Vendetta - Lane Sienna (чтение книг TXT) 📗

We stand like that for what could be mere seconds or maybe minutes, I don’t know. I can see it in his eyes when he decides not to do it, feel him retreating, stepping away from this situation as he always does. He backs away toward the door, his eyes still holding mine, pleading not to push him when he’s so close to snapping. My shoulders slump in defeat and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to hate him.

“Fuck,” he practically growls, and then I hear the door slamming. My finger flies to my lips, wishing I’d closed that space between us. I open my eyes and stare at the door, willing it to burst open and for him to barge in and just kiss the living daylights out of me.

But he doesn’t.

I know the two of us is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had. My dad would probably flip out at the thought of it, let alone if he found out it happened.

My hand falls limp by my side. He’s coming back soon and I need pull myself together, pretend I wasn’t burning up inside for him.

I tidy up my bed, and put all my dirty clothes in the laundry basket. I don’t know who washes my clothes, but Hayley takes them out. She even brought me a bag of new clothes the other day.

All designer.

Where is Hayley, anyway? I was actually getting a little fond of her.

I walk into the bathroom, stripping down to my birthday suit and turning on the shower. When it’s the perfect temperature I step in under the water. I frown at my prickly legs that really need to be shaved. Not like Devon is going to give me a razor.

I really think he overestimates me.

I dry my hair and my body, walking out into the room wrapped in a towel. A short, bald man stands next to my bed, leering at me. I scream, run back into the bathroom, and lock the door behind me. It’s a flimsy lock that even I could probably pick, but a lock nonetheless, giving me some security.

Who the fuck is that man and why is he in my room? I stand against the door until my breathing evens, then I dress back into my pajamas, since I didn’t take my fresh clothes into the bathroom, and put my ear against the door, listening.

Silence.

I wait about ten more minutes before I open the door. Seeing that the room is empty, I sigh in relief.

Fucking creeper.

Ten minutes later, Devon walks in, scowling, with a plate of pancakes in his hand.

“What the hell, Devon?” I shriek, my voice shaking.

“What now? You changed your mind about the pancakes or something?” he says sarcastically, slamming the plate down on the table harder than necessary. It's plastic, so it doesn't make any noise, but the pancakes slide around on the plate.

“This isn’t a joke,” I say, crossing my arms in a protective gesture.

“What?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.

“One of your fucking minions was in my room!” I yell, letting my expression show him how I felt about it.

“What the fuck? I said the room was off limits,” he says in a low angry tone. His words shouldn't feel so good to hear, but they do. They give me just a little hope.

“He just stood there, staring, then left,” I point with my finger at the place where the man was standing. “He looked like a serial killer.”

“I’ll take care of it. Eat,” he demands and storms out of the room.

DEVON

I pound on my uncle's door and enter without waiting for permission. He looks over from what seems to be a heated discussion with Stevie, but when they see it's me they stop talking.

Stevie looks furious. Frank's face is perfectly neutral.

“Devon.” Frank rounds the table and takes a seat in his leather chair. I watch his eyes, but as usual, they give nothing away. I've never seen him and Stevie fight about anything. Everything my uncle says Stevie just does, no questions or objections.

“I said I'll handle it,” I tell them both through clenched teeth.

Frank nods at the same time Stevie shakes his head, like he's disappointed. “I know you will,” Frank tells me.

“So why in the world did you send one of your goons in her room?”

My uncle's head snaps to Stevie in question. “Did you go in there?” he says, his voice low.

“You scared the crap out of her, Stevie,” I tell him.

He just shrugs like it's no big deal. I walk up to him and grab him by the collar of his jacket before I even realize what I'm doing. “That. Room. Is. Off. Limits. Understand?” I shake him with each word for good measure.

Frank clears his throat, stealing my attention. He gives me an amused look. “Calm down, Devon. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his table. I inhale deeply, trying to calm myself down and let Stevie's jacket go. He stumbles back.

Walking to the other side of the table, I'm about to sit when he says, “Why the fuck were you in her room all night? You spend an awful lot of time with her, is that your way of handling it?”

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.