I nod in approval. “Good, that should teach her.”

“She's becoming a problem, Devon,” Frank says.

“I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“No, I want her gone. I'll have one of my guys do it.”

I look at him, stunned. “If she turns up dead it's practically a red flag for Keith,” I say, keeping my tone even, controlled. “We've come so far. Do we want to fuck it all up now?”

He folds his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. I don't think I've ever defied him before. “Don't worry; he'll make sure she doesn't turn up dead. He'll make sure she doesn't turn up, period.”

“Can you even do it?” This from Stevie. “Or are you going all soft because she's a fine piece of meat? Can't say I blame you, after last night.” My eyes flash, a terrifying thought crossing my mind. Would Marky get that carried away? Did Stevie do something to her? “She fought like a little beast, the spitfire. Must be a pleasure to have that pinned beneath you, all pliant and submissive,” Stevie finishes, licking his lips, and adjusting himself.

If I don't leave the room right now, I'll just kill him on the spot.

“Stevie, I'm sure you're just dying to draw blood,” I say politely. “But unlike you, I’m not about to get carried away here.” His eyes narrow at that, but I ignore it. “I brought her here, she's my responsibility, I'll deal with her.” I turn to my uncle. “Are we good?”

His eyes flash with something unrecognizable, but then it's back to the usual indifference. “I guess you'll just have to prove it to me.”

“And I will. Now, this whole thing needs to go down as planned, otherwise it's no use. If one of them lives, and that includes her,” I say, gesturing with my thumb over my shoulder, “it's all for nothing.”

“You're right,” Frank says, glancing at Stevie, then back at me. “We need to keep our heads cool.”

“Thank you, sir.” I turn to walk over to her and take her away from this room, but Frank's words stop me.

“Who is she?” he asks me, and the way he says it leaves no doubt he expects an answer. He wants to make sure I remember who I am.

I continue making my way to her, looking at her in what I hope embodies disgust. She scrambles away from me, and I don't blame her. “She's a Moore,” I say, playing along with this game of his.

“And what about them?”

I lower myself to a crouch, taking her face in my hands. I remind myself it's not the time to assess the damage. She tries to look away, and I follow her eyes, giving her no choice but to meet my gaze and when she finally does, it breaks my heart. I don't want to tell her this.

“They killed my whole family,” I say, looking into her eyes, an almost desperate tone to my voice. Please understand. Disbelief colors her expression, and she starts shaking her head. I hold it steady, dreading the next words I have to say. “And they will pay for it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and a tear slides down her cheek.

“Good,” I hear Stevie say behind me.

I drag her up by her shoulder, adding more force to it than necessary. She cries out in pain, the sound ripping my heart. I push her toward the door and open it, the men in front of it pretending they weren't listening in. They watch me with approval as I all but drag her on the floor toward the stairway.

We round the corner, leaving their murmurs behind, and I stop and take her in my arms. Her body goes limp in my hold, all fight seemingly gone out of her as I carry her up to the third floor. I don't say anything, because what else can I say? I'm sure I've said it all, and she's not stupid.

She knows the way our world works, and why we were a mistake from the very start. That she should have never hoped for anything when it came to me, because ultimately, we're enemies, and you can't afford to have mercy for your enemies. She knows all of it.

I take her straight to the bathroom and set her on the counter. She leans back against the cool tiles while I turn on the water in the sink, adjusting it to the right temperature. I turn back to her and take her bound hands in mine, using my pocketknife to cut the duct tape off, and revealing the angry marks around her wrists. I rub my thumbs over them, my vision clouding with rage. I take a washcloth and run it under the water, then bring it to her face to clean it up. She doesn't even flinch when I make contact, wiping away the blood around her mouth. When I'm done and her face is clean, I lean in and kiss her swollen lip.

“I'm so goddamn sorry this happened,” I murmur against her lips, my voice breaking. I'm sure she knows I don't mean just the cuts and bruises on her face. There are things deep beneath the skin I need to apologize for.

She doesn't respond. Her eyes are unfocused, like she's looking right through me. I wouldn't want to look at me either, if I was her.

I wet the washcloth again, then take her small feet into my hands, wiping around the cuts. Why didn't she wear the goddamn shoes?

I turn the shower on, making sure the water is a good temperature.

“I'll give you some privacy,” I tell her. She just shakes her head, a dazed expression on her face.

It feels like she's inside the shower forever. I have a brief thought that she might try and hurt herself in there, but I don't really believe it. It just doesn't seem like her.

The door opens, and she walks out, stark naked, not looking at me. I try not to ogle, because it's really inappropriate and there's nothing sexual about it. She walks straight to the bed and climbs on it, and just sits there in the middle of it.

I get up and walk over to her. I take out a shirt from the dresser and a pair of panties and bring them over to her. She doesn't resist me when I pull the shirt over her head, hiding her body from my hungry eyes. I run my hands through her wet hair, savoring the silky feel of it. She takes the underwear from my lap and pulls them on herself, then lies down on the bed, tucking her elbow under her head.

I follow suit, lying down on my side, facing her. She brings her free hand up to my face, her hesitant touch whispering over my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into her hand, feeling like a hypocrite because I know she's trying to comfort me for what I just told her.

“I wish you were someone else,” she whispers, and I hear the tears in her voice. My eyes open and I kiss her wrist hovering over my mouth, wiping away the single tear streaking her cheek with my thumb.

“Me, too,” I say, and I've never meant anything more than I do those two words.

LEIGHTON

I wake up in the afternoon, if I can tell by the faint darkness I see through the sole window in the room.

When it all hits me, I still feel numb. Being locked in this room, Devon lulled me into a false sense of security. With him around, sure, I was scared, but I wasn't terrified, and I was sure I was getting out of this alive because Devon would take care of me.

I don't know why I thought it. He hasn't really done anything to make me think that. But somewhere deep down, I thought he would make sure I was okay, at the end of the day.

Being in the arms of those slimy men, being taunted and leered at, I realized how stupid I've been. It's not just Devon in this house; it's not just him who makes final decisions.

Devon's uncle is cold and unfeeling. I have no idea how he grew up with that. He is not like him, at all.

My breath hitches when I remember the moment I thought Stevie was going to rape me.

My family killed his? I glance over at Devon, hoping that it isn't true, but knowing it probably is. This whole thing is so messed up. How can he even look at me? He must despise me. He's been putting up with my shit this whole time when he didn't have to, all the while knowing that my family destroyed his.