Page 19 of Vendetta

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.

6

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.

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