“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.