Vendetta

by Autumn Karr

  I stare at all the beautiful art supplies on the bed while rubbing the back of my neck. Hayley is right. She’s a bitch, but she’s right. Devon is loyal, almost to a fault, and if he decides to go all in with me I can't even imagine the outcome.

  I may have nothing left to lose, but he has everything. I can’t do that to him.

  What happened, all those years ago? Why did my dad do this? I rack my brain for any piece of memory, but I was just a kid. I don't remember anything significant at all.

  Maybe I'm better off not knowing. I'm on the verge of begging Devon for their lives, as it is. I understand what he has to do, but it's my whole world.

  Not that it will matter. I'll be gone as well.

  I run my fingers along the charcoals. I know that I need to warn my father about this. They're my blood. It's not like I thought they planted trees for a living.

  I eat first, knowing once I start drawing I’ll probably never stop.

  For some reason, I feel lonelier than usual. I think it’s because Devon could be here right now, but I’m the one who pulled away. It would be so easy to give in.

  So easy. And selfish.

  And to be honest, I'm hurt. I'm trying not to let it get to me, but I'm so damn hurt by what he did.

  I pick up the pencils and open the sketchpad, and then make myself comfortable on the bed. Then I draw.

  * * * *

  “Leighton,” I hear Devon say. I look up to see him standing right in front of me.

  I put the pencil down. “Hey.”

  “You didn’t even hear me come in,” he says, frowning.

  “Sorry, I kind of get lost in the zone.”

  “I can see that. I called your name twice before you looked up.”

  “Thanks for the art supplies,” I say quietly.

  His eyes soften. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat much,” he says, looking at the donuts, disapproval etched on his face. I only ate one, and even that I forced down.

  I shrug. “Not very hungry.”

  He leans in closer to me, and I flinch when his finger touches my cheek. He instantly pulls it back, scowling.

  “What, you seriously won't let me touch you now?” he asks, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

  “It’s better if you don’t,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow.

  “You don’t mean that.” His eyes bore into mine, studying me, making me squirm.

  “Yeah, it’s exactly what I mean.” I stand up from the bed and move toward the chair where he usually sits, feeling trapped by his gaze all of a sudden.

  “You’re so fucking stubborn,” he says under his breath.

  “No one is forcing you to be here right now,” I say, my tone emotionless. Except, I don’t want him to go. Devon doesn’t reply. Instead, he lies on the bed with a frustrated growl.

  “Come here, Leighton,” he says, staring at the ceiling.

  “No.”

  He repositions his body and lifts his head up, so he can see me. “Come here,” he repeats.

  I ignore him.

  “You telling me that you don’t want to come here and lie in my arms until I have to leave?” he says, his voice knowing. I do want that. I want that more than anything, but sometimes we don’t get what we want.

  I should know. I've wanted him all my life, and he was someone else's.

  “What changed since this morning?” he asks, sitting up.

  “I had some time to think things through.” I make it sound harsh, angry. I sit down in his chair, staring across the room. “Where were you the other night?”

  “What?”

  “The other night, when you came home drunk. Who’s Amber?” I don’t know why I ask it. It will only hurt me more once he admits he left me to go and screw someone else’s brains out, but maybe it’s what I need to hear.

  His eyes widen. “Fuck.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Leighton,” he says softly, reverently, so much emotion in that one word. He rubs his face wearily, looking frustrated and tired. He mutters something under his breath and then stands up and walks toward me, a purpose to his stride.

  He lowers to a crouch in front of me, as close as he can get without actually touching me.

  “Nothing happened,” he says, his eyes roaming my face. He takes my hand in his. “Nothing happened.”

  I look away. I don’t believe him.

  He lowers his head and I close my eyes, shuddering when his lips make contact with my skin. His mouth lingers on my cheek, and I can feel his reluctance when he moves away.

  “Do you want me to stay?” he asks, his eyes guarded. He already knows what I'll say. I almost want to prove him wrong.

  I shake my head. He nods once, and leaves the room without looking back.

  I stare at the door for a few minutes after he leaves, wanting him to come back, but needing him not to.

  I bury myself into the chair, his chair, and let the tears put me to sleep.

  ten

  DEVON

  I drop off her breakfast, and try to talk to her, but she ignores me. Hours later, when I bring her lunch, it’s the same thing again. She doesn't say anything to me at all, doesn't even spare me a glance. But at least she eats the food.

  How much of a jerk was I, leaving her like that to go and see another woman? Even if I had done it, if I lost myself in Amber, it would never compare.

  She's drawing, a lot. The first sketchpad is full, and when I first stole a glance at what she's been drawing, it caught me off guard. Why I deserve to be the focus of her drawings is beyond me. She shouldn’t waste her talent on me.

  I'm the monster that brought her here. I'm the monster that's going to take everything away from her, until she's gone as well.

  What the fuck was she doing in that parking lot, following George? She's not stupid; she should have known better.

  My pocket beeps with a text message, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shift in the chair, pulling out my phone and glancing at it quickly to read Hayley’s message that she’s coming over tonight. My uncle clears his throat at the interruption, looking at me disapprovingly.

  What is this, a fucking school? I'm so sick of this crap, the way he just silently disapproves of everything I do without actually telling me how much of a failure I am in his eyes.

  I'm sitting in his office, discussing killing a whole family to prove I'm worthy enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm still that thirteen-year-old boy he picked up from the boarding school.

  I never saw him much before that day. My dad never mentioned him, as if he didn't even exist, and I had better things to do than to ask. My mother used to travel a lot, always taking me with her, so it’s not like I even needed an uncle. Then the whole thing happened, and he appeared out of nowhere ready to claim his place as “the boss.”

  Why did it never occur to me that he might have had a hand in what happened to my family? When I look at him, I don't see my uncle. I don't see my father's brother. I see a man of power, wanting more power. It's never enough.

  “Devon,” he says, looking at me expectantly. When he sees he has my attention, he says, “Will you deal with George?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, though I'd rather not be the one to talk to him. He just really pisses me off.

  “Make sure to let him know how important it is he gives us the right info. We can't afford to make any mistakes right now.”

  I nod, though I can't seem to ignore that this is all so convenient. Once the Moores are gone, we, or rather, he will get it all. Nothing to fight over. No more worrying if we're stepping on their turf. No one will speak up when he claims it.

  But the proof doesn't lie. It was Keith who tried to hide the evidence of my parents' identities. And is my uncle really so power hungry that he'd kill his own brother? Why am I still alive, then? In theory, I'm the rightful heir.

  I forget all about my suspicions later that day when I go to pick up a shipment. I pass one of their restaurants on the way there. I see Keith getting out of his ca
r, surrounded by his men. Dominic Moore, his surrogate son, is standing beside him, all six feet of him, dressed in a fine suit, his dark hair slicked back. I hate the guy. He was always around Leighton, watching over her like a hawk.

  Keith says something, slapping Dominic on the back, and he laughs, shaking his head. He looks back, and his bushy eyebrows knit together when he sees me, and then he nods at me. He fucking nods at me.

  Dominic, to his credit, doesn’t acknowledge me, the way Keith shouldn’t have.

  I nod back, though I have no respect for this man.

  * * * *

  Hayley is already waiting for me in the library when I'm finally home. I'd say I dread this conversation, but I don't. I'm almost positive she's the one to blame for Leighton's behavior since yesterday morning.

  I know I shouldn't care; it's for the better to keep our distance. I find myself trying to figure out a way out of this mess. I know I owe it to my parents and Joey to see this through, but I keep thinking at what cost? Would they even want me to do this?

  And, truth be told, I don't want Leighton to hate me.

  So, as Hayley smiles at me, and stands on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek, I move away and ask her, “What happened yesterday after I left?”

  “What happened?” she asks, her eyes wide with pretend innocence. I recognize it so well.

  “You tell me. When I left, she didn't hate me. When I came back, she couldn't stand to be near me. So something must have happened in between, and you were the only one with her.”

  “I just explained some things to her, Devon,” she says, an air of arrogance around her, something she picked up from her father. This is the side of Hayley I never liked. She likes to meddle in things because she thinks she knows best. “Like, if she cared, she wouldn't put you in danger like she did yesterday morning. You both should have known better.”

  I start to pace the room, frustrated, and then stop in front of her, looking down. “You have no fucking idea what's going on.”

  “Then what is going on? I thought I had it figured out, that she was playing some game with you to get herself out of this, but clearly I'm wrong. And you stopped talking to me ages ago,” she says, waving her hands in exasperation. “How can I know if you won't tell me?”

  I turn my back to her, and look straight into my father's eyes above the fireplace. “You wouldn't understand,” I say to both of them.

  “And then she started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know what to say, what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what to think of this, Devon.”

  I turn back to her. “What questions?”

  Hayley looks down at her hands and starts playing with the rings on her fingers.

  “What did she ask, Hales?”

  “She asked about you, and me. About us.”

  I can't help myself. I lose it. “What the fuck, Hales?” I yell, striding toward her. “What did you tell her?”

  She starts crying. Of course, she fucking starts crying.

  Now, I've been friends with Hayley for a very, very long time. And the tears I see, they're not sad, or scared. I've seen her cry these tears whenever she knew she did something wrong. When she took my music player and lost it, she cried these tears. When she broke up with me, she cried these tears. These tears are guilty.

  She knew exactly what she was doing.

  “Hales,” I say, approaching her slowly and crouching in front of her. “This is important. What did she ask?”

  “Just about us. When, how long—no, not how long, just when.” She finally looks up, but won't meet my eyes. “I may have over-shared.”

  Her words fill me with icy dread. “What did you tell her?”

  She sobs harder, covering her face with her palms. I thread my fingers behind my neck to keep myself from ripping her arms away so she would look at me. “Hayley, what the fuck did you tell her?”

  “I told her the truth,” she yells. Finally, she looks at me, straight into my eyes. “She was ruining everything, I just wanted her—”

  Fuck.

  Hayley's voice fades completely in my ears, just background noise. She knows everything, is all I keep thinking. And I realize for the first time, I don't want her to know. It matters so little at this point, but I don't want her to know how much I fucked up.

  I don't want her to hate me.

  “Why the fuck would you do that, Hales? I thought we were over. You—” I find myself yelling at Hayley, my hands squeezing her shoulders. “—you were the one who broke up with me.”

  I don't believe for a second she didn't know what she was doing.

  “You're hurting me, Devon,” she whispers. I loosen the grip on her shoulders, and then let her go. She falls back into the sofa.

  “It's not about you and me. I just wanted her to back off,” she says, through tears. “You're going to lose everything over her. I just wanted her to back off because I know you, and you've already made up your mind.”

  I shake my head at her, so disappointed. First, that she assumes what's in my head. Second, I can't believe she thought it was her right to do something like this. Even though I get where she's coming from, I just don't get it.

  “It's her, isn't it?” I hear her say, but I'm already out the door and on my way up, the keys to Leighton's room in my shaking hands.

  LEIGHTON

  The door opens but I don’t react; I just continue to draw. He approaches me hesitantly, walking slowly across the room. He looks down at what I’m drawing, and stills. I don’t acknowledge his presence.

  He clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

  I lift my head. “I really have nothing to say to you.”

  “I spoke to Hayley,” he says quietly.

  When I don’t reply, or show any reaction, he continues. “It wasn’t her place to say any of those things to you.”

  I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. I'm not going to show him just how much this hurts.

  “Leighton,” he says, his voice pleading.

  “What do you want from me, Devon?” I ask, putting the pencil down. I lay the sketch of my mother on the bed, and give him my full attention.

  He sits down next to me. “Can I talk?”

  “So talk,” I say, staring up at him, keeping my expression blank.

  “She has no idea what she's talking about. She had no right.”

  I sigh. “That sounds like an issue you need to take up with her, not me.”

  “You know what I mean,” he says, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

  “No, I don’t. If you and Hayley are having communication problems, then speak to her about them. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a drawing to finish,” I say, looking pointedly at the door.

  “I never wanted her like that,” he says, moving closer so he’s right next to me. “I promise.”

  I get up to move away from him, needing that space between us. I lift up my hands. “Again, Devon . . . ”

  “No, just listen, please,” he says softly, following after me. “I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone. I've always wanted you,” he whispers.

  And this is when I snap.

  “You want me?” I ask, my voice gaining steel. “Because it sounds to me like just a short few months ago you wanted her more than anything. What did she say? Oh that’s right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “’He wanted us to work so bad.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, drawing out and exaggerating the last two words as much as I can to get my point across. Yes, I know that I’m jealous and feeling just a little bit sorry for myself right now, but I don’t give a fuck.

  “It wasn't like that—” he starts, but I continue my rant.

  “Now, as much as I like hearing about you ‘making wild passionate love—’” My voice breaks on the last word. He squeezes his eyes shut. Hearing myself say it out loud, acknowledging it, and him not denying it, I can actually feel my heart rip in two. “—to a woman you want so badly but can’t have because she dumped you, I’d rather yo
u all just left me the fuck alone.”

  I turn away from him, hiding my expression. He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me, holding me to his warm chest. I feel his frantic heart beating against my back. I break away from his embrace and turn to face him, my hand flying swinging before I even realize what I'm doing. He grabs my wrist mid-air, and I rip it out of his grasp and deliver that slap straight across his cheek.

  “Don't you dare fucking touch me again! You wanted me? You had me, you bastard. You came and went as you pleased, you fucked me whenever you felt like it, then you ignored me, and it fucking hurt, but I let you do it because I knew you had to deal with your hang-ups but you wouldn't even speak to me and tell me what's going on.”

  “Do you understand how fucked up that was? You used me and I let you, because I thought we had some cosmic love that could beat all your stupid demons, but you fucking threw me away to jump into a relationship with a woman who didn't even want you back."

  At this point, I'm just flat out crying. I hate every tear that I spilled for this man. I fucking despise him for leading me on for so long, only to shatter me like this. Somewhere, deep down, I thought surely he had feelings for me. But it's all been a game, his personal vendetta just because of who I am.

  “I gave you everything,” I spit out. “And you just took it out of revenge.”

  He hangs his head, and I don’t like seeing him looking defeated, but I’m consumed by hurt. By the need to protect myself from this man who I thought was better than this.

  “Oh, God, the laughs you must have gotten from the silly Moore girl, hopelessly pining after Devon Andre. I was so fucking stupid to think—”

  “Shut up,” he cuts me off, his words icy. He rushes me until my back hits the wall. His hand lands on my waist, digging into my hip to keep me in place as I squirm to get away from him. “You are not the silly Moore girl. You are smart and beautiful and strong, and the most amazing woman I have ever met, and I fucking hate you for it because it still doesn't change who you are. I knew who you were the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he chokes the words out. “And I've wanted you regardless. I wanted you ever since I knew how to want a woman. You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”