Page 26 of Vendetta

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 knowswhen 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.

8

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 haveneverallowed 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.

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