woman who didn't even want you back."

At this point, I'm just flat out crying. I hate every tear that I spilled for this man. I fucking despise him for leading me on for so long, only to shatter me like this. Somewhere, deep down, I thought surely he had feelings for me. But it's all been a game, his personal vendetta just because of who I am.

“I gave you everything,” I spit out. “And you just took it out of revenge.”

He hangs his head, and I don’t like seeing him looking defeated, but I’m consumed by hurt. By the need to protect myself from this man who I thought was better than this.

“Oh, God, the laughs you must have gotten from the silly Moore girl, hopelessly pining after Devon Andre. I was so fucking stupid to think—”

“Shut up,” he cuts me off, his words icy. He rushes me until my back hits the wall. His hand lands on my waist, digging into my hip to keep me in place as I squirm to get away from him. “You are not the silly Moore girl. You are smart and beautiful and strong, and the most amazing woman I have ever met, and I fucking hate you for it because it still doesn't change who you are. I knew who you were the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he chokes the words out. “And I've wanted you regardless. I wanted you ever since I knew how to want a woman. You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”

His mouth slides down my throat, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of my neck, and a shiver runs through my body. That’s all it takes from him; he has such an effect on me, always has. Holding me tight against his body, he talks into my ear.

“I couldn't get you out of my fucking mind. Every living thought I had was stained by you, out there in the darkness, my hands all over your body, your fingers running through my hair, your moans and sighs. I fucking hate you for being my weakness.”

His mouth finds mine, and he bites on my lip, punishing me. “I needed to get you out of my head, out of my heart, out of my soul. You owned me, and I wanted myself back.” His hand tangles in my hair, and he pulls it back harshly, exposing my neck. “I just want myself back,” he ends on a whisper, and then his teeth skim my neck, making my breath hitch.

He trails his mouth up over my throat, his hand making its own way down my stomach, where he finds the button of my jeans and pops it open. He kisses along my jaw as he slides the zipper down, and reaches his hand into my panties. I gasp as his fingers slowly inch down and he slides first one, then two, and starts to explore, thrusting them in and out in a delicious rhythm. He pulls my head back gently and kisses my lips. His hand travels down the side of my face, over my collarbone, between my breasts and down to my stomach, finding its way under my shirt, cupping my breast. I moan as he rubs my clit with his thumb, making me quiver with his probing fingers, and his tongue delves into my mouth, stopping only to bite on my lips. I can feel his arousal pressing into my side, and it turns me on even more knowing that I have this effect on him. I hide my face in his neck, biting gently as the first wave of pleasure hits me. My thighs start shaking and Devon wraps his arm around my back to hold me up. I tear my mouth away from his neck and arch my back into the wall behind me, cursing as the pleasure starts to take over my body.

“Leighton,” Devon growls. I open my eyes and look into his as I ride the climax, his heavy-lidded, burning gaze making me lose myself even more.

He pulls his hand out of my panties and pins me against the wall, sliding my jeans and underwear in one go down my legs and taking my lips in a rough kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself up. He grips my ass and lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him. My hands reach down to work on his pants without breaking our kiss, his lips against mine urgent, as I slide his boxers down with my feet, and then wrap my hand around his thick cock. I start stroking, loving the feel of him. I quicken my pace, feeling his fingers dig into my back, his kisses losing their rhythm. His cock is hard as steel, as I need him inside of me.

He steps back, slipping out of my hand. My feet hit the floor as he grabs for the hem of my shirt and takes it off, letting it fall. Unbuttoning his shirt, he leans down and grabs his wallet from his pant pocket. I lean back against the cool wall, watching as he rips the little foil packet with his white teeth and then uses his hands to sheath his erection.

My stomach flutters and I bite my lip in anticipation, glancing up in time to see him flash me a devilish smile, the first real one since I've been here. My own lips curve into a smile in response, and slowly, he leans in and takes them into another kiss, this time slow and torturous, taking his time to explore every inch of my mouth with his. His tongue tentatively touches mine before he pulls back and pays attention to my lower lip. This man can kiss.

He hooks my knee over his arm and lifts it up to secure it on his hip, looking straight into my eyes, using his other hand to guide his cock, teasing my opening and clit in turn until I whimper in frustration. We both suck in a breath as he enters me in one long thrust, and it's a mixture of pleasure and pain and absolute fucking completeness.

I arch my back as he starts moving, controlled thrusts that leave me frantic for more. I squeeze his biceps with my hands as his mouth trails kisses down my neck, his movements becoming faster, harder, until he's just plain fucking me, giving me everything he has and taking everything I have to give.

The first wave hits me so hard I whimper his name, which he drowns with his mouth. I feel my whole body tremble, the pleasure spreading all the way to my toes. I know he’s close when his breathing becoming heavier, his thrusts less controlled and wilder, frenzied. He slams into me once more, and grunts into my hair, his hand pressing into my back, connecting every inch of our bodies. He lifts his head from the hollow of my neck, searching my eyes with his as we both reach that climax, our breaths mingling, our bodies speaking without words.

DEVON

I find myself awake in the middle on the night again, staring at the ceiling. Leighton's back is curled into my side, her breathing even, and my possessive hand is on her waist.

And, as it usually does after I fuck her senseless, guilt eats at me.

I look at her and all I think is failure. Weak. Pathetic.

I know I'm a prick. No one made me do it. I've blamed it on her and her seductive ways, but if I'm honest, she didn't seduce me.

By the time I was seventeen, I could pick her out in a room full of women. The way she walked, the way she laughed, the way she would flip her black hair, her scent. I wouldn't have to think twice about it.

It consumed me, this obsession I had.

I hated every boy, then every man that glanced her way. I hated her boyfriends enough to want to hurt them, and her girlfriends just because they could be around her and not have to ignore her like I did.

I stalked her; I'm not ashamed to admit it. I always knew where she was, and whom she was with, even during her little disappearing acts. More than once, I caught myself looking at her, begging her to acknowledge me, and she always did, holding my gaze for just a second longer than she did other strangers', and for that, I was grateful. The crumbs of her attention I got every now and then were enough to feed my addiction.

Until they weren't. As with every drug, I craved more. It's the forbidden fruit; I know that now. I resisted her for so long, and so stubbornly, and it was bound to happen, one way or another. And when it did, I couldn't get enough of it.

It wasn't premeditated. I don't think she planned on it, either, but I like to think she did to excuse my failure. I saw her standing on the opposite side of the street during one night out. I could say she never looked more beautiful, but she always looked beautiful to me. We made eye contact, and suddenly, time stood still. The look she gave me was so suggestive, I did a double take to make sure I saw it right, then glanced around to check if everyone else saw what I did. By the time my eyes found her again, she was walking off into a dark alley.

Take it or leave it. That's all it came down to.

I found myself all but running after her. Just to make sure she's okay, I fooled myself.

And, in that dark alley, against a dirty brick wall, I knew I was doomed.

It went on, for a whole year. She never sought me out, it was always me running to wherever she was, and she gave whatever I wanted without a word. I didn't speak to her for fear of crumbling the walls of my perfect delusion that we were just two people who found each other in the dark.

Ironically, it was exactly what made me step away from her. A year is a long-ass time to keep silent when all you want to do is talk. It suffocated me, knowing that I couldn't tell her everything I wanted to. I wanted to tell her that every moment she let me spend with her was like heaven. Every time she tangled her hands in my hair and let me touch her in every way I wanted, I felt unworthy of it.

That if she were anyone else, I would have loved her until the day I died.

But she was exactly who she was. Leighton Moore, the daughter of Keith Moore—the man who took everything away from me. And one day, sooner or later, she'd be just another casualty of that crime.

* * *

Her fingers entwine with mine on her hip, and she squeezes my hand. “Stop thinking so loud. You woke me up.”

I smile into the black hair draped over her shoulder, then move it away and place a kiss in its place. She snuggles deeper into my chest, her ass pressing into my erection. “Mmm.”

This is a first for us. I've never stayed the night after we hooked up. She never came home with me, and I never went to hers. We never did it in an actual bed.

She trails our threaded fingers down her stomach, then lower between her legs, and I won't lie, the second my fingers reach her wetness and she arches her back into my chest, I'm harder than I've ever been in my entire life.

Her sighs turn into moans as she slides both our fingers inside her and positions my thumb over her clit with hers, my hips jerking involuntarily into her naked backside with her movements as she fucks my fingers.

This is, by far, the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. She is so beautiful, so sensual. I love seeing her in the daylight.

I can feel her control slipping as she writhes, and I'm about to take over when her hand stops mine just as I feel her muscles squeeze around us.

I watch, dumbfounded, as she gets up, squealing when her feet touch the cold floor while she walks across the room, and then she bends down, giving me a majestic view of her ass. If I weren't already hard, that would definitely do the trick. She runs back toward me with my wallet in her hand, already rummaging through it. I laugh at her shaky hands when she tries to rip the condom package open with her slippery fingers.

“Shut up, you ass,” she says, but she smiles too, then rips the package with her teeth, and puts it over my erection.

She straddles my hips, and I watch her, amused, and fucking turned on, as she takes my cock into her hand, gives it a few urgent pumps that make me suck in a sudden breath, and then she guides it to her entrance and sinks down on it.

“Fuck,” I mutter, as my head falls back on the pillow, my palms grabbing for the sheets underneath me. She takes my hands and places them on her hips and then she lifts herself up, ever so slowly, throwing her head back, and sinks back down.

Then she doesn't move.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask her through clenched teeth, trying not to move either, but it's really, really hard.

Pun intended.

“Savoring,” she says, looking at me through her lashes. She leans over, her hair creating a curtain around our heads and kisses a trail from my chin to my lips, and I kiss her back, drowning the moan I expected when I thrust my hips upwards because I'm positive she'd never have moved otherwise.

“Again,” she whispers into my mouth so I do it again, then again when she asks for more, making her bite on my shoulder to keep from calling out. She alternates between moans and sighs every time I sink her down my length. She's holding onto me so tight, clutching onto my shoulders harder with each thrust. I flip us over, capturing her wrists in my hand and stretching her arms above her head, my hips still thrusting, changing rhythm every time I feel like I'm about to explode. My other hand travels up her stomach, over her breast and ends up at her collarbone, my fingers digging into the smooth skin on her neck.

She opens her eyes because she knows I love it when she looks at me as she comes. The intensity in her eyes just about does me in. It’s always like this with her.

She trusts me. I've been keeping her in here, locked up, I've threatened her, I've used her and I've abandoned her. She's suffered more than I care to admit at my hands, and she still trusts me. She knows where this will end, and she trusts me.

I relax my fingers around her throat as she falls apart beneath me. A couple of moments later, I slide one final time deep inside her and then collapse on top of her, burying my head in the crook of her neck. She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling just lightly, then releasing, our chests heaving against each other, our bodies still connected.

“I've never made love to another woman,” I tell her, because I want her to know that. She was never supposed to think she meant nothing, or that anyone could replace her. This fucked up situation is all on me.

“Because you love me.” She says it like it is: a fact. Then she sighs, still trembling underneath me. “And it's not enough.”

I wish it were.

I pull out from her, missing her already as I head to the bathroom to clean up, and then walk around the room picking up my clothes. Thankfully, she drapes the sheet over her body, hiding the temptation from my eyes.

The worst part? She watches me, resigned, as I get dressed and walk to the door. I can actually feel her gaze following me around, but she says nothing. I want her to say something so bad. Just tell me to stay. I pause after I unlock the door, giving her one final chance. Nothing. I get out of the room without looking back, the sound of the lock click piercing my eardrums.

It still rings in my head on the way downstairs. I head into the kitchen, and take out a beer from the fridge and open it. I slump in the chair at the dining room table, and take a swig from the bottle. I can still feel her wrapped around me, begging me to fuck her again, and again, and again.

I sit there, staring at nothing, I don't know for how long. I always hated the look of indifference on her face when I left without a word, making me feel like I was just a pawn, playing by her rules. Tonight, I'd have welcomed it.

Tonight, I feel like I betrayed her.

Betraying my family, betraying myself, and, now, betraying her. I'm a fucking traitor to everything and everyone.

And Hayley? What a fucking mess. Rationally, I know I can't blame her. I used her, she knows that, and she still stood by me. And I know she meant well, but telling Leighton God knows what . . .

I throw the beer bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall.

“Fuck,” I mutter, watching it shatter, the sound piercing the silence. Beer splashes everywhere.

I rub my palm over my face, forehead to chin. It's for the best, I decide. So fucking complicated.

I get up and head to my room. A figure stands at the top landing, watching me climb the stairs. My uncle takes me in from head to toe, my hair disheveled, my shirt unbuttoned, and my feet bare.

“Devon,” he says when I reach him, and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. It pisses me off. I don't know why. It's . . . so fucking manipulative.

I continue climbing the stairs to the third floor.

LEIGHTON

A soft sigh escaping my lips, I roll onto my stomach. The sheets still smell like him, hours after he's been gone. I’ve barely moved from this bed, except to have a shower and dress in an oversized T-shirt.

I keep replaying Devon's words over and over in my head. I had no idea. I’ve had a crush on Devon for as long as I can remember. I don't even recall the first time I saw him, he was just always there. I'd see him around now and again, and he was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. And, I'll admit it; I fell for the enigma.

Devon had a presence about him. He exuded power, confidence and capability. But sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, I caught the brokenness in his eyes. I wanted to wipe away that look, to fix everything that was wrong.

He made me feel things no one else could. I've had boyfriends, but none of them could compare. Every time his eyes found me I felt like I was on fire.

So, when I saw him that night standing across the street, his intent gaze on me, I knew it was my chance, and I took it. I wanted him badly, I always have. I didn't expect him to follow me; he never had before.

One taste had me wanting more. The things that man could do to me . . . I was ruined for every other guy. Our secret continued, and we would have sex any chance we could, in any place we could without getting caught. The whole time I was with Devon I didn’t even look at another man. I just wasn’t interested. What I had with him wasn’t ideal, but I took what I could, and waited for him to give me more. I was that desperate for him.

I was sure he felt the same. And when he stopped showing up, I was confused.

Two weeks later, I was devastated because I realized that this . . . thing we had? He didn't want it anymore. And I didn't even expect I'd miss his silence.

After a month I was just pissed.

I knew we didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could expect an explanation, but I didn’t give a shit. I deserved an explanation; I needed one. After a while, I blamed myself. Essentially, I propositioned him. I was available to him anytime he wanted me. Anytime he came to me, I gave him whatever he wanted. My body, and, unknown to him, my heart.

I love Devon. I’ve always loved him, and I probably always will, for as little time as I have left to live.

And it doesn’t even matter. My love is inconsequential. It doesn’t change a thing.

In fact, it only makes everything worse.

I run my fingers through my hair, and tug on it. Devon’s leaving after what just happened speaks volumes. We might not be able to stay away from each other, but at the end of the day, it’s business as usual. The most fucked up thing about this whole mess? I keep staring at the door, willing him to come back to me, to hold me in his arms. He thinks I’m his weakness? He is more than my weakness.

And he holds my life in his hands, and he's going to just take it. I won't be a fool again to think this changes anything.

I wipe away the tear streaking my cheek, my eyes still fixated on the door. And then he's standing in front of me, an undecipherable look on his face. Wordlessly, Devon slips back into bed with me. He slides his arm under my neck, and pulls me into his body, spooning me from behind.

It hurts so much, melting into his embrace like everything is normal. But it's not real. And I still turn around and nuzzle his cheek, and then I let his warmth lull me to sleep.

eleven

LEIGHTON

“What a way to wake up,” I say, trying to catch my breath. I glance down at Devon who lifts his head up from between my legs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a cocky grin curving his lips. He kisses his way up my body, ending at my lips, and then he slumps into the bed next to me. I lie there lazily, enjoying the sated satisfied feeling you get after having an intense orgasm.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask as I roll over to face him, propping myself on my elbow, my other hand trailing down his naked chest.

“I just had mine,” he says, chuckling.

I bite my lip, feeling a blush spread all over my face. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Are you getting shy on me?” he asks. “Seriously? Now?”

I cover my head with the sheet, and then hear another chuckle. I can't help it; something about this whole thing feels . . . real. It was always real to me, but I feel like he’s finally with me.

“Fucking unbelievable,” he mutters, tugging at the sheet. The second I let him pull it down, he places a quick kiss on my lips. “You.” Another kiss. “Are.” And another. “Fucking.” This one, a little longer. “Unbelievable,” he finishes.

I smile against his lips when my stomach growls loudly.

“Ten minutes, okay?” he says, giving me another quick peck. I nod and then he gets up, and straightens his clothes, smiling to himself. I love seeing him like this. He almost seems . . . content.

He unlocks the door and goes out, locking it behind him.

My smile drops.

I slump back into the pillow and close my eyes. It's almost too easy to forget where I am and why I'm here.

* * *

“Leighton.” I open my eyes just in time to see his smirk. I must have dozed off again. “I'll take that as a compliment,” he says, grinning at me.

I ignore him and eye the plastic container in his hand, and some plastic cutlery in the other. I almost want to roll my eyes, but I refrain. I can't believe he still thinks I'll stab him with a fucking fork. I slide to the edge of the bed, get up and kiss him gently on the lips. Taking the food from his hands, I walk over to the table and take off the lid. Fresh fruit salad. Not bad. I pull out the pathetic spork and dig in, if that's even the right term for eating with a spork. In the end I give up and set it aside, using my hands to eat instead, licking the sweet juice off my fingers.

Devon clears his throat, shifting on the bed, his eyes dancing between my mouth and my wet fingers.

Picking up the salad, I walk over and sit down on the bed next to him, silently offering him a strawberry. He opens his mouth and takes the fruit, licking my fingers, too. My breath hitches, and I pick up a grape and feed him once more. This time he sucks my finger into his mouth, and a moan escapes my lips.

“Eat,” he says huskily, turning his head slightly when I offer him the next piece. He stares as I bite into a piece of watermelon.

“You sticking around all day?” I ask him. I really wish he would.

His eyes still on my mouth, he replies, “I have some business to take care of. Hayley will be here with your lunch, then I’ll be back in the evening.”

I still. “Hayley is still coming here?” I gape at him, dumbfounded.

Devon purses his lips. “Leighton—”

“After what you told me? After what she told me? You ignored me. While I was waiting for you, pining away for you, you were out there fucking her, and you want me to sit in this room with her?” I put down the fruit salad, having lost my appetite.

“She’s the only one around here I can trust with you,” he says tightly, breaking eye contact.

“Why don't you just fucking do it, Devon? Kill me. Get it over with. I’m sure it would hurt less than having her thrown in my face all day long,” I say dramatically, moving to leave. He grabs onto my upper arm, holding me in place.

“We just went through this,” he grinds out. “I told you, it wasn't like—”

“Would you want to sit locked up in a room with the guy I was with while we were apart?” I interrupt him in a fake sweet tone. There weren't any other guys, unless you count my BOB, and even then there was only him in my head.

His fingers tighten around my arm, but he ignores my question. “There's no other choice.”

“Okay. Fine. While you’re at it, why don’t you bring in all the other women you’ve been with, too? Maybe we can bond over the size of your dick.” I shake off his hand and walk to the bathroom. I take off my shirt, which was the only item of clothing I had on, and turn on the water for the shower. I take my sweet time, knowing that when I walk out Devon will be gone.

DEVON

I find Hayley sitting on the floor in front of my room, wearing the same clothes she did the day before, all wrinkled. She looks tired, there's no glow to her cheeks like there usually is, and her blonde hair is a mess. I'm guessing she slept here, or something. Or didn't sleep at all.

I sit down next to her, not saying anything. By now, my anger has subsided. If anything, I know it was directed at the wrong person. I'm the one who fucked up; she didn't lie to Leighton.

“I'm sorry about last night,” she says. “And for everything.” She looks at me when she says the last part.

I take her hand in mine and squeeze. I'm the one who's supposed to say sorry.

“Sometimes when I look at you, I still see that thirteen-year-old boy sitting in front of my father's office.” She sighs, letting go of my hand. I get a flashback of a little blonde girl with pigtails sitting next to me, and offering me her chocolate. She looked like an angel sent from heaven when my world was falling apart. “You were so lost. I wanted to make things right for you even back then.”

“I know.” I find it hard to swallow. “It’s me who has to apologize. I used you.”

“Eh, you're not the only one to blame. I always wondered what it would be like between the two us.” She leans her head on my shoulder. “So, will you tell me what’s going on?”

“It's a long story,” I say after a couple of minutes. It's not that I don't trust her, or anything like that. I just feel like what happened between Leighton and me isn't something I want to share. Not just with her, but with anyone.

She waits another beat for me to continue. When I say nothing else, she moves to sit across from me, putting her hands on my knees. “Long enough to love her?”

I hang my head in shame.

“You've lost so much, Devon,” she finally says. “And you've said it yourself, you're almost there. You can't let her get in the way.”

My head snaps up at her words. “Hales. All my life I've worked for this. You, of all people, should know I'd never let anything get in the way of that.”

“Would you, though? Even—” She looks toward the end of the hallway, then whispers, “—even Leighton?"

I think of Leighton, last night, a year ago, all those years ago. I've hated her far longer than I've loved her. I've hated myself for wanting her, then I've hated us both for loving her. It seems everything about her is just . . . hate.

“Even her.”

* * *

“Nice of you to join us,” Stevie says when I enter my uncle's office. Frank's eyes follow me curiously as I approach the desk and sit in one of the two empty chairs. I ignore him.

“I've had something to do.”

“Or someone,” Stevie says, laughing. I still, trying not to panic. How the fuck does he know what I did last night? Nobody saw me go to her room. We weren't even that loud, we never are. He slaps me on the shoulder like he does every time he approves of something I do. I look at Frank to find him still watching me, studying me. He drums his fingers on the table, and if I didn't know better I'd think he was nervous.

When Stevie sees my expression, which is probably guilty as hell, he laughs again. “Is that the Fletcher girl's car in the driveway? Mac’s kid?”

I relax. He thinks I was with Hayley last night. “Yeah.”

My uncle's fingers still drill the table.

“Been seein' a lot of her lately. She spend the night?”

“Yeah.” It's not a lie, technically.

“You two back together or what?” the nosey bastard asks.

Finally, I look at Stevie. “What's with the interrogation? Do you want to know about my sex life? Not getting any at home?” I ask harshly.

He lifts his hands up in a calming gesture. “Easy, boy.” Then he slaps me again on the shoulder. “Just sayin', good pick. Would be good to officially have a DA in the family.” He turns to my uncle. “Right?”

“Right,” my uncle says, but his attention is on his computer screen.

“So,” he says to me, his eyes still on the screen, “we've only lost one shipment this month. That's good.” He nods approvingly.

He might as well have patted me on the head. That's how I feel.

He glances at me quickly. “Do you know what happened out there?”

I'm about to open my mouth to tell him everything when Stevie says, “It was one of the fucking Moore men.”

Frank looks at me, asking for confirmation. “Yeah, he admitted to working for Keith. Stevie was there.”

“I expect you handled that?” This directed at me.

“He did.” Stevie answers for me again, imitating a gunshot with his fingers.

“Speaking of Keith,” Frank says, abandoning his computer. He leans his elbows on the table, connecting his palms. “Did you speak to George?”

“George, yeah,” I say. “He can arrange the meeting at one of the warehouses.”

“I don't like it,” Stevie says suddenly. We both look at him. “I don't like it,” he repeats. “It should be on their turf.”

“We don't want to start a war,” I tell him calmly, hoping he understands what I'm trying to say. I turn back to Frank, dismissing Stevie. “I think it's ideal. We'll say we want to discuss handing over the warehouse control. You know they’ve wanted it, ever since my parents disappeared.”

My uncle shakes his head. “I have to agree with Stevie,” he says. Stevie grins in triumph.

What the fuck?

He is trying to start a fucking war.

“Leave,” I tell Stevie. He looks unsure, but he doesn't move. “I said, fucking leave!” I yell at him.

Frank nods at Stevie, and only then does he get up and walk out of the room. I wait for the door to click shut.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Don't speak to me like that, Devon,” my uncle says, calm as ever. It pisses me off even more.

“Was that really necessary?” I point toward the door where Stevie went. “To disrespect me like that?”

“I didn't disrespect you.” He shakes his head condescendingly. “You didn't think it through. It won't work. We only get one chance. One chance, Devon.”

“So you let me think I’m the one calling the shots, when you’ve secretly been working behind my back? Are you doing this just to prove how incapable I am? Unworthy of my name?”

He just looks at me.

“Is that what you think? Fucking answer me, for once.” I slam my fist on the table. He doesn't even flinch.

“Contact George, see when the next family meeting is,” he says, as if I said nothing at all.

“Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief. I literally can't believe he's doing this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, doubt rears its ugly head.

What if it was him? If this is all a setup?

“Tell Stevie to come back in on your way out.”

Wordlessly, I get up and exit his office.

LEIGHTON

I scribble out the face on the paper, and then crumble the drawing in my hand. I try to throw it into the basket, but miss.

I suck at life. Not for much longer, though. For some reason, this thought has me giggling hysterically, and then I stop.

I’ve been sitting on my bed brooding ever since Devon walked out. It pisses me off that I’m stuck here in this damn room while he’s out doing God knows what. There's nothing on TV. Nothing. The books on Hayley's reader annoy me at this point.

I place the pencil down gently and lie flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling, following the swirly pattern in the plaster with my finger in the air.

Stupid happy endings. I'm the living proof they don't exist. Soon to be dead proof.

Another fit of giggles, these interrupted by Hayley, who finally decides to come in with lunch. I don’t pay her any attention when she enters, but tilt my head when she stands next to the bed.

“Here’s your lunch,” she says, her voice a little tight.

“Thanks.” I take the bag from her hand and put it down on the bedside table. Then I resume my interesting task of staring at the ceiling, hoping she'll take the hint and leave.

She doesn’t.

“Aren’t you hungry?” she asks, her voice hesitant. I stare at her as she pushes her hair behind her ear, her watchful gaze on me. She looks . . . well, she looks like hell.

“Didn't sleep much last night,” she says as if reading my thoughts.

“Neither did I.” I grin at her. I don't know why I said it. To rub it in, or something.

“Oh, retract your fucking claws. I told you, it's not like that between us.”

But it was. I take her in from head to toe, seeing her in a whole new light. I see her as someone Devon held, kissed. Fucked. That earns me a horrible visual in my head, making me cringe.

Obviously he found her attractive. For that alone, I hate her. It pisses me off—even tired, with dark circles under her eyes, and her hair has definitely seen better days—she's gorgeous. Aside from the color of our eyes, we're nothing alike.

It soothes the ache just a little bit. It makes it worse at the same time. I can actually see why he went to her to get away from me. She's as different as he could get.

I turn my head away from her. “You’re not staying, are you?” I ask, deciding it's better to be left alone. No need to torture myself any more than I already have. I sit up against the headboard and glance into the bag, seeing what food she brought.

“So it’s like that now, is it?” she asks, sitting down on the bed. I stare her down, but don’t say anything.

“Look, Leighton, I'm sorry for what I said. I like you. I do. But . . . ” she trails off.

“But you love Devon. I get it, trust me.”

She looks thoughtful. “Yes, Devon will always come first to me. I want what’s best for him, and we both know that isn’t you.”

I'd be lying if I said the truth doesn't hurt. I squeeze my eyes shut at her harsh words. “What have you heard about me, Hayley?”

“What do you mean?” she asks a little warily. She tilts her head to watch me.

“Surely you’ve heard things about me over the years,” I say with a slight shrug. People talk about me. I’m not being egotistical; it just comes with being a part of my family.

“I’ve heard gossip over the years, sure,” she says, leaning back on her hands.

“Did you ever hear anything nice?” I ask, my lip twitching when she narrows her eyes.

She looks at me like I've grown a pair of horns. “I heard you were a mean bitch.”

I let her think about that as I take out the container of Chinese she brought me. Spork again. Really.

“Are you threatening me?” Hayley suddenly asks, sitting up straight. I shrug my shoulders. I'm not threatening her, not really, but I like that she thought of it.

She stands up and starts pacing the room. “He thinks he loves you,” she says in a quiet, unwavering tone. She looks at me. “Do you love him?”

I busy myself, stuffing my mouth with food.

She shakes her head and scoffs. “Then leave him alone, you stupid bitch. You're ruining him. You're poison to him,” she yells, losing her temper.

The door opens. We both shut up. Devon stands there, his confused eyes looking back and forth between the two of us. Hayley clears her throat. It does absolutely nothing to clear the stuffy atmosphere in the room. I want him to come to me so bad.

He walks over to her and she props herself on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek.

I fucking hate her.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

“I thought you had business to take care of,” I say quietly, my tone giving nothing away.

“I do, I was just dropping in for a minute.” His gaze darts to Hayley. “Hales?”

Hayley opens her mouth to talk but then Devon glances at me, and interrupts her before she can start. “Go, I'll talk to you tomorrow,” he demands, pointing with his hand toward the door, his eyes still locked to mine. She narrows her eyes at me, pulling on his sleeve.

He looks at her and his voice softens. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut. He probably wouldn't like it if I strangled her to death.

“Fine,” she says, and then I hear the door open and close. I open my eyes and look at him locking the door after her.

“Are you okay?” he asks, bracing his fingers together behind his neck.

“Just peachy.”

“What was that all about?” He approaches me carefully; almost like he's scared I'll run off.

Run off where? Most I can do is lock myself in the stupid bathroom, and even then, that lock is so flimsy he just has to shove the door to come inside.

“Don’t be like that,” he says when I don't reply, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“Don't you have stuff to do?”

I’m jealous. I’m so jealous I’m seeing red right now.

“Can we talk tonight?” he asks.

Like I have a choice? I put my hands out, palms up. “I’ll have to check my schedule and get back to you.”

“You're so fucking difficult, Leighton,” he says, leaning closer. He kisses me on my forehead, and runs his finger down my jawline.

“Really? Because it seems to me that when it comes to you, I’m easy.” I place my hand over his and trail it down to my breast, cupping it.

He looks torn. I lean in and kiss him, my eyes locked to his. Adding a little more force to it, I trace his lips with my tongue, begging entrance. He smiles when I bite his lip roughly, frustrated that he won't give me what I want.

“I only want you,” he says, pulling away. His lips twitch when he sees me fighting a smile, and he leans down to place another kiss on my lips. “Tonight.”

I slump down on the bed and go back to looking at the ceiling, instead of watching him leave the room.

twelve

DEVON

It's nearly midnight when I come home carrying a bag of takeout from a fast food place I know she loves. She and her cousin have this routine dinner every week at the place. Sometimes he used to be a real cock-block, never leaving her alone for a second, but I understand. She’s precious to her family. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person to eat at a place like that, so I figure he was just placating her.

My hand with the key hovers near the lock hesitantly. My heart is beating out of my chest. Why the hell am I so nervous?

I shake my head. Like a fucking teenager. Before I talk myself out of it, the key is in the lock and I turn it and slowly open the door.

The lamp is on, and she's lying on the bed on her stomach, her eyes closed, one of her hands hanging off the side. After locking the door, I walk over to the bed and put the bag with the food on the bedside table and shrug my jacket off, dropping it to the floor. She doesn't shift when I lie next to her, so she must be sleeping. I bury my face in the hair at the nape of her neck and inhale deeply, the mix of lavender shampoo and just her overwhelming my senses. I could spend all day doing nothing else.

“That's so creepy.”

I smile against her neck, running my fingers over her bare arm. She shivers under my touch but other than that, she doesn't move. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“No, I'm just dying.” She flips to her back and groans, banging the back of her head on the bed. “So fucking bored.”

I prop myself on my elbows and inhale and hold my breath, looking at the ceiling. I glance at her, my gaze traveling from her messy hair to her face. The bruise on her cheek is starting to fade, she has dark circles around her eyes and she's so, so pale. I've never seen her so pale. It doesn't make me feel good to see her like this, Moore or not.

I let myself fall on the bed again and finally exhale. “Okay, get up. Did Hayley get you anything warmer to wear?”

She lifts her head slightly and looks at me, her forehead scrunched in confusion but her eyes . . . how can someone look so hopeful and disappointed at the same time?

“Come on,” I say, adding a hint of impatience to my tone. I get off the bed and glance at her sprawled on the bed in tiny shorts and a T-shirt. I ignore my cock as it notices she's not wearing a bra under that shirt. Instead, I turn around and start looking through the drawers, though I see nothing in there that she can actually wear outside. It's gotten cold in the last few days. There's that smell of snow in the air, like it's about to start falling any minute.

She doesn't move, so I walk back to the bed and drag her up by her hands until she's standing. She looks at me, then down to our joined fingers. Squeezing my hands, she looks back up.

“We can go for a walk here on the estate,” I tell her, my voice softer this time.

She exhales and leans into me, pressing her face into my chest. “Thank you,” she mumbles into my shirt.

I don't even think about it, my arms go around her instantly and squeeze her tiny body tight against mine. I close my eyes, just feeling her molding into my embrace, like a puzzle piece falling into its place. And when she pulls away from me, I miss her already.

Of course she was made for me. I never doubted it. Because life couldn't get any more fucked up otherwise. And this is exactly why I cut her out of my life the first time. Why I should have never even gotten anywhere near her in the first place.

I take her hand in mine and lead her out of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible as I lock the door behind us. There are always my uncle's men around, even when it looks like the place is empty. They are always somewhere. I just hope no one sees us, because this wouldn't go down well with anyone, taking her out like this. I hold her gaze and she nods in understanding, her bare feet silent as we descend the two flights of stairs.

Instead of outside, I take her to my room. She gives me a curious look when I point to the bed, but doesn't say anything. She takes a seat on the edge of it, leaning on her hands behind her while I turn around and grab some warmer clothes for her to wear. When I look back at her, she's looking around, her gaze touching every inch of the room.

I leave the clothes next to her on the bed, and look around as well, trying to see it through her eyes. Cold, and dark, and just . . . dead.

Finally, our eyes meet.

“I hate this room,” she says, keeping her voice down to a whisper. “It's not you at all. No wonder you're always brooding.”

I look down and purse my lips, trying not to smile.

She gets up on her knees on the bed. “Come here.”

She pulls me by the belt loops on my jeans, urging me to come closer. I don't resist the pull, and when I'm standing right in front of her she slides her hands upwards over my chest, and starts to unbutton my shirt when her fingers reach the top.

Not exactly what I had in mind when I brought her here. I put my hands over hers to stop them from going any further, glancing toward the door and trying to remember why this isn't a good idea.

The door is unlocked and anyone can come in, as unlikely as it is at this hour. Anyone could hear. My uncle is just down the hallway, sleeping in his room.

But most of all, I want to give her something, and show her I'm not a monster who only takes and takes and takes from her, and never gives anything back. I know she's dying of boredom and silence in that room.

My fingers tighten around her wrists, halting their path, but that doesn't stop her mouth from crushing mine. Her wet tongue teases my lips, trying to convince me to forget everything around us and just let myself go.

She moves away from my mouth and trails kisses along my jaw, her hot breath tickling my skin whenever she pulls away. By the time she reaches my ear, my resistance is all but crumbling.

This woman is dangerous.

“I want you to fuck me in your bed,” she whispers, and then bites down on my earlobe.

As if there's anything that would stop me right now. My jeans are already too tight against my hard-on as it is.

I grab the collar of her T-shirt and just rip it off her, exposing her perfect breasts. She gasps in surprise, and then moans as I take her nipple into my mouth and lightly bite on it. Her back arches, and she presses herself into my mouth as I lick and suck and bite her other nipple.

Placing a hand flat on her stomach, I lay her on the bed. She lifts her hips when I pull off her shorts, taking the underwear with it. I kiss my way up the inside of her thigh until I finally reach her core, already wet for me. I look up at her, smiling at her ragged breathing, her stomach quivering in anticipation, and then I shake my head when I see her eyes closed.

I let my mouth hover over her clit. “You know I won't touch you until you look at me.”

She opens her eyes instantly and locks them to mine. The second my mouth latches onto her clit and my fingers find her entrance, her hands press at the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair and pulling on it. She tastes so fucking good. I wrap an arm around her thigh to keep her from writhing when I finally insert my finger inside of her and pull it out, then insert two and start sliding them in and out in a steady rhythm.

I feel her clench around me within minutes, and I quicken my pace to bring her over the edge, sucking and licking her clit. I lift my head as she rides her orgasm, her eyes holding mine.

When her body falls limp back onto the mattress, the only sound in the room is our breathing, hers ragged and mine heavy, because the erection in my jeans is at the point of being painful. My self-control is definitely at its limit; I'm just about ready to bury myself in her.

I pull my fingers out of her instead and then get up and sit on the bed, adjusting myself. I glance at her and take in her flushed cheeks, her teeth still biting on her lips to keep from screaming.

She's the personification of beauty.

Her hand finds mine and she tries to pull me down to her, but I bring her up to sit instead and take the clothes I laid out earlier. I pull the hoodie over her head, only to reveal her confused eyes when it's on her.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I lean over and kiss the frown on her forehead. “I told you, we're going for a walk.”

“What, now?”

I just nod.

“But—”

“But what?”

“I was looking forward to that.” She waves her fingers in the general area of my crotch.

We both look down at the bulge in my jeans. An evil grin curves my lips. “Oh, you're going to get it. Tonight, in my bed, where I already had you, what, three times last night?”

Her eyes widen in surprise. I thought she at least suspected that was actually my room, but obviously not.

I get off the bed, find a pair of boxers in one of the drawers, and walk back and slide them up her legs.

“Leighton, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everything but me inside you,” I say, meeting her gaze.

She swallows hard. “Is that a threat?”

“A promise,” I say casually, picking up the sweatpants and sliding them up her legs as well, then pulling on the drawstring around her waist to secure them cause otherwise they'd probably fall off. I fold the waistband over for good measure.

She stands up, still on shaky legs, and smiles. She leans down and rolls each leg up three times over until her feet come out. It looks ridiculous and kinda hot at the same time, to see her practically swallowed in my clothes. I throw two socks at her and she smirks, putting each on.

“There's a warm jacket somewhere in that pile of clothes.” I point to the pile in question, trying to hide a sheepish smile.

She walks over to the chair it's all thrown on, and starts rummaging through the clothes, her back to me. She pauses for a second.

“Never took you to be so messy,” she says, her voice slightly louder as she shuffles some of my clothes around. She turns around after shrugging my jacket on, her hands in the pockets, and sniffs the collar. “Can I keep this?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say, though I was going to buy her some warmer clothes, jacket included. But I like her wanting to keep mine. Like she wants me with her even when I'm not.

“You forgot your jacket in . . . wow, your room?”

“Yeah,” I say, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt and pulling a sweatshirt of my own on. “But that's okay.” I adjust myself again deliberately, and she smiles. “I could use the cold.”

LEIGHTON

It's times like these that I forget. I forget that I’m essentially a prisoner, and that the man I love is probably going to be the last thing I see before I die. He makes me forget everything. Walking down the path behind the house, hand in hand with Devon, the only thing I can think of is him. The now. This very moment. His hand is gripping mine tightly, as if he’s afraid to let go. I return the gesture, but what I'm afraid of is the moment he does exactly that.

I know I have an expiration date. Now I just need to find out how much time I have.

“You okay?” Devon asks me, a puff of frozen breath leaving his mouth as he speaks.

Truth be told, my legs are still a little shaky from the orgasm he gave me, but there’s no way I’m going to voice a complaint about that. We walk toward a bench under a bare tree and Devon gestures for me to sit. I pull the jacket around me, trying to protect myself from the harsh cold and sit down slowly.

“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.

fourteen

DEVON

If I could pick one day to last twenty-five hours, this would be it. I'm in the car, driving aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do. I have some money stashed in Baroque, mostly racket—which is shit these days. Still, it should be enough for what I need.

Parking in front of the club, I pull out my cell phone. Shit, I'll probably need a new one. First I check in with Hayley, letting her know she doesn’t have to come in today. She doesn’t like it and starts giving me a lecture, but I finish the conversation fast and hang up, realizing that might have been the last time I talk to her. I dial Colin's number next and set up a meeting in an hour, telling him I have a job for him. Satisfied when he agrees to meet me, I hang up and get inside Baroque.

They don't expect me, of course, since I'm never here during the day, and I get curious looks all around as I walk the long distance from the entrance door to the dark hallway leading to the back office. I have to cross the saloon and then another room—the girls' room—and then, at the very back, is the main office.

Just act normal. I repeat this mantra in my head. How do I act when I'm normal? Without a word, or a nod of a head, I walk past everyone. A flash of dark curls catches my eye. Soraya. She sees me and gives me a shiny smile, heading toward me. I'd rather have avoided her, but I can't just run now.

“Devon Andre,” she says, reaching me. She's wearing a red dress, elegant, but revealing, with just a little cleavage, to get you to ask yourself what's underneath—the way we require them to dress for this place, day or night. She puts her small hand on my forearm, squeezing it lightly and giving me a flirty smile. It’s barely noon, so there aren’t many people in here, but all eyes are on us, taking this exchange in curiously. I smile back at Soraya, deciding to play this in my favor.

Placing my hand at the small of her back, I lead her toward the office, then let it slide down, cupping her ass. She gives me a questioning look, and starts to pull away. I lean in, pushing her further toward the office door, and whisper in her ear, “Follow my lead and you'll never have to sleep with old men for money again.”

We make eye contact, and she gives me an imperceptible nod. Her demeanor completely changes, and she laughs timidly, but loud enough for at least those nearby to hear, leaning back into my hand and letting me grab her ass.

I don't think there's any doubt as to what we'll be doing in my office at this point, especially after I lock the door after entering.

“What's—”

I put my hand over her mouth to shut her up. The whole place is wired, even this office where our business associates sometimes have meetings between themselves. The material we collect we use for extortion and blackmail. Stevie's idea.

I shush her with my finger, then wait for her to nod so I know she understands, and let her go.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask her, pointing with my finger at the whiskey bottle on the table.

She nods. I shake my head at her, motioning with my hand for her to speak instead.

“That whiskey looks good. We need to loosen you up a bit,” she says, her voice turning flirtatious.

I pour a full glass of whiskey.

“Off with the clothes, I just have to do something,” I say, shaking my head to let her know she doesn't have to do it.

She follows me around the office, while I locate all three microphones and submerge them in the amber liquid. They're waterproof and I've done this before, so when I take them out and let them dry they’ll be as good as new. Everyone, my uncle included, knows why I do it, so it won't seem suspicious.

It's one thing recording other people talking business or having sex in this place, but it’s different to do it to yourself.

“We can talk now,” I say, pouring another glass of whiskey and shoving it at her. When she doesn't take it, I wrap her fingers around it and let it go.

“What's going on?” she asks, bringing it to her lips with a trembling hand and taking a small sip. She makes a face of disgust but bravely brings it to her lips again.

“I have a friend coming over,” I tell her.

The glass stops midway to her mouth, her face taking on a comical expression of pure horror. “That's not in my contract,” she squeaks.

“What? No, it's not like that! I didn't mean that,” I tell her pointedly.

She visibly relaxes and leans on the desk, placing the glass down next to her and crossing her legs. She looks at me expectantly. “Okay, go on,” she prompts with her hand.

I hold up a finger. “Give me a second,” I say, walking to the huge painting on the back wall. I take it off, revealing a safe. After I input the right combination, it clicks and opens slowly to reveal several stacks of hundred dollar bills. I take a few, probably fifty grand, then walk to her and place them on the table next to the glass.

She eyes them hungrily. I feel like crap for using her own self against her, but it's all I've got.

“I can wire you more. All you have to do is say you were with me all day.” I have an off-shore account nobody knows about. It's in Joey Andre's name.

She looks at me warily, probably realizing whatever is going on isn’t flower picking. Sure enough, she asks, “What exactly is going on here?”

I open my mouth to answer, but my phone rings, interrupting me. Colin's number flashes on the screen.

“Yeah,” I say when I answer.

“Hey man, I'm outside.”

“Back office,” I inform him shortly, and hang up.

A few minutes later, there's a knock on the door and I open it for him, and then lock again.

He looks around the office, his gaze landing on Soraya, and then he frowns at the glass in her hand. “Hey, what's up?” he says softly. To her.

She groans and takes the remaining whiskey and downs it, his eyes following the movement. “This is your friend?” she asks, pointing at him with the empty glass.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, really confused.

She sighs a heavy sigh. “He's a client.”

“Yeah, a client,” Colin mimics her words in this high-pitched voice.

I palm my face. Just what I needed. “For fuck's sake, can we not do the whole secret lovers thing? Lives are at stake here,” I say, slamming my fist on the table.

They break off their angry stare down contest to look at me.

“Sorry, man,” Colin says, glancing at Soraya again. “Sorry, Amber.”

“Thank you,” I say, exasperated. Soraya just nods sadly.

“So, what's this all about?” Colin asks me, leaning on the desk next to her. She moves away slightly, but doesn't say anything.

I'm wondering why I'm about to trust the biggest gossip I know with this sensitive information. Probably because Colin, he has that something other people in our circles don't. He still has a sense of justice, of fairness. He has a heart.

“Colin, what I'm about to tell you, it can't leave this room.” My gaze strays toward Amber, making a subtle threat. Yes, he has a heart, and that's exactly what I'm counting on. I watch his Adam's apple bob, and then he nods with determination. “It's about Leighton Moore,” I say after a beat, easing them into the story. If I want their cooperation, I'll need to tell them everything. “I know where she is.”

* * *

Colin sits on the floor, stunned speechless.

“Wow,” Amber says, although I'm sure the story means nothing to her.

“Holy shit,” Colin finally manages. “And all this time . . . you and the Moore girl? Holy shit.”

“Leighton,” I correct him, the sound of her last name making me feel sick. I can't believe I'm fucking doing this.

For so long I've held onto this one tiny shred, the justice I'll get for my parents and brother one day when I see them all on their knees. Instead, I'm failing them by saving the daughter of the man who killed them and running away with her. Betraying my own name for the sake of love.

What kind of person does that make me?

“A person in love,” Amber says, her face taking on a dreamy look. I must have said that out loud, and for fuck's sake, I am so not in the mood for girly dreamy sighs.

“Are you in or not?” I ask Colin.

He nods without giving it a thought and Amber looks at him, frowning. It's clear she cares about him and he's not just a client. What is she doing here if he loves her? Why doesn't he take her away from this godforsaken life when they can freely choose where to be and what to do?

“You don't even know what the plan is,” she tells him, her voice more authoritative than worried. He shrugs, and she shakes her head at him, clearly annoyed. “Will he be safe?” she asks me, still looking at him.

“All he has to do is take my car,” I tell her honestly. “Just drop it off at a certain location and leave it there. When he does, he needs to call me and let me know. And that's all.”

“And why?” she asks.

“Because tonight, Leighton Moore and Devon Andre are going to die.”

The look she gives Colin is doubtful. “You think you can pull that off?” she asks me, still looking at him.

“I’ll have to.”

* * *

A black sedan pulls into the warehouse, grabbing my attention. I exit the office and approach the car as the door opens and a blond, broad-shouldered man steps out. He pulls off his shades, revealing his brown eyes, and puts them in his shirt pocket.

“Justin,” I say in greeting.

“Devon.”

“How's Martha and the babies?” I ask him. He shifts on his feet nervously, looking around to see if we're alone. After a few moments, he approaches, slapping me on the back and pulling me in for a manly hug. I went to the same school as Justin, who is now a detective, my police contact. He's a few years older than me, but we used to be good friends. Back in high school, he was one of the few real friends I had: normal kids stayed away from me because their parents know who I was.

No one in my family knows we still keep in contact, if you can even call it that. I would never call him in, if I had a choice. He has a wife and two kids on the way, and I would never jeopardize his job or their lives.

“Hormonal,” is his short answer, but he laughs. She’s due any day now. “It’s been a while, Andre. How’s the business?”

I laugh nervously, though I was never afraid of Justin busting my ass. It’s just my natural instinct; he’s still a cop and I’m a criminal. I motion for him to follow me to the back office. He sits in the chair while I open the safe and pull out the bag I filled earlier from it. I sit opposite him, emptying the contents of the bag on the large table in front of us and look at him expectantly.

It’s a hundred grand in Benjamins.

He gives me a dubious look. “So, we’re talking business?”

“Unfortunately," I say.

“What’s going on?”

I run my hand through my hair, wondering if I should just spill the whole story to him as well, but decide against it. “I need to disappear. There’s—”

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” he cuts me off.

I frown. “Heard what?” If anyone knew about Leighton being at our house, she’d be gone already, safe home. And I know they have police contacts as well, it’s a no-brainer. If Justin knows, their people know it as well.

“Gino Fermi?” he says, referring to one of the bosses. When I shake my head because I have no idea what he’s talking about, he continues, “Heard the kid—” he gestures with his hand, snapping his fingers, “What’s his name?”

“Angelo,” I help him.

“Yeah. Heard he took over. The old man’s nowhere to be found. That’s just the word on the street; no one is actually saying anything. Bet ya he’s at the bottom of Mystic.”

“Huh,” I say. I had no idea, but someone in my family must have. Frank and Stevie would have known for sure. Why didn’t they say anything to me? I mean, this is not a small thing. “Didn’t he just turn eighteen? That’s a big step for a kid.” It’s a huge step, actually. And Angelo Fermi isn’t that smart either, so he probably won’t last too long.

“You really didn’t know?” I shake my head, though I hate to admit I was being kept in the dark about it. “And that’s after someone car-bombed Anthony Potenza,” he says.

I nod, because this I do know. Only his driver died, so it wasn’t a big deal. Word was he dealt with it, but I know these things are said just to keep the pretenses of being in control. I didn’t think much of it then, but if two bosses have been targeted, something is going on.

“I think we have a mob war on our hands,” he continues, the implication in his voice obvious. Immediately I think of my uncle and Stevie and our conversation the other day.

I put up my palms in surrender. “It wasn’t me,” I say, laughing nervously, and hoping he doesn’t see right through me. I had nothing to do with it, but if my family is behind it I’m as good as guilty, despite not knowing anything.

“Okay.” He leans his elbows on the table between us, his eyes calculating. He points at the money in front of him. “I don’t want that.” I go over the list of other things I can offer him. I’m about to open my mouth to ask what’s it going to cost, when he says, “No, man. I don’t want it. We’re friends.”

“I know you could use it.”

“Frankly, I’m insulted,” he says, crossing his arms against his chest. “Okay? So just tell me what I have to do.”

I smile at my friend. “I need a John and a Jane Doe, and that's it.”

fifteen

LEIGHTON

I stiffen the moment he walks through the door, his eyes pinning me as soon as he locks it shut. He’s carrying a bag of food in his hands, and places it on the table along with his car keys as he makes his way over to where I’m sitting on the chair. He smells faintly of cigar, mixed with his spicy cologne. Even with all the mixed emotions I’m feeling right now, the anger and the pain, I still want him. I’ll always want him.

“I brought something you will definitely like this time,” he says in greeting, flashing me a grin. His mood seems lighter than before he left, which makes me even madder because there he is, grinning playfully while I'm hours away from being taken away.

He pulls out his phone, then quickly checks the screen and shuts it off, putting it back in his pocket. I've never seen him bring a phone in here before. A plan starts to form in my head. If only I could get my hands on that phone, everything would be so much easier. I could call someone to let them know where I am, to come and get me while I'm still here.

“I’ll eat later.” I stand up from the bed and take a step closer to him. I place both of my hands flat on his hard chest, and give him a sultry look. “I have something else I want right now,” I say, looking pointedly down his body.

His green eyes narrow to slits, turning heavy-lidded. “Is that right?” he asks, already pulling his shirt off with both hands, sliding it over his head and revealing his sculpted abs and toned chest. Fuck, one glance at his body is all it takes.

My eyes linger on the indentation of his hips, that sexy V I love to run my tongue across. I lick my bottom lip, anticipation and lust taking over my senses. He undoes the button on his jeans, but then stops there. I lift my head up, giving him a curious look.

“I want to see you,” is all he says, his eyes never leaving mine. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I lift off my sweater, pulling it gently so it doesn’t tangle in my hair. I pull off my jeans slowly, sitting back on the bed to pull them off my ankles. I stand up before him in my bra and panties, letting him look his fill. I don’t feel an ounce of shyness—instead, his blatant perusal makes me feel powerful. His lustful gaze and the tightness of his jeans let me know he likes what he sees, and spurs me to reach back and undo my bra. I throw it onto the floor, and grin at Devon’s hungry gaze zooming in on my bare breasts.

“And the rest,” he says, his tone thick with desire. He looks down at my black lace panties, and makes a strained sound. Completely over this teasing game, and just desperately wanting his touch, I pull my panties down and close the space between us. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull myself up onto his body, throwing my legs around his narrow hips. With a hand tangled in my hair, he pulls my face to his, his lips taking mine in a hard, almost punishing kiss. His tongue delves inside my mouth, tasting me. His other hand grips my ass, squeezing tightly, the slight sting of pain turning me on even more. I run my fingers through this thick dark hair, pulling on the ends. I nibble on his full bottom lip before I pull away to trail my mouth along his jaw. While I’m sucking on his neck, Devon moves both hands to my ass, holding me up. He walks to the bed and throws me down onto it, then hurriedly pulls off his jeans and boxers. My eyes devour the perfection that is Devon: his strong thighs and long, thick cock jutting out, hard as a rock, and ready to go.

“Open your legs,” he says, swallowing hard as I comply. Leaning down onto the bed he dips his head and licks my core, stopping to pay special attention to my clit.

“Devon,” I call out, wanting him inside me. Gripping my hips, he tastes me again, until he finally pulls away, pushes my thighs with his hands and slides into me with one long, quick thrust. I let out a strangled breath at the slight discomfort, but then pleasure takes over.

“Fuck, I'm sorry,” he grits out as he enters me, his eyes on where both of us are now joined. Slowly he pulls out, then just as slowly thrusts in again, driving me crazy. I sink my nails into his back, urging him to go faster, lifting my hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, until he leans over me, pulling my hands above my head and threading our fingers together. Pushing our joint hands into the mattress, he grinds his hips into mine over and over again. I close my eyes shut, getting lost in the feeling, the pleasure. I feel his hot, wet mouth on my nipple, teasing, biting, sucking, heightening my pleasure, making it almost unbearable to withstand.

“Leighton,” he rasps out, and I open my eyes, staring back into the ones of the man I love. The man I’m leaving. Knowing this is the last time I’ll ever be with Devon makes me want to break down, but I don’t. Instead, I hold his penetrating gaze, panting as he gives me what I want, makes love to me for the last time. I wrap my legs around his hips, a sound escaping my lips as I erupt with pleasure. I hear Devon curse as my thighs tremble, and he brings his lips to mine, kissing me hungrily as wave after wave of ecstasy has me moaning into his mouth and gripping onto him for dear life.

“You’re perfect for me, you know that?” he whispers as he pulls his mouth from mine. And in this moment, in this bed, we are perfect for each other. In our own little world, where no one else exists, where nothing else matters, we are perfect for each other in each and every way possible. He thrusts again deeply, pulling me from my thoughts. I gasp as he pulls me up into a sitting position, and lifts me so I’m sitting on his thighs while he is in a kneeling position. He lifts his hips, bouncing me on his cock. His eyes are glued to my breasts as they bounce with the motion each time he pushes into me. His fingers dig into my hips, trying to pull me closer, trying to get himself deeper, probably leaving bruises. He bites on my nipple as he comes inside of me, thrusting furiously. He calls out my name, saying it reverently, like a caress. He pulls away and lifts his head up, his eyes unguarded.

“I love you. Whatever happens, I just want you to remember that,” he says, lifting his hand to push away the damp hair from my face. It sounds like a promise—or maybe an apology.

“I love you, too,” I tell him, putting my hand over his chest, feeling his heart slow to a steady, sure beat. Mourning what we had, as sweet and short as it was. I've never loved anyone as much as I love him.

* * *

“It's snowing,” Devon says, looking out the window. He's only in his boxers, his every muscle sharper, harder under the moonlight filtering in. He checks his phone again, probably for the fifteenth time since he got out of bed. The screen illuminates his frown as he reads whatever is on it.

I lick the chocolate filling off my fingers, then take another donut and bite into it. I don’t really feel like eating, but I’ll need the energy tonight.

He looks up from the phone and looks at me. “Enjoying those?”

“My favorite,” I say, giving him a fake smile.

A slow grin pulls at his lips. “Yeah,” he says softly, still smiling. “If you want some fresh air, you're going to have to get out of that bed, you know,” Devon says with a satisfied smirk, turning his attention back to the window. I roll over onto my stomach and smile sadly. I wish I never had to get out of his bed.

When he sees my expression, he walks back to me, and leans down, kissing me on the nose, then on my lips. “Leighton—”

His phone beeps and he exhales deeply, pulling away from me and looking at the screen again. “Come on, get dressed,” he says suddenly. “Fresh air.”

My smile fades as I realize that my time has run out. This is it. I sit up and grab some fresh clothes out of the closet, a pair of jeans and a black V-neck sweater. Devon dresses, and I feel his eyes on me as I walk to the bathroom to get his jacket, but pretend I don’t notice.

“You ready?” he asks, putting his own jacket on.

“Yeah,” I say, but I'm not. I don't want to do this.

DEVON

I take her hand and descend the stairs, dragging her behind me. She walks slowly, hesitantly, as if she doesn't want to leave. As soon as we're out of here, I'm going to clue her in on what exactly is going on, but I don't want her to panic. If they catch us red-handed, we're both done for.

So I lead her downstairs as quietly as possible, going over my plan once again in my head. I left the car in the garage, where I’ll have to somehow sneak in Leighton. I have another car waiting at, ironically, the same parking lot where George and I caught Leighton sneaking up on us. It's abandoned, and there's not a lot of chance someone will see us switching cars there. I'll leave my car and take the other one, and let Colin deal with everything else.

We exit the house and I don't waste time, I lead her straight toward the garage with quick steps. I stop at the gate and turn around, looking at the house where I spent all my life, being, but not living. The only time I'm alive is when I'm with her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, confused, once we’re inside the garage.

I shush her with my hand and open the car door, motioning for her to get in. I didn’t lock it earlier or close it all the way for fear of alerting someone and having them check what’s going on. Wordlessly, she gets in the car. I round it and get in myself, starting the car and pulling out through the raised garage door.

I see two men by the gate. “Get down,” I tell her. She complies without a question. I turn on my headlights, hoping to blind them, and their heads snap in my direction, both of them squinting. One of them raises his hand when he sees it’s me. I pass by them without acknowledging them. It’s what I would usually do.

“Where are we going?” Her voice is taking on a panicky note and I decide to put her out of her misery.

“We're leaving, Leighton.” I glance down to the legroom space where she’s squished. “They were going to take you. I couldn't let that happen.”

“I know.” She touches my hand on the shift stick, her palm lingering on it. I glance at her, and then back to the road. “What about everything else? What about my family?”

“You can come up now,” I say once we’re safe, but really, I’m just buying some time. I hate that I have to tell her this. “It's out of my hands,” I tell her after a beat. “I don't think it ever was in my hands.”

I expect her to say more, but she just looks out the window.

Reaching the parking lot, I park the car and get out. I open the door for her and help her out as well. My old phone, my documents, everything, I’m leaving it all in the car. Earlier snowfall has turned into a blizzard, the cold snowflakes hitting my face sharply at all angles as I lead her to the other car. I get inside, taking the new prepaid phone I purchased earlier and checking to see if Colin or Justin have messaged me yet. There’s nothing.

After looking around the car to make sure we have everything we’ll need, I glance back at Leighton, her hair swirling in the wind, her cheeks slightly flushed. She makes eye contact, but something feels off in the way she looks at me.

Just a little longer and we'll both be free. I'll spend the rest of my life saying sorry for what I almost did, for what I can't stop.

In a moment of perfect clarity I realize there’s no point in all those deaths. It won't bring my family back. It was never really about my family, I realize bitterly. I was a pawn to my uncle, a way to get even more power. He used my loss to manipulate me. I'm probably saving my own life by leaving.

I squeeze her hand tighter, pulling her to me. I kiss her. I kiss her guilt-free, the way I should have kissed her all along. She responds, meeting my tongue with hers, her hand skimming my jaw. I cup her face with my palm, unable to pull away from her. When I finally do, I graze her cheek with my nose, loving the way she seems just as reluctant to leave me as I am to leave her. Our breaths mingle as I look into her icy blues, so much emotion in something so simple as eye contact.

And in this moment, I feel it in my bones. I know without a doubt, I’m doing the right thing. Something wet touches my fingers, and I wipe away the tear that slides down her cheek.

She steps back, a blank look on her face. Another step back. And another.

“Leighton, what's going on?”

She puts up her hand, shutting me up. She pulls out a gun from the jacket pocket.

A gun. I recognize it instantly—it's the one I had on me the night we caught her sneaking in this same parking lot. I tried not to take weapons into her room for fear I'd do this exact same thing she's doing right now.

She raises it with a trembling hand. It's shaking so hard I'm afraid she'll drop it, and kill herself or me by accident. She grips it with both her hands and points it at me, steadying the gun.

I watch, numb, as the snowflakes land on her face, melting the moment they touch lips I just kissed.

“I can’t lose my family, Devon.” It’s as simple as that.

I open my mouth to speak.

“No, let me finish.” She’s shivering; I can tell she’s cold. Why did I expect her to just let this go? “You’ve lost your family and that’s a horrible thing, but do you think if you do the same to me I’ll be able to ever look at you again?”

I look away, because that’s exactly what I thought. I thought we could leave and never look back, and just let everyone kill each other until they’re all gone. I only need her.

“Because that was never going to happen, Devon. I’m not letting them die if I can do something about it. It’s what you would have done, isn’t it? Isn’t it?” She yells the last part when I don’t answer her.

I nod reluctantly, because she’s right. I’d have done anything I could to stop what happened, but I was just a fucking kid. She can do something about it.

“Now, tell me, do you love me?”

She still has me at gunpoint. “You know I do.”

“Then come with me, and let’s figure this out. Let’s do something so no one has to die. Didn’t you have enough of death in your life?”

And snitch on my own family? I don’t think so. Whatever they did, however they used me for their own plans, no matter how many times I wished my uncle was dead because he didn’t accept me, I’d never betray them. It’s instilled in me. Family first. Everything else—my own life, Leighton’s love—everything else comes after that. Going away is the only option.

“No,” I say, knowing what will happen next. “And you know I can’t let you do that, either.”

She cocks the gun and shoots. Just like that. I find myself on the wet pavement, a dull ache shooting through my whole upper body. I raise my head, looking around, not exactly sure what just happened. Then the pain comes, the real, excruciating pain slicing through my arm. I want to move, but even thinking about it hurts like hell. She hovers over me, looking through my jacket, stubbornly avoiding my gaze. My eyes are half-closed as it is, the unconsciousness taking over. She finds what she was looking for. If I weren't dying, I'd laugh. My phone. My stupid fucking phone.

I've laid it all out for her perfectly. Her fucking hero.

I close my eyes, finding it hard to open them again.

“Dom, it's Leighton,” she says, barely audible through the whooshing wind in my ears. She's calling Dom. I don't know why I need to remember it, seeing as I'm dying, but I know I need to remember she called Dom. “I'm at the abandoned parking lot at the harbor, near the ferry terminal. Can you come?” A pause. “We can talk about that later, Dom, just come, please. Hurry.”

Something presses into my shoulder and it hurts even more than I thought imaginable, pulling me further under. “You're going to be okay,” she tells me, as I hear a car pull into the parking lot. Her lips press against mine. “I'm sorry,” she whispers, and then she leaves.

LEIGHTON

Stuffing the phone in my pocket, I get in the car, sparing Devon one last glance. I know he'll be fine because they'll find him soon, and in a few days he’ll be okay. At least, physically. It's the emotional wounds that never heal. As much as running away with him sounds like the perfect option, I have to save my family. I love Devon with everything in me, but I wouldn’t be the person I am if I just let my family die. I love them, and I’m not that selfish. This was the only way.

“Dom, just drive,” I tell my cousin, my voice breaking. Dom flashes me an odd look before taking off.

“Are you okay?” he asks, staring straight ahead. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

“I just need to see Dad . . . then I’ll be fine,” I ramble. I run my fingers through my hair, trying to block out what just happened. What I just did. I close my eyes but instantly see his face, so I open them and stare out the window. Looks like I will never be able to close my eyes or sleep again without seeing his broken expression.

And I deserve nothing less.

“How’s Dad? Has he been looking for me? What’s happened since I was gone?” I ask him in a rush. I need to know what’s been going on—do they suspect anything about Devon’s family?

“We’ll talk when we get there,” he answers. “I let him know you called. What the hell happened with you? I thought you were in Ireland, though you never said anything about going and it seemed weird.”

“I didn’t leave, Dom. I was taken by the Andres. They’re planning this whole thing to take us down, all of us.”

His head snaps sharply to look at me. “I had no fucking idea, Leighton. Keith said you went off to Ireland.” I frown. Did he not hear what I just said? “He even sent your mom after you.”

“He did?” So he must have really thought I’d left. If I didn’t save myself, no help would have come anyway.

“You’re safe now,” Dom says, affection evident in his voice. “I wish I’d known, baby girl. I’d have come for you myself.”

I reach out with my hand and grasp his tightly in mine. We may not be biological siblings, but I’ve seen him as my brother my whole life. “I know,” I say. How was he supposed to know if my own dad had no idea?

I look out the window again, take a deep breath and then turn my head to my cousin. When I do, he glances at me, smiling. “Watch out!” I yell, grabbing for the steering wheel and swerving sharply off the road to avoid two cars parked across the street. The car stops almost immediately in a shallow ditch just off the side of the road.

“Are you okay?” Dom asks.

I nod, checking myself over. “Who the hell is that?”

My eyes widen when I see two armed men dressed in all-black approach the car, and open the door. I even recognize one of them as our own man. Dom steps outside and dusts himself off casually, giving me a once over as they grab me and make me stand, binding my wrists and covering my head with a black bag.

“What took you guys so long?” I hear Dom ask. After a moment of silence, he says, “Never mind, let’s just go before someone sees us.”

* * *

“I didn’t want to have to hurt you, Leighton,” he says, his voice sounding honest. “I thought you’d be taken care of by now, and I wouldn’t have to.”

I sag deeper into the chair, chastising myself over and over again for fucking up so bad. I shot the love of my love for my blood, my family. To protect them. And yet here I am: handcuffed to a chair by my own cousin in some dingy storage room that smells like fish. I have no idea where we are.

This whole thing is one huge mess, and I’m right in the center of it. I shot Devon, and now I’m going to die at the hands of someone who shares the same last name as me. Fate and karma have banded together to make me their bitch. There’s no other explanation.

I laugh humorously at the thought, earning me an odd look from Dom, like I’m the crazy person here. He keeps trying to talk to me; it’s like he just enjoys the sound of his own voice. I don’t really care what he has to say because he is dead to me. If I get a chance to get out of here, I’ll make sure he pays for this.

We took him in as our own. I saw him as my brother.

The door opens and George walks in. I’m not surprised one bit. However when Stevie walks in, followed by that Devon’s sleazy friend, Danny, smirking at me, my mouth gapes open in shock.

“And the plot thickens,” I whisper under my breath, my eyes not leaving Danny’s bulging ones. What exactly is going on here?

“Surprised to see me?” Stevie taunts. I school my expression, and turn my eyes to Dom, who is watching me closely, a thoughtful look on his face. I thought my cousin was smarter than this. Allying yourself with traitors clearly isn’t the smartest move. I can sense a desperation about him that confuses me. I’m obviously just a pawn in this game, a weapon to use against my father.

“If you’re going to kill me can you get it over with? I’ve had enough of death threats with no delivery as of late,” I sneer at my cousin. I remember saying similar words to Devon, but I never thought he would actually go through with it. This time, I’m not so confident.

“I’d love to have a little fun with her,” Danny says, his leering eyes making me cringe. “What a waste.” He gives my body a once over.

“You’ll definitely have to kill me first before that happens,” I mutter, my pulse racing.

Danny’s hands clench into fists, but Stevie just laughs. “It’s a possibility,” he says.

Sick bastard. I turn to Dom, who is sending a dangerous look Stevie’s way. He apparently doesn’t appreciate Stevie’s comment. So death is okay, but rape is out. Good to know. I can feel someone watching me so I turn to see George staring at me. I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t drop his gaze, not backing down.

He swallows nervously before he opens his mouth. “Why didn’t Devon kill you?” he finally asks, a curious glint entering his eyes. Stevie grins cruelly, and is about to answer when his phone rings. He walks out, his loud obnoxious voice booming on the other side of the door.

“Can I have some water?” I ask my cousin, smacking together my parched lips. Dom gestures to Danny, who leaves the room and returns with an iced bottle of water. Dom takes it from Danny and opens the lid, handing it over to me. I reach out with my free hand, licking my dry lips before taking a sip. I tilt my head back and swallow a mouthful before placing the bottle on the ground next to the chair leg.

“I’ll bring you something to eat in a little while,” he says, leaning back against his chair.

“I don’t want food. I want to go home. Alive,” I say pointedly. He can’t seriously be doing this.

“Your father screwed me and my father over. It’s time he gets what’s coming to him,” he says, staring out the window.

“My father took you in as his own son! Your father wouldn’t want this. He understands the basic concept of loyalty,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. My uncle, who is also my godfather, has always been kind to me, and when push came to the shove, he took one for the family. “Dom,” I say softly, my eyes pleading with his. He runs his hand through his dark hair, and then leans his head back against the wall.

“I’m sorry. There are a few things I want, and you’re in the way,” he says, pinning me with his gaze.

“What things?” I ask curiously, shifting on the chair.

“Revenge, power . . . ” he trails off, then turns his evil stare on me. “I should be the boss, not your dad.” Revenge and power? The boss? Like that would ever go down well. I roll my eyes. Great, my cousin has morphed into a cliché villain. He stands up, and I start to panic.

“Where are you going?” I ask, unable to mask my worry.

“To see if there are any loose ends,” he answers distractedly, eyes on his phone. “Have to go back to that fucking parking lot, make sure you finished that asshole Andre off.”

“You can’t leave me here with them!” I gape, turning to stare at the door. My wrist pulls against the handcuff, the pain making me wince.

“No one touches her until I get back, do you understand?” Dom says to George, his voice laced with an underlying threat. George nods once.

“Dom!” I yell after him, hating the neediness existent even to my own ears. My cousin ignores me, and storms out of the room, leaving me with George and Danny.

“Fuck,” I curse as the door locks shut. I did not come all this way just to get killed by these idiots. I did not shoot Devon only to die at the hands of my own cousin. I look down at my wrist; the red welts around it are burning in pain. Lifting my head, I slowly raise my eyes to George’s. I don’t know what he sees in them, but he takes a step back, and looks down at the floor. In that moment, I realize something. I need to stick with him. He’s the only one of them I know, and with him, I can at least protect myself somehow.

sixteen

DEVON

“I love you, too.” The beautiful melody surrounds me and grips my chest, until I can't breathe anymore. A gunshot rings through the night and straight through my heart, shattering her words.

My eyes fly open. For the second it takes me to adjust to the darkness in the room, I think I might have dreamed the whole thing. Then pain slices through my shoulder and all the way down to my fingertips. I try to move my arm, clenching my teeth because it hurts like a motherfucker.

“The meds have worn off,” a silhouette says, standing in the corner. He comes closer, turns on the lamp and sits in the chair next to the bed, looking at me as if for the first time. “I'll have them give you more, but we need you conscious right now.”

The bed is not mine. The sheets smell like detergent, artificially fresh. Nothing like her.

My uncle leans his elbows on the bed, making eye contact. I look away, ashamed. By now he must know what I've done, and how I've betrayed us. Our name.

And for what?

Finally I look back at him. He doesn't look good at all. Actually, I think this might be the first time I've seen him look so . . . distraught. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling on its ends. He looks his age. His features are softer, his eyes younger, but worry wrinkles his forehead. The mask he usually keeps on is nowhere to be seen. It catches me off guard, just how much alike we are. No wonder people think we're brothers.

“What happened out there?” he asks. There's no anger in his voice. It takes me a beat to realize he doesn't sound disappointed, either.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is so parched I can't say a word. Frank quickly takes a glass and pours some water from a plastic bottle in it, then brings it to my lips.

“I don't know,” I say after a few more sips. Because I don't know. One minute we were almost free, the next I was at a gunpoint. “I don't know what happened.”

“Think, anything. We need to know whatever you can remember.”

“She just shot me.” It fucking hurts to say it.

Frank nods, then gets up and walks out of the room. I glance around the unfamiliar walls, thinking it looks cold, despite the lamp warm light. I look down my body, and lift the covers to find two layers of blankets and a duvet. Frank comes back in with a woman, and she comes closer, flashing a light into my eyes, blinding me.

“He doesn't seem disoriented.”

The woman nods, opening my eyes wider and flashing the light into them again.

“I'm not disoriented,” I tell them. I don't feel disoriented.

“Can you tell me your name?” the woman asks in a soft, soothing voice. Her red lips bring back a flash of memory, like this is not the first time she's asked me this question.

“It's Devon,” I snap, narrowing my own eyes at her.

“Devon,” my uncle says in warning. He looks at her. “I think he's fine, Aileen. Thank you.”

She nods again, then takes out a pill bottle from her pocket, and puts it on the small table next to the bed. She points at her shoulder and smiles kindly, saying, “For the pain.” Then she turns around and leaves the room.

Frank waits until she's out before speaking. “Stupid kids. You could have died out there in the cold, freezing to death. If we didn’t find you in time—” He shakes his head condescendingly as he says it. As far as words of comfort go, it’s not much. “That was an incredibly stupid thing to do, Devon.”

He's telling me.

“She tried to kill me,” I say in disbelief. What surprises me is I'm not angry. Rationally, I shouldn't have expected anything less from her. Her whole family is in danger. If the tables were turned, I'd probably have done the same.

“You'd be dead,” Keith Moore says, standing at the door.

I jerk at the sound of his voice, another shot of pain racing through my arm, but it’s seeing him that makes me furious. What the fuck? I look at my uncle, and he has the decency to look apologetic. I've never felt so betrayed in my entire life, and this is hours after the woman I love shot me without a second thought.

“What the hell is going on?” I'd yell but I don't have it in me, so I settle for enunciating each word slowly.

“My daughter is a great shot,” Keith says. “If she wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Now, cut the crap and tell me where she is.”

“I—” I pause. Why is he asking me? She would have gone home, to warn them. Suddenly, I remember. She called Dom, and then a car came and . . . that's where my memory cuts off.

You're going to be okay. Those are the last words I remember.

“She called Dom.”

“He's gone, too. We found his car in a ditch just outside of town,” Keith says, coming closer to stand by my uncle.

He’s gone, too? I look between the two of them, realizing neither explained what exactly all of this is. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It can wait, Devon,” Frank answers, and for the first time since I woke up he sounds like the Frank I know.

It can't fucking wait. I have my uncle and the murderer of my parents in the same room, obviously working together. “No, I'd rather you tell me now. Or am I supposed to just accept that he,” I spit the word out, making it sound like an insult, “is here, pretending like he didn't take my whole family away from me. From us!”

My uncle's face softens. “I know it seems confusing, but I need you to trust me. Have I ever failed you before?”

“Ever? You’ve fucking failed me my whole life.” I expect to regret the words, but I don't. All he ever did was antagonize me, from the first day we were all that was left of our family. I was one of his men, an employee. I was never his nephew.

He squares his shoulders and crosses his arms. I feel so fucking small in this bed with him looming over me like this. He looks at Keith who nods—he fucking nods, as if he's giving permission—at him, making me even more furious.

“I was protecting you.”

He holds my gaze, and the sincerity in his eyes catches me off guard. But protecting me from what? I open my mouth to ask him, but Keith interrupts me.

“Okay, we can talk about all of this later. There are things you need to know, Devon, but for now, we need to know everything you remember about the other night.”

The other night? “How long was I out for?”

“Two days,” my uncle says.

Two days. I'm not an idiot. I've figured it out by now that Leighton didn't make it back. And I've been out for two fucking days while she's God knows where. But I remember nothing. I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn't help. It only makes the pounding headache worse. My hand flies to my eyes, pressing them.

“She didn't make it back, did she?” I don't know why I ask it, I guess I just need to hear it confirmed, or maybe they will tell me I'm wrong.

“No.” The word coming from Keith is icy. I can't even look at him because it's all my fucking fault, so I keep my eyes covered with my hand.

“And Dom?”

“We assume they took him, as well. Which might be a good thing, because he can at least try and protect her, unless . . . ” He lets the sentence hang there, and for that I'm grateful. If she's all alone with someone who wants to harm her—

I laugh bitterly at the irony of this whole thing. All I kept thinking was how she will try and find a way out of that room in our house, but now I'm worried. Now I'm praying she finds a way to escape, wherever she is, or that she at least holds on until I find her.

Because I will find her, if it's the last thing I do.

LEIGHTON

The silence in the room makes my mind wander to Devon, to the look on his face when I shot him. I’m a horrible person, I know, I’ve kept telling myself that for the last two days. But I couldn’t sit there and let my family die. I’m not that selfish, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if that had happened. I would have loved nothing more than to run away with Devon, and spend the rest of our lives together, but with the death of my family on my conscience? When I could have stopped it? I would have grown to hate and resent him.

In the end, all it comes down to is that Devon and I just weren’t meant to be. People don’t always get what they want, but they still move forward, move on with their life. I know I’ll only be living a half-life without Devon, without my heart, but it was the only way.

This is the only way. I hope he’s somewhere safe, and not in too much pain. I know that shot wouldn’t have severely wounded or killed him. Hopefully he’s in hospital, recuperating.

I don’t know what Dom and Stevie have up their sleeve, but I need to figure that out, and soon. Stevie isn’t loyal to Devon, and that pisses me off. Devon deserves better, and he needs to know what’s going on in his own ranks. That he can’t trust anyone.

“I need to pee,” I tell George. I haven’t seen Dom at all since he left me here with them, and so far they’ve listened to him, taking shifts to watch over me, bringing me food and water. It’s usually George that I ask to go to the bathroom. Even knowing he’s a rat, for some reason I trust he’s not going to do anything to me.

The looks Danny throws my way every now and again are disgusting. And right now, it’s just the two of them here.

To my horror, Danny says, “I’ll take her.” The intent in his voice is more than obvious.

I shake my head violently. “No, George, you can’t let him do this.”

Danny grasps for the gun at his waist. “I’ll take her.”

George looks at me, swallowing hard, and then he looks away. Fucking low piece of shit. He has known me my whole life.

I steel myself as Danny unlocks the handcuff holding me to the wall, and I get up from the chair, shoulders squared, rubbing my painful wrist with the other hand. I give George one final look of betrayal, and then Danny pushes me toward the door and out of the room, a gun digging into my back.

We walk in tense silence toward the small stuffy bathroom with only one stall, no windows. My head is reeling, trying to figure out how to get out of this. I can’t let him do this to me. I look around the small bathroom, my eyes finding nothing that can help me.

I open the door to the stall and I’m about to close it when he says, “No. Leave it open.”

I slam it shut and turn the lock quickly. His ominous laughter booms through the room as I make use of the toilet.

Okay, think, think, Leighton. There must be something I can do. I curse under my breath as my eyes dart around the bare stall. There’s not even a mirror I could smash and use against him, just plain grey walls.

A knock on the door startles me. “That’s enough time. Come on out, Leighton.”

I turn around and open the door, coming face to face with his gun pointed at my head. He steps back and lowers the gun.

“Now,” he says, approaching me slowly, and I notice the sweat beading on his forehead, “time to play.”

I jerk my hand when he grabs my wrist tightly, bringing it to his crotch and rubbing it over the bulge in his jeans. Oh my God, is all I keep thinking. This is really happening.

“Oh yeah, that’s good, baby,” he says, looking down at my hand as he moves it faster and faster. I’m literally backing away, trying to get put as much distance between us as I can, so much my shoulder starts to hurt. But his grip is too tight and he’s too strong for me. “Do you like that, Leighton?”

I shake my head, unable to speak of terror. The hand holding the gun comes flying out, and he punches me across the face. I can feel my cheek pulsating where he hit me.

“You love it, don’t you, you little whore?”

I nod. What else can I do? If he hits me again, or something worse, there’s no way out. I could pass out. I could get seriously hurt. At least this way I’m conscious, and I can still figure out a way to protect myself.

“Get on your fucking knees!” When I don’t move, he brings the gun under my chin and digs it into my flesh. “I said, get on your fucking knees.”

I get on my knees.

He starts unbuckling his belt, looking at me with disgusting lustful eyes. How can he take pleasure knowing he’s about to rape me?

“You know, when I realized what was going on, that you were fucking that son of a bitch, I was so disappointed in you, Leighton.” He unbuttons his jeans, one excruciating button at a time. “I really thought you were better than that. But I can’t hold it against you. I know you girls fall for that brooding shit. God knows how much pussy he got just because he’s depressed.” His laughter comes out strangled as he pulls the jeans down together with his boxers and his cock springs out, just inches from my face. “But you should have known better. Now suck it, bitch. See what a real man can give you,” he says, guiding his cock with his hand toward my mouth.

I don’t want to do it. I don’t.

In a desperate move, I reach out with my hand, covering his to stop him. I make eye contact, letting him know I’ll comply with whatever he wants. He moves his hand away and I fight vomit as I grasp his length into my fist.

“That’s right, baby,” he says through a groan as I stroke it one time fast.

And then I snap it sharply, crushing his balls with my other hand. He screams like a fucking girl, the gun clattering to the floor as his hand flies out to hit me again. I scramble away on my knees for the gun, and just shoot, without thinking. Once. Twice. Three fucking times, each echoing in the small space of bathroom. He slumps over me, his jeans around his ankles.

I move his heavy body off me, knowing I’m running out of time before someone comes to check what the gunshots were. I scramble to my feet and punch him in his exposed groin anyway, just for good measure. Fucking son of a bitch rapist asshole.

The gun still in my hand, I run out of the bathroom. I have no idea where I am, what this place is, where to go. I run across the suffocating hallway, and then George comes out from the room they held me in. I raise the gun, grasping it in both my hands and aim it at him.

“You’re not a killer, Leighton,” he says, his condescending tone pissing me off further. He probably doesn’t know I just killed a man.

Oh my God, I just killed a man.

“How do you know what I am, George?” I ask, buying myself some time. What the hell do I do now? My finger hesitates over the trigger and then I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. I’ve known this man my whole life. He's right; I can't kill him.

Suddenly, the gun is knocked out of my hand. It clatters to the floor, the sound echoing ominously against the walls.

“Fucking bitch,” Stevie yells, twisting my arm. I cry out in pain, sure that he’s about to break it. George comes forward, kicking the gun away from me.

“Should have taken that shot,” he says.

seventeen

DEVON

“Okay, talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What kind of a deal did he make?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who was it?"

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

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

“But?”

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

“What is this place?”

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

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

“What would you have done?”

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

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

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

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

It's Leighton. I just want her.

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

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

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

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

My head snaps to his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LEIGHTON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I killed Devon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

eighteen

DEVON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How long until they realize I'm gone?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do you weigh?”

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck did you just give me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saving your life.” A duh is implied.

“Wha—what?”

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

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

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

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

“I'm twenty-six.”

“But you look barely legal.”

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

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

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

For at least two years, if I remember correctly.

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

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

“Why are you two here?”

“You called us,” Colin says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's your name?”

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

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

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

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

It is what it is.

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

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

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

“Stop that,” I tell her.

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

“That's all I need,” I say.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you do to her?” I yell.

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

I see red.

I charge at him and he pushes her away and against me. I clench my teeth in pain; all the adrenaline made me forget I have a gunshot wound in my shoulder.

He turns to run away and I raise my gun to shoot him, holding up Leighton with my bad arm.

I was always told shooting someone when they turn their back on you is not an honorable thing to do. In fact, this is what Stevie himself taught me.

Well, fuck honor. This prick has killed my family, manipulated me, and now, he’s done God knows what to the one person I’d kill for at this point.

I shoot him in his left leg, then the other, and he falls down, cursing in pain. He turns around on the floor, his gun pointed at us, and I quickly pull Leighton in the storage room, placing her down to sit. She clutches with her arms around my neck when I try to pull away, so I forcefully unclamp them and leave her sitting there, heading back out.

“No, stay,” she calls for me, a desperate sound that stops me in my tracks.

I come back to her, thinking I'm wasting time but I need to make sure she's okay. I cup her face in my hands. She looks at me, her eyes unfocused, her pupils dilated, and smiles. “Am I dead?”

“No, Leighton,” I say, placing a kiss to her forehead. “You'll be fine. I came for you.”

Her eyes fill with tears, making my heart hurt. “I didn't mean to—” she sobs. “—I killed you. I fucking killed you.”

“Leighton, I'm here. The bullet barely grazed me.” I repeat Amber's lie. It wouldn't hurt like a bitch if it just grazed me. Then again, I've never been shot before, so maybe it can be much worse than this.

She just cries harder. Whatever they gave her isn't anywhere near wearing off. I wipe away her tears, kissing her salty lips. It hurts like hell to leave her when she's like this, but I need to take care of Stevie first.

I peek from the room, and see Stevie is trying to crawl away, sliding across the floor toward the other storage room. I walk after him. He turns on his back and shoots, barely missing. I raise my gun and shoot his arm. His gun clatters to the floor, echoing in the hallway. He scrambles for it, so I shoot again, this time aiming at his stomach. He falls down to the floor, unmoving, as a red patch soaks his shirt.

I walk up to him, my gun still at aim, and kick his gun with my foot out of his reach, although there's no point. Blood gurgles audibly up his throat and out of his mouth, sliding down his cheek and dripping onto the floor. He's trying to say something, still conscious. I like it like that. I aim the gun at his groin, smiling, and shoot again. And again. And again, until there are no more bullets left.

I stand there for at least ten minutes, watching him die. It's a glorious feeling. I was fooling myself, thinking I'm above this. I wanted this revenge so bad. Amber was right; this is exactly who I am.

I walk back to the room where I left Leighton, only to find her still crying, mumbling to herself. “I just want to die,” I hear her say.

“Come on,” I say, lifting her up and supporting her on my good shoulder. The other one is starting to throb already.

She puts her arms around my waist, squeezing, still mumbling. We're slowly making our way up the stairs, when we hear another gunshot.

“Fuck,” I say, at the same time as Leighton squeals. I take out the spare gun from my waistband, and continue climbing up the stairs, hoping Leighton doesn't make another sound. We're so fucking close to being out of this place, and I am not letting anything stop me now.

I sit her down at the top of the stairs, then lift the hatch and look out. The lights are on this time, and I recognize the person sitting against the wall as Dom, clutching a gun in his hand. I'd say I'm relieved he's alive, but that would be a lie. I've only seen him a handful of times, and I couldn't care less.

But I decide to be a good Samaritan, and lift the hatch all the way up, looking around to see if there's anyone else out there. “Don't shoot,” I shout. “It's Devon Andre, Leighton's with me.”

His eyes widen when he finds me on the other side of the office as I step out, and then lift Leighton up, as well.

“She's okay?” he asks, a tremble in his voice.

“Yeah, I think she's drugged. I have no idea what they gave her.”

He stands up, and I realize he's been shot in the leg. He sees me eyeing it. “He ran.” He points somewhere outside. “I got him, too. They held me separate.”

I consider going after whoever is out there, but decide against it. We better get out of here fast.

“We need to get away from this place. I have a car waiting,” I say, motioning for him to follow me as I lift up Leighton over my good shoulder. Now that the rush is wearing off, I can definitely feel my bad shoulder throbbing. Whatever drug I was given is wearing off. But if there are more of them out there, we need to get out of here fast. When Dom doesn't follow me, I turn around. “Can you walk?”

He nods, and then slowly gets up. I can see it hurts him to walk as he catches up to me, but he bravely soldiers on, and I lead the way outside to the car, my gun at my side, though it's no use in my hurt arm. I unlock the car and put Leighton in the back, placing a kiss on her temple when she moans. I take off my jacket and cover her with it. Dom gets in on the passenger side, slumping in the car seat and leaning his head back. The grimace on his face is just about how I feel right now.

I get in too, starting the car and getting the hell away from that place.

“God, this hurts like a bitch.” He leans down to inspect the wound on his thigh.

“Yeah. How did you get away?” I ask him after a while, turning on the radio at low volume.

“We heard a gunshot, and he didn't want to leave me to go see what it was all about, so he took me with him. We fumbled for the gun, and it fired before I took it from him. And then I shot him too, but he ran away.”

“Good,” I say. “You did good.”

“Yeah,” he answers.

LEIGHTON

I hear voices through the fog in my head, thinking there's no way I'm hearing it right. It's Dom's voice, but it's Devon's I know for sure I'm hallucinating.

He's dead. And I killed him.

“We thought you were dead,” I hear Dom say to Devon.

“Yeah, safer that way,” Devon says.

Even my imagination wouldn't make these two have a friendly conversation, no way, no how. Not after what I found out.

“You think she'll be out much longer?” Dom asks.

A familiar, heavy sigh from Devon. “No,” he replies shortly.

I try to move, but it's no use. My head, my arms, everything feels heavy and hurts. I try again, the sticky leather squeaking under me. Dom turns around sharply. I close my eyes quickly, hoping he didn't see.

I risk opening my eyes again after a couple of minutes. He's looking straight ahead.

That's when I register that I just heard Devon's voice. I can barely contain myself from jumping up and throwing my arms around him, even if I know I can’t move. He's alive. The bastards fucking lied to me. And he came here for me, after what I did.

I make an effort to move my arm, careful not to squeak against the leather seats again. Something heavy rests on my hip, and when I bring my hand to touch it, I could squeal from happiness. It's a gun.

I guess it serves him right, after he left me to those bastards to do whatever they wanted with me. I'm about to grab for it, when a hand flies at me, squeezing my wrist. I look up, and Dom looks at me meaningfully, his eyes darting toward Devon.

A warning.

“What are you doing?” Devon asks, glancing back.

It happens in slow motion. One minute he's looking at me, the next Dom grabs for the gun and points it at him. I can see the moment Devon decides to just go for it. He wrestles with Dom for the gun, swerves off the road, and makes my head hit the door. As the car flips over and hits the ground front-first, the airbags pop out from the dashboard, fat and white and violent, hitting them both, hard, and then there's a gunshot. I hold my breath, waiting to see what happens next.

Neither moves.

I reach out with my arm, which still feels heavy. “Devon,” I whisper, shaking him, trying to see if he's breathing.

Dom grabs my wrist, twisting my arm. There’s another gunshot from under his neck, his head blown to pieces right in front of me, spraying blood all over the car.

Devon lifts up his head, looking me over. For a minute we don't say anything, just looking at each other, the only sounds in the car radio static and our heavy breathing.

“Are you okay?” he asks me, bringing his hand to my face and wiping the wetness from it with his light touch. I wince in pain when he touches my cheek.

I can't help it; I start crying. I'm not sure if they're happy tears, or sad tears, or what they are, but I can't keep it in anymore. Everywhere I look there's blood, and Devon looks pale and tired, and like he's about to drop dead, and I feel like there's a truck flat on my chest—I place my hand over his, stopping the wiping motion he makes, and pressing it into my cheek. I close my eyes, but the sobs don't stop.

He's really here.

His hand disappears and I hear the car door open, the seat dipping next to me, and then he cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. “It's okay,” he says, kissing my lips softly, grazing his thumb down my jaw. “We're okay.”

I clamp his shirt into my fist, banging it against his chest. “You're alive.” Another sob escapes me. “They told me I fucking killed you.”

“It's okay,” he says, his voice strained. He puts his hand over my fist and flattens it, bringing it down to his heart, where I can feel it thud-thud-thudding under my palm.

I open my eyes, looking into pools of his green ones, and then I back away, looking further down, making sure he's okay. There's an angry bruise on his neck, probably from the force of the airbag, and aside from the stain on his . . . pajama top, he doesn't look harmed. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Devon.”

“Can you see if he has a phone on him? I—I lost mine.”

I get up and bend over the seat, trying not to look at Dom's blown-up head. My own flesh and blood, turning on me. I rummage through his jacket, his lifeless hand draped over his stomach. I pick it up and move it, bile rising up past my stomach. I fish out the phone from his pant pocket, and turn back to hand it to Devon. He's leaning against the seat, his eyes closed and a frown between his brows.

“Devon.”

He opens his eyes halfway, and then closes them again.

“Devon.” I shake him. “Devon?”

He's not responding. That's when I see it; an angry red stain spreading all over his lower stomach. I press it with my hands, trying to stop the blood, but I don't think it's helping. I take off my shirt and press it there with one hand, my other hand fumbling with the phone. It's fucking turned off. I wipe my bloody hand on my jeans, and turn the phone on, hoping to God it has battery. My shaky fingers scroll down, looking for my dad's number, until I finally just punch it in myself.

His frantic voice comes on the other side. “Dom? Where are you, son?”

It fucking hurts hearing my father call him son, after everything.

“Dad,” I say. “You need to send someone.” I look around, searching for any clue as to where we are, but all I see are trees and a road a couple of feet up.

“Leighton?”

“Yeah, Dad, can you find us by the GPS on Dom's phone? I have no idea where we are, and Devon's—I think he's losing too much blood.”

“Stay on the line,” he says. I drop the phone and press with both of my hands into the shirt.

“Please, please, please,” I chant over and over. He looks pale, lifeless, but every now and again his chest rises, giving me hope.

I don't know how much time passes; seconds, minutes, hours, I hold my hands pressed there, feeling them cramping but holding, not taking my eyes off his face. Eventually, someone moves me away from him, and I start thrashing around, fighting them.

I need to keep him alive.

My dad's face fills my vision and he engulfs me in his warm embrace, covering me with a soft blanket. I watch helplessly as two men are directed to move Devon onto a stretcher, taking him away from me. I look around, searching for the ambulance, but I don't see it. They should have called an ambulance.

I rip myself out of my father's embrace and run after Devon, but I'm stopped by his uncle halfway to him.

“I want to go with him,” I say through tears, my eyes on the van where they’ve put Devon.

He glances briefly at my dad, nodding. “Let them do their job now.”

My dad comes over and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me lightly and taking me toward the car. I squint trying to see through the tinted window, sparing one last look at the disappearing van.

My dad’s driver starts the engine and we go in the opposite direction.

They don’t let me near him again.

They don’t even let me say goodbye to Devon Andre.

epilogue

LEIGHTON

Six months later

I wake up that morning with a mission.

I wear a flowery short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and put on a pair of yellow flats. The warm May morning kisses my skin as I walk to the car. Everything is finally coming to life, the cold, harsh winter long forgotten.

I'm going to see him today.

That faithful night, the Andre warehouse—where they kept me—was raided by the feds, but they found nothing. Just four bodies, which they said was a deal gone wrong between George and Stevie.

No mention of Devon’s or my family.

I tried to skim over the things Dom did when I explained what happened to my dad. I could see it hurt him just as much as it hurt me remembering it. He was one of our own, and he betrayed us.

I never found out what happened to his body, but I can imagine it was dealt with.

The Andres and Moores are no longer at war, though it seems to me they never really were. Why they thought it was a smart idea to keep us in the dark is beyond me, but I guess they had their reasons. I’m trying so damn hard to get over that.

Frank Andre is still controlling the warehouses. My dad never mentions them anymore. I guess it’s compensation for everything that happened to both our families. A real truce, finally.

I fought so hard to see Devon after they took him away. I knew with everything I was that he would have wanted me there. Dad sat me down and told me everything—my family had nothing to do with deaths all those years ago. Devon hated me for no reason. I can’t imagine what that had done to him—when he found out.

And then. . . it didn’t matter anymore.

I needed time to deal with everything I found out, with everything that happened. A couple of days after it all went down, I packed my bags and left to stay with relatives in Ireland.

All I kept thinking was how we’ve lost so much time, been through so much pain. Devon’s hate for me was pointless. All that resisting, when we could have been together—pointless. I betrayed him, and still he put his life on the line for me, and it could have been avoided. Lives were ruined, and for what?

Days turned to weeks, turned to months. In the end, I dreaded facing everything that was waiting for me here. Or everything that wouldn’t be waiting for me.

I turn the radio on, listening to a man drone on about a baseball game the previous night. My fingers tremble as I bring them to my lips, moving away a strand of hair that's stuck to my lip gloss.

I park the car in front of the gate, and get out, slightly wobbly on my feet. My hands are sweating, my heart thumping against my chest. I was going to ask his uncle where he was, he could at least give me that much, but I don’t have to—I spot him all the way across the lawn and every single doubt, every nervous thought I had, it all fades away. I should have come sooner.

I head straight to him with a sure stride. It takes me a few seconds before I speak.

“I'm sorry I shot you,” I tell him softly. He doesn't look at me, his granite face not giving away a thing, but what did I expect? It took me so long, maybe even a little too long at this point, to come here.

“And thank you for saving me,” I try again. “You're my hero.”

Nothing.

I sit down on the grass next to him, not caring that it will probably leave a green smear all over my butt. “I wish you’d say something,” I say, looking down at my fingers playing with the grass on the ground.

“I thought you’d never come back,” he says quietly, looking straight ahead. I don’t miss the hurt in his voice, although he tries to come off as flat. “And I wouldn’t even blame you.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me, after everything. Your uncle said you didn’t want me there.”

“I always want to see you,” he says, his voice laced with sadness. I suck in a breath.

I lift up his face and cup it in my palms, my heart breaking that he won’t look me in the eyes. “I know. I missed you, every single second, I missed you. But everything got so out of control and I—I needed to deal with all of that. Maybe we needed that time apart.”

I entwine our fingers, hoping he doesn't pull away. “But I love you, Devon,” I tell him, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. That's how good it feels to say it after all this time. “I know it’s not perfect, and your uncle won’t approve. My dad would kill me if he knew I was here. But I’m willing to risk it if you are. Nothing’s going to keep me away from you if you want me because I don’t want anyone else but you. I love you.”

Finally he looks at me, his green eyes piercing mine. He takes my hands, bringing them to his lips and squeezing his eyes tight. “How can you love me?”

“You didn’t know, Devon. We didn’t know. It wasn’t our fault.”

“I am not a fucking hero.”

“To me, you are.”

Instantly, he's on his feet, dragging me behind him inside the house. I don't fight him or resist.

I came here to stay.

We both know where I belong, and that’s wherever this man is, consequences be damned.

We climb the familiar staircase up to the top floor, and then I'm in his—my—room, our clothes coming off in a blur of kisses and moans. He hovers over me as my back hits the bed, his eyes roaming my face. I kiss the scar on his shoulder, feeling its texture with my lips.

“That bullet barely grazed me,” he lies through his teeth, leaning his forehead against mine and wiping away a tear that slides down my cheek. I smile as he places a soft kiss on my forehead, trailing his lips down my cheek and finally sucking on my bottom lip. “You can shoot me whenever you want, just don’t leave me again.”

“So what happens now?” I ask him, needing to know the answer before I let myself off this cliff with him again.

“Anything you want.”

“We could run . . . ”

“We could.”

about the authors

Sienna Lane and Autumn Karr are two friends with a joint love of reading, writing, candy, and Disney heroes (and Disney songs, of course.)

When they aren’t scheming against fictional characters, or talking about their favourite books, you can find them ogling tattooed models and trying to figure out how to get them to do a cover shoot for their next book.

Together they wrote VENDETTA, releasing this December, and hopefully many more books to come. They love to hear from readers, so don't hesitate to contact them through their Facebook page (http://on.fb.me/18TGRU9).

Content

Vendetta
by
Sienna Lane, Autumn Karr

acknowledgements

prologue

one

two

three

four

five

six

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven

twelve

thirteen

fourteen

fifteen

sixteen

seventeen

eighteen

epilogue

about the authors