I want to shake my head at him. He’s so predictable.
Colin is a small-time loan shark, though he's always been too nice to actually collect. I met him two years ago when he started working for the Fermi family. After they realized he’s not cut out for it, having lost them more money than he made them, he got the kiss of death. Unfortunately, once you’re in, you’re in, and the only way out is in a coffin. I paid off his debt, but he’s still living on borrowed time.
I know he won't last in this world. It’s just a matter of time until he turns up dead. The thought doesn’t even make me sad. It is what it is.
“How's the old man?” he asks me, eyeing the couple making out in the chair across from him.
“Not old,” I say. Frank is only thirty five.
“Heard about the shipment.” Colin is also a gossip. If anything gets him killed, that will.
“No big deal.” I shrug. One of our own, Digger, turned on us and tipped off the authorities about one of the containers. He admitted to working for Keith. I took care of it personally.
Two bullets to the head, and a whole lot of bribery for the mess he made.
“What happened?” Danny asks, detaching himself from the plaything in his lap for the moment. Colin starts to explain what he heard—most of it wrong, but the gist of it right. I tune them out while they talk about how no one knows who ratted us out.
My cleaner, Saul, took care of that.
I scan the room to find Soraya already sitting in the lap of her next prey, an older man I vaguely recognize from this club. God, she can't be more than eighteen. Her eyes find mine, and she gives me another wink, and then turns back to the older guy, giggling like a schoolgirl. Playing the part, like everyone else.
I want to feel sorry for her, but no one made her come here. Either way, she's better off here than on the streets. We don't take the girls’ money, we make enough on the booze and drugs, and the material we collect for blackmail with their help is more than enough. They’re well taken care of, and we hold them under a contract that’s beneficial for both parties, although a little more beneficial for us.
“Heard about the Moore girl?” Colin’s words catch my attention, his voice squeaking a little with excitement because it’s juicy gossip. Anything about Leighton is. Sometimes it was impossible to avoid her, no matter how hard I tried, because she's always getting herself in some sort of trouble.
I focus my attention on their conversation, but pretend not to listen.
“Sweet, sweet Leighton,” Danny says, his voice suggestive, and I can barely restrain myself from punching his face in. “What about her?”
“She ran off to Ireland after some old guy,” Colin says. “Again.”
I can see why they would think that, although it wouldn’t be with an older guy. She's disappeared before, sometimes for months, only to come back home, and no one held it against her. I understood her in a way. Being her daddy's princess and the only daughter in the family, I’m sure it could get overbearing.
I consider this new bit of information. If Keith is letting this rumor spread, it means he doesn't know where she is. This is good.
“Oh, well.” Danny waves his hand, landing it with a smack on his playtoy’s ass. She giggles, and then grinds herself on his lap, throwing her head back with a moan. “Been there, done that.”
No, he didn't. I may think the worst of Leighton, but she would never stoop so low.
“Yeah, we know,” I tell Danny, keeping my voice casual as I lie through my teeth. God knows he's bragged about it before. Many times. Almost as many times as I’ve wanted to pound his head in.
I make a show of looking at my watch, and then stand up. “I'm out,” I tell them. Colin stands up, too, a show of respect. I want to laugh because he shouldn't stand up for me, but I just nod at him. Danny is back to making out with the toy in his lap, making loud smacking noises. He doesn’t acknowledge my leaving and I don’t really care.
I park my car in the garage and make my way inside. Once inside my room, I take off my clothes, which reek of cigars. I take a quick shower to get rid of the smell before lying down, with my hands behind my head.
I allow myself to wonder what she could be doing right now. Probably sleeping, like she did last night when I went into her room.
I force myself to think about something else, like the scene at the club. Soraya, Danny, Colin. Keith.
Leighton.
It's no use.
I sit up, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. I'm pulling at my hair so hard I might just rip it all out.
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.
six
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.