I laugh humorously at the thought, earning me an odd look from Dom, like I’m the crazy person here. He keeps trying to talk to me; it’s like he just enjoys the sound of his own voice. I don’t really care what he has to say because he is dead to me. If I get a chance to get out of here, I’ll make sure he pays for this.
We took him in as our own. I saw him as my brother.
The door opens and George walks in. I’m not surprised one bit. However when Stevie walks in, followed by that Devon’s sleazy friend, Danny, smirking at me, my mouth gapes open in shock.
“And the plot thickens,” I whisper under my breath, my eyes not leaving Danny’s bulging ones. What exactly is going on here?
“Surprised to see me?” Stevie taunts. I school my expression, and turn my eyes to Dom, who is watching me closely, a thoughtful look on his face. I thought my cousin was smarter than this. Allying yourself with traitors clearly isn’t the smartest move. I can sense a desperation about him that confuses me. I’m obviously just a pawn in this game, a weapon to use against my father.
“If you’re going to kill me can you get it over with? I’ve had enough of death threats with no delivery as of late,” I sneer at my cousin. I remember saying similar words to Devon, but I never thought he would actually go through with it. This time, I’m not so confident.
“I’d love to have a little fun with her,” Danny says, his leering eyes making me cringe. “What a waste.” He gives my body a once over.
“You’ll definitely have to kill me first before that happens,” I mutter, my pulse racing.
Danny’s hands clench into fists, but Stevie just laughs. “It’s a possibility,” he says.
Sick bastard. I turn to Dom, who is sending a dangerous look Stevie’s way. He apparently doesn’t appreciate Stevie’s comment. So death is okay, but rape is out. Good to know. I can feel someone watching me so I turn to see George staring at me. I narrow my eyes at him. I don’t drop his gaze, not backing down.
He swallows nervously before he opens his mouth. “Why didn’t Devon kill you?” he finally asks, a curious glint entering his eyes. Stevie grins cruelly, and is about to answer when his phone rings. He walks out, his loud obnoxious voice booming on the other side of the door.
“Can I have some water?” I ask my cousin, smacking together my parched lips. Dom gestures to Danny, who leaves the room and returns with an iced bottle of water. Dom takes it from Danny and opens the lid, handing it over to me. I reach out with my free hand, licking my dry lips before taking a sip. I tilt my head back and swallow a mouthful before placing the bottle on the ground next to the chair leg.
“I’ll bring you something to eat in a little while,” he says, leaning back against his chair.
“I don’t want food. I want to go home. Alive,” I say pointedly. He can’t seriously be doing this.
“Your father screwed me and my father over. It’s time he gets what’s coming to him,” he says, staring out the window.
“My father took you in as his own son! Your father wouldn’t want this. He understands the basic concept of loyalty,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. My uncle, who is also my godfather, has always been kind to me, and when push came to the shove, he took one for the family. “Dom,” I say softly, my eyes pleading with his. He runs his hand through his dark hair, and then leans his head back against the wall.
“I’m sorry. There are a few things I want, and you’re in the way,” he says, pinning me with his gaze.
“What things?” I ask curiously, shifting on the chair.
“Revenge, power . . . ” he trails off, then turns his evil stare on me. “I should be the boss, not your dad.” Revenge and power? The boss? Like that would ever go down well. I roll my eyes. Great, my cousin has morphed into a cliché villain. He stands up, and I start to panic.
“Where are you going?” I ask, unable to mask my worry.
“To see if there are any loose ends,” he answers distractedly, eyes on his phone. “Have to go back to that fucking parking lot, make sure you finished that asshole Andre off.”
“You can’t leave me here with them!” I gape, turning to stare at the door. My wrist pulls against the handcuff, the pain making me wince.
“No one touches her until I get back, do you understand?” Dom says to George, his voice laced with an underlying threat. George nods once.
“Dom!” I yell after him, hating the neediness existent even to my own ears. My cousin ignores me, and storms out of the room, leaving me with George and Danny.
“Fuck,” I curse as the door locks shut. I did not come all this way just to get killed by these idiots. I did not shoot Devon only to die at the hands of my own cousin. I look down at my wrist; the red welts around it are burning in pain. Lifting my head, I slowly raise my eyes to George’s. I don’t know what he sees in them, but he takes a step back, and looks down at the floor. In that moment, I realize something. I need to stick with him. He’s the only one of them I know, and with him, I can at least protect myself somehow.
sixteen
DEVON
“I love you, too.” The beautiful melody surrounds me and grips my chest, until I can't breathe anymore. A gunshot rings through the night and straight through my heart, shattering her words.
My eyes fly open. For the second it takes me to adjust to the darkness in the room, I think I might have dreamed the whole thing. Then pain slices through my shoulder and all the way down to my fingertips. I try to move my arm, clenching my teeth because it hurts like a motherfucker.
“The meds have worn off,” a silhouette says, standing in the corner. He comes closer, turns on the lamp and sits in the chair next to the bed, looking at me as if for the first time. “I'll have them give you more, but we need you conscious right now.”
The bed is not mine. The sheets smell like detergent, artificially fresh. Nothing like her.
My uncle leans his elbows on the bed, making eye contact. I look away, ashamed. By now he must know what I've done, and how I've betrayed us. Our name.
And for what?
Finally I look back at him. He doesn't look good at all. Actually, I think this might be the first time I've seen him look so . . . distraught. He runs his hands through his hair, pulling on its ends. He looks his age. His features are softer, his eyes younger, but worry wrinkles his forehead. The mask he usually keeps on is nowhere to be seen. It catches me off guard, just how much alike we are. No wonder people think we're brothers.
“What happened out there?” he asks. There's no anger in his voice. It takes me a beat to realize he doesn't sound disappointed, either.
I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is so parched I can't say a word. Frank quickly takes a glass and pours some water from a plastic bottle in it, then brings it to my lips.
“I don't know,” I say after a few more sips. Because I don't know. One minute we were almost free, the next I was at a gunpoint. “I don't know what happened.”
“Think, anything. We need to know whatever you can remember.”
“She just shot me.” It fucking hurts to say it.
Frank nods, then gets up and walks out of the room. I glance around the unfamiliar walls, thinking it looks cold, despite the lamp warm light. I look down my body, and lift the covers to find two layers of blankets and a duvet. Frank comes back in with a woman, and she comes closer, flashing a light into my eyes, blinding me.
“He doesn't seem disoriented.”
The woman nods, opening my eyes wider and flashing the light into them again.
“I'm not disoriented,” I tell them. I don't feel disoriented.