I look for a weapon but only come across a silver candlestick. It’s sturdy enough, and it'll have to do for now. I should have checked his pockets for that goddamned pocketknife he always carries around.

I walk down a set of stairs, and exhale in relief when I see a sliding door. I unlock it with one click and then step outside.

I’m almost free. I breathe in the fresh air as the cold wind hits my face, enjoying the moment for a second before my eyes dart around, looking for the best route to take. There's a door on one side. I assume it leads to the backyard. On the other side is a gate that should lead to the front of the house.

I head toward the gate, thankful that there are no dogs outside, and flip the latch. I close it softly behind me, before I start running. When I hit the front lawn I freeze. I know I shouldn't, I should keep running. There are two men standing there, their posture changing the minute they lay their eyes on me.

I recognize one instantly as the man who was standing in my room. This isn't going to be good. I start to run, too late, and so do both of them. I’m a pretty fast runner, but as I run on the road I can feel something cut my foot.

An arm grabs me around my waist, and a palm lands on my mouth.

“What do we have here?” The one from my room says in a creepy voice. I reach up and scratch him right across his cheek, digging my nails into his skin. I've been trained if something happens, I need to leave a mark, leave a trail. I raise my hand to try and get the other man, but the one holding me overpowers me, grasping my wrists in his, tight.

“Bitch,” he hisses, pulling me roughly.

“Looks like the Moore princess finally came out to play,” the other one says.

Fuck.

I whimper when he rips my shirt open, mouthing Devon’s name.

DEVON

A warm ray of light jolts me awake me from a dreamless sleep. I sit up, a little too fast, and pain shoots through my head. Slumping back against the headboard, I bring my hand to my temples and massage them in circular motion, but it doesn't really help. It's the worst hangover I've ever had. Fucking Jack.

I open my eyes without thinking, and the blazing light only worsens the pounding headache. I squeeze my eyes closed again. My tongue feels like sandpaper. I'm thirsty as hell. It takes me a few minutes to open my eyes again, trying to focus them on anything in the room.

Then I realize. I'm in Leighton's room. In her bed.

“Shit.” What the fuck happened last night? I try to rewind, Leighton, Baroque, Soraya—I cringe at that last memory. What a fucking waste.

And then . . . nothing. I have never allowed myself this. Sure I've gotten drunk before, but never so much to black out. Always keep your wits about you, my uncle would say, and I always listened.

Until last night.

I get out of bed slowly, the drums in my head getting louder. I'm fully clothed, and I reek of alcohol and perfume. It makes me queasy, and I'm about to run for the bathroom when something clicks. She's nowhere in sight. I head for the bathroom, listening for any sounds in there, hoping she's taking a shower or whatever, but when I go inside, she’s not there.

Leaving the bathroom, I scan the room, looking for any clues as to what happened. My eyes find her shoes on the floor next to the bed. Nothing looks out of place.

But she's not in here.

Idiot, I want to yell but I know it will attract attention. So I scold myself in my head. I fucking knew this would happen. The woman is making me into a sad excuse of a man. Always has. Weak. Pathetic.

At least I can finally admit it. Yeah, Devon, there's a reason why you stayed away from her for as long as you have.

And for fuck's sake, I'm not even worried she managed to escape, I'd be surprised she didn't take this chance I've so stupidly given her. No, my stupid, irrational fear is she didn't, and that someone got their hands on her.

The thought is unsettling. I've never had to worry about her like this before. And I'm the one who brought her here.

Fuck.

But surely I'd have heard something, if she's still here, or if someone got her. She'd scream, I'm almost positive.

I move for the door, which is, of course, unlocked. I shake my head at my stupidity. Idiot. Exiting the room, I lock it, and then head downstairs to the guest room, making up a plan in my head as I go.

I smell like perfume and alcohol, but I don’t have the time to take a shower right now. I went to her bed smelling like that, I realize. I cut the feeling of remorse that starts to creep into my mind. It's for the best.

Do I tell Frank about this? I bet Stevie will have a field day with his I-told-you-so. But I have to say something. Maybe I can say it's done? Then I can find her, and . . . and what? Kill her? Yes, because she's a weakness. And I have a duty to my family. And I'll finally be free of this pathetic . . . thing in my head.

I laugh at myself. Yup, pathetic.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I pass it. I get a flash of memory of being slapped across the face. Well, that answers the question of how she felt about me coming to her bed last night.

I put on the first shirt and jeans that I spot. Then I go downstairs to my uncle's study. I can't hide this from him. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up, proving to everyone I’m a failure.

The voices get louder as I descend the stairs, a fear creeping up my spine. I don't know what's going on, but it doesn't look good. There are at least five men in front of Frank’s study, all listening in, trying not to be obvious. They part as I pass. It's completely ridiculous. I knock on his door, and one of them, Jake, I think, opens it for me.

Stevie turns around when I enter, giving me a sneer when I eye the angry red scratch across his cheek. “There he is.”

“What's going on?” I ask.

“Your girl escaped last night,” Stevie replies, and I don't miss the implication in his words. But I don't react to it either.

“What do you mean escaped?” I ask, though secretly I'm relieved. “Wasn’t anyone on watch?”

Frank's eyes lock onto mine. “Well, yes, she tried to escape.”

I move closer to them, making sure I don't change my demeanor and give anything away. She didn't escape. To say a chill runs through me is an understatement. Someone got her. And all because I was careless.

And as I stand in front of Frank's desk, a whimper in the back of the room catches my attention. Frank and Stevie are looking at me, their gazes burning holes through my head, gauging my reaction. I don't turn around even though I want to. I should see the consequences of what I did. But damage control is more important right now. If I turn around, I give them what they want.

“Stevie was there,” my uncle finally says. A surge of pride goes through me because the scratch on his cheek has a whole new meaning now.

“Yeah, I was there,” Stevie says, looking over my shoulder. Don't turn around.

“You've been careless, Devon. She stole the key from Hayley,” Frank adds.

At this I do turn around, curious because we both know that's not the truth. I find her sitting in the corner, her hands bound with duct tape. There are cuts all over her feet. Her shirt is torn, exposing her bra and all the way down to her navel. Her bottom lip is bloodied and swollen, her hair a tangled mess.

I relax my fist, the exact opposite of what I really want to do. I mask my expression, even though her eyes are pleading with me. Her face crumples when she sees me shutting off, and I wish more than anything I could go to her and tell her it's all a show. I turn back to Stevie and Frank instead, mask in place.

“Marky got carried away,” Stevie says, shrugging nonchalantly. Idiot. When all of this is over, however it ends, I'll make sure he dies the worst death possible.