Page 9 of Vendetta

“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.

Inever 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 reallyneed 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 thathemade 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.

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