I storm back toward him and grab him again, getting into his face. He tries to look like he isn’t shaken and holds it together, but I see him slipping.
“Mind your own goddamn business,” I spit in his face, adding some ice to my words.
“Devon,” my uncle says, a little harsher.
“I said I'll handle it,” I say, feeling like a stubborn thirteen-year-old boy.
“Sit, Devon.” He looks at Stevie and points to the door. “We're done. Get out.” It's almost funny watching my uncle put someone ten years his senior in their place.
Stevie looks down, then back up, nods and moves for the door.
“Stevie,” Frank says. Stevie's eyes lock with his. “Don't let this happen again.”
He nods again and leaves the room, but not before giving me a parting scowl.
My uncle waits until the door clicks shut and then gives me a pointed look. He leans forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table and connecting his palms together.
“You know better than this.”
I shift in my chair. “Better than what, sir?”
“Better than to show your emotions like that. You—” he points at me, “—just gave him—” his finger shifts to the door, “—ammo.”
“He went against my word,” I say, although I realize he's right. Show them you care, and they know where to strike.
Even the people who shouldn't work against you will do it, given the chance. Just look at George.
“Look,” my uncle says. “You know how I feel about her being here. Not good. And I don't care what you do with her—kill her now, or fuck her and then kill her. As long as she's not in the way, I don't care.”
My fists clench into tight balls at his words, but like he said, I shouldn't, I don't react.
“Will that girl be a problem for you?” he asks, his voice sure, like he knows all my secrets.
“Will Stevie be a problem?” I ask him back, keeping my own voice even.
“Up to you,” he says and waves his hand toward the door, dismissing me.
I get up and walk out of his study, half expecting him to give me some parting words of wisdom, but, turning back, I see he's already concentrating on some papers in front of him.
I head out, throw my leather jacket on, and get into my car, thinking. I don't know how Stevie got into her room; I clearly remember locking it behind me. Her eyes come into my mind. She was trying so hard to look tough, but I saw the fear behind them. I turn the ignition, starting the car, and head for the hardware store, feeling like a fucking hypocrite the whole way there.
Because as dangerous as Stevie is, I'm nothing less. But I won't let him near her again.
“Don't you have people to do that?” she asks me in amusement, as I try to change the lock on her door. Sadly, I'm no handyman, and she's right. My uncle does have people doing this sort of shit around the house.
“I'd rather keep other people out of this room.” I give her a pointed look. “I'm sure you appreciate it.” I fight a particularly stubborn screw with my screwdriver, and when it finally turns, I take it out and hold it up, grinning like I just won a wrestling match.
“My hero,” she says, clasping her hands together in a mock swoon. Her words cut like a knife, no joke.
I install the new lock with much less trouble, and try it out a few times, locking, unlocking, locking it again, rattling the doorknob, all the while listening to her monologue soundtrack. I got the deadbolt lock, God help her if I lose the keys. Or me, if I get stuck inside with her.
“Do I get a key?”
I don't dignify that with an answer.
“I'm bored,” she says in this high-pitched whiny voice. I mentally slap myself because I find it adorable. “Why won't you talk to me?”
“Because you're annoying and it's testing my patience.”
“Well, I’m going to keep talking anyway. What's the worst you could do? Tie me up and gag me?” My head snaps to her, and she smirks, knowing she's got me.
“Try some children’s books for a change,” I tell her, pretending nonchalance. My head is swimming with images of her, tied up, naked. This is how dangerous she is to me.
I make use of the fact I'm turned away from her and adjust my already tight jeans. I move for the door to get out before it's too late, but her hand lands on my forearm.
“Come back tonight,” she says. “I don't feel safe after this morning.”
I want to shake some sense into her. I'm not safe, stop making it out like I am. But I just nod instead, earning me a smile, and exit the room.
LEIGHTON
I can’t hide my happiness when Devon returns that evening, holding a pizza and a bottle of soda. He sets the food down on the table, telling me to come and eat. I walk over quickly, opening the box and pulling out a piece.
“Where were you all day?” I ask around a bite of pepperoni.
“Out,” he answers, standing and watching me intently instead of eating.
“Doing what?”
“Stuff,” he says, quirking an eyebrow.
“What kinda stuff?” I ask, licking the cheese off my fingers. When he doesn’t reply I look up into his green eyes, concealed by heavy lids. I know that look.
“What?” I ask, taking another slice.
“Hayley will be back in a few days,” he says, shifting on his feet.
“Okay,” I say, because I don't know what else to say. I’m pretty sure he’s insinuating that he’s not going to be around anymore.
“You know that I hate your family, right?” he asks, staring straight at me.
“You don’t hate me, Devon,” I tell him, knowing that it’s true. Devon's been good to me; he hasn’t hurt me once since I've been here. He gets up and starts pacing, running his hands through his inky black hair.
God, he's beautiful.
“No, I don’t hate you, Leighton,” he finally says. “But you should hate me. You will hate me.”
I look down at my piece of pizza, no longer feeling hungry. I put the slice in the box and wipe my hand on the napkin.
“I know George wanted to kill me,” I say. “And you saved me.”
His silence is answer enough.
“Can we just pretend? Just for one night?” I ask him. He turns to me as if he's going to cut me down, until he sees the look on my face. His expression softens, and he gives me a slight nod. He sits down next to me and picks up a slice of pizza. I watch as his teeth tear off a bite, and think there is seriously something wrong with me to be turned on by him right now.
We finish eating, and sit on the couch and watch some random TV movie in silence. Devon sips his drink, and I watch his throat as he swallows. My gaze roams down further, to his toned chest peeking out of his black V-neck shirt.
I want him.
Truth be told, it’s not like I’ve had any action since I’ve been here, nor for a while before I was brought here. And my BOB is safely tucked away under my bed at home, gathering dust. I slowly remove my thin sweater, leaving nothing but a tank top underneath. Devon glances away from the TV to watch me. Lust consumes me, making me feel bold. Invincible.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice huskier than usual.
“You said we'd pretend,” I say softly, moving closer to him.
“Leighton, fuck, I don’t think . . . ” His eyes are at the hem of my top, where my hands are.
“Don’t think, Devon,” I say, standing up and pulling it over my head, dropping it aside. I walk backwards to my bed and undo the clasp of my bra, letting it dangle on my finger and then fall to the ground. I take my sweatpants off, leaving me in nothing but my panties. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tell me to stop, I sit down on the bed and watch him.
The heat in Devon’s gaze, the intensity in his expression makes me feel like I’m the sexiest girl in the world. He stands up slowly, and walks over to me, his eyes still connected with mine. He gets down on his knees, so his face is almost level with mine. I watch as he takes his fill of me, a soft curse escaping his lips as his gaze touches my breasts.