Isn't that something people tell you when they're about to do something that's definitely not for your own good?
“Yeah, you're right,” I say, nodding like the good nephew who doesn't question his uncle's decisions. “I've been distracted, it's not good.”
“Good,” he says, lets go of my shoulder and leaves.
I go to the kitchen and get her some milk and cereal. It’s not like I have time to make a run for some proper food. This will have to do.
I walk back up to her room, a bowl and a spoon in my hands. She's still sitting in the same spot where I left her, looking at me expectantly. I walk over to her and she takes the bowl from my hands.
“Trouble at one of the warehouses,” I lie, avoiding her gaze. I don't want to worry her until I work it all out.
She looks down to the bowl, swirling the flakes with the spoon. “Okay,” she says when she looks back up before taking a spoonful into her mouth. It sounds forced, but I shrug it away. She must be as shaken as I am by him coming here.
As she eats, I sit in silence and try to come up with some sort of a plan.
We have until tomorrow morning. That means shit; I can't do anything in that short amount of time. But it's more than if he took her away right now, so at least it's something.
Her words come back to me. We could run. We could. For a start, we just need to get away from here. I would need to call in a few favors; there must be someone I can trust. We just need to get out of here. I can definitely make that happen.
And then we'll figure it out.
LEIGHTON
I place the bowl on the bedside table, the sound of it echoing through the room. Devon is lost in his own world, and I’m still trying to process what I overheard. When he walked back into the room, a mask shuttering his expression, I waited patiently for him to talk to me. And when he didn’t, I was disappointed.
No, I was fucking shattered.
They're moving me, away from Devon, away from his protection, and he has nothing to say about it. Not even a heads up. Does he even care what his people are going to do to me? What are they going to do? Where are they taking me? Does Devon listen to everything his uncle says? Just following him blindly like that?
So many questions, but the man in the room with me isn’t talking, isn’t saying a word. My life is hanging in the balance, my fate, yet he doesn’t deem me worthy enough to know the truth.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and watch as he stares blankly into space. I have no idea what’s going on in his mind right now. I know he loves me. And I know this whole thing is probably hard on him, but we're running out of fucking time here.
Suddenly he stands up, and shakes his head as if clearing it. With a hesitant look my way, he forces a smile and closes the space between us. I flinch when he leans down to place a kiss on my lips, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy, lost in his own head.
“I have to head out, but I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?” he says, looking around the room, then down to his hands. He lifts one hand up and runs it through his hair. “Do you need anything?” He still won’t look at me.
Is that a trick question? How about to get the fuck out of here before they take me? “I’m fine. Are you sure everything's okay?” I ask, trying my best to keep my voice even.
“Like I said, just some business I need to take care of, don’t worry about it,” he says softly, his gaze roaming my face. He has the decency to break eye contact when I keep staring up at him, looking him in the eye as he lies to my face.
“Okay,” I say, dragging out the word. Letting him know that I know he’s not being honest. He looks relieved that I’m not calling him out on it. We’re playing this stupid game where we both know everything isn’t right, but we're pretending otherwise.
“Get some rest,” he says quietly, his eyes softening as he watches me fidget with the sleeve of my sweater. Another quick kiss, and then he’s gone.
I start pacing as soon as I hear the door lock. I can feel myself start to panic, the adrenaline hitting me. I grab the closest object, the cereal bowl, and throw it at the door. The plastic bounces pathetically off the wooden door, and then falls to the floor.
I run to the bathroom and lock the door in case he comes back. My shaky hands take the gun out from his jacket. I'm not good with cold weapons, but I can shoot a gun. Thank God it was the one thing my father insisted on.
I weigh it in my hand, and then release the magazine. Three bullets. That's all I have. I click it back in and put it in the jacket pocket where I found it. I bring my hand up to wipe away the angry tear sliding down my cheek.
He's just going to let them take me away, like I don't matter at all.
Sliding down the tiled wall, I break out in silent sobs. It's true what they say about a thin line between love and hate. I fucking hate Devon Andre. He's brought nothing, nothing, but pain to me. His silence hurt me, his every touch scarred my skin, and I still held onto him and hoped that he'd realize some things are to be put above everything else. Love should matter.
But his love is poison, the kind that breaks you and makes you wish you were dead, if it only meant he was happy. I was ready to die at his hands because of that love.
This is it, I think, finally coming to terms with what I'll have to do. The end of the fucking road.
I’m going to have to try and save my damn self.
fourteen
DEVON
If I could pick one day to last twenty-five hours, this would be it. I'm in the car, driving aimlessly, trying to figure out what to do. I have some money stashed in Baroque, mostly racket—which is shit these days. Still, it should be enough for what I need.
Parking in front of the club, I pull out my cell phone. Shit, I'll probably need a new one. First I check in with Hayley, letting her know she doesn’t have to come in today. She doesn’t like it and starts giving me a lecture, but I finish the conversation fast and hang up, realizing that might have been the last time I talk to her. I dial Colin's number next and set up a meeting in an hour, telling him I have a job for him. Satisfied when he agrees to meet me, I hang up and get inside Baroque.
They don't expect me, of course, since I'm never here during the day, and I get curious looks all around as I walk the long distance from the entrance door to the dark hallway leading to the back office. I have to cross the saloon and then another room—the girls' room—and then, at the very back, is the main office.
Just act normal. I repeat this mantra in my head. How do I act when I'm normal? Without a word, or a nod of a head, I walk past everyone. A flash of dark curls catches my eye. Soraya. She sees me and gives me a shiny smile, heading toward me. I'd rather have avoided her, but I can't just run now.
“Devon Andre,” she says, reaching me. She's wearing a red dress, elegant, but revealing, with just a little cleavage, to get you to ask yourself what's underneath—the way we require them to dress for this place, day or night. She puts her small hand on my forearm, squeezing it lightly and giving me a flirty smile. It’s barely noon, so there aren’t many people in here, but all eyes are on us, taking this exchange in curiously. I smile back at Soraya, deciding to play this in my favor.
Placing my hand at the small of her back, I lead her toward the office, then let it slide down, cupping her ass. She gives me a questioning look, and starts to pull away. I lean in, pushing her further toward the office door, and whisper in her ear, “Follow my lead and you'll never have to sleep with old men for money again.”