Vendetta - Lane Sienna - Страница 8
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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.”
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