“Kidnapping would be a full-time job,” I mutter under my breath.

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asks, changing the subject.

“Sure,” I agree. It’s almost too easy to forget that Hayley isn’t my friend, and this isn’t a casual day hanging out. She’s here out of duty, and I’m here because I have no option.

I’m their prisoner.

It's been at least a week since I've been here. How come nothing has happened yet? Has my father found out where I am by now?

I watch the TV but my mind is working, mulling over these thoughts. This guessing game of what's going to happen next is exhausting me. So far, it's been really anti-climatic.

But I don't want to be caught off guard. I just hope, when the shit hits the fan, I'll be ready for it.

DEVON

I walk the narrow hallway leading to the library. I consider a detour, going up to check on Leighton, my resolve to stay away from her room faltering for a second. I remind myself that she has Hayley if she needs anything, and me going up there . . . is not a good idea.

Sooner or later I'm going to have to tell her what's going on. I'm sure she thinks I'll let her go, eventually. I've never been a menace to her—most of the time I ignored her. Or maybe she thinks that we're holding her hostage in exchange for something from her father—money, property, information. Maybe she's hoping her father will come to her rescue.

I dread having to tell her my intentions, but how can I not? She should know what her family did, what they took from me. She should understand why I'm doing this to her. It’s not going to change her fate, but at least she will get the answers she deserves.

Reaching the library, I slump in the sofa facing the fireplace. I look around, exhaling deeply. There's a sense of tranquility in here. I'd like to say I came here as a child, getting lost in the books, but I have no idea what books there are even on the massive built-in shelves lining the three walls. My eyes find the large family portrait hanging above the fireplace, a photo we took, my father, mother, and I, Joey in my mother's arms, still just a baby. I don't remember posing for it but I've seen it plenty of times.

Frank had it painted and hung it above the fireplace. He knew I spent a lot of time here and wanted me to have a reminder of them, to give me a place of comfort. I smile at my foolish thoughts. I could only wish he was so thoughtful. He probably did it out of some sense of duty to keep the memory of his older brother and his family.

The story of my mother and father is a bittersweet one. They loved each other, I remember that like it was yesterday, but she gave up everything she knew to be with him. My mother was an all-American girl, a middle class daughter of a schoolteacher and a dentist. Her parents opposed the marriage heavily, knowing who my father was and where he came from. Who wouldn’t? She married him regardless, and her family practically disowned her. After all, she did marry a criminal—but the heart wants what it wants.

I look up into her kind eyes, knowing that she wouldn’t like the man I’ve become.

Small hands land on my shoulders, massaging my tense muscles. I lean in to her touch and slump even further into the sofa.

“Tough day?” Leighton says and I freeze. What the fuck is she doing in here? Her hands still and leave my shoulders, no doubt realizing the shift in my mood.

Hayley's face fills my line of vision and I shake my head, trying to clear my confusion but it's not helping. I smile at her uneasily and she beamsback, lighting up the whole room with her smile, relaxing me just a little. She sits down on the sofa, facing me, and props her head on her hand, waiting for me to answer her question.

“Yeah, we had trouble with some paperwork.” My eyes scan her face for any clue she’s realized how unsettled I am about what just happened. I think, rationally, she can't know I just fucking hallucinated Leighton's voice, but I'm paranoid as hell. She could always read me like an open book; that’s why we didn't work out as a couple, she knew I wasn't in it one hundred percent. Not that she was, either.

An experiment, she called our relationship. An experiment that failed.

She just nods in understanding, knowing I won't elaborate because it’s a lie. We don’t keep paperwork and she knows it. I've always tried to keep her out of the business, something I know her father probably appreciates.

“Well, I'm exhausted,” she says, groaning. “That girl is seriously high maintenance, not even kidding.”

“Thank you for handling it,” I say, cringing at the word “handling.” She gives me an amused glance, like I have nothing to thank her for, but she has no idea how much she's helping me by babysitting Leighton.

“Eh, she's not that bad, actually.”

My head snaps to her, suddenly curious. Hayley and I, we're not the most social people, maybe because we always had each other to lean on. So, her admitting to not absolutely hating Leighton's company should stand for something.

“What?” she asks, getting defensive. “She's nice. And we have a lot in common. Did you know she's an artist? I was so surprised.”

I know a lot about her, actually. Of course, I know what everyone knows, like whom she hangs out with, the places she frequents, who her friends are. It's impossible not to know these things about her.

But I know things about her I shouldn’t, too. Yeah, I know she’s an artist. An amazing one, at that.

I wait for Hayley to continue, but she gives me nothing else. I want to smack myself for even considering asking more about Leighton.

“She's far from nice, Hales. Don't let her fool you,” I say instead. Hayley gives me a dismissive huff, and I realize she's warming up to Leighton. “You shouldn't get close to her, you know that.” I try to make eye contact while I say it to show her how serious I am about this, but she avoids my gaze.

“I promised her a sketchpad and some drawing supplies,” she continues, ignoring me.

“No pencils,” I say without even giving it a thought. “Nothing sharp.”

She groans, palming her face in exasperation. “Are you serious right now?”

I shrug, but I don't answer her. It's a weapon; she should know this.

“Wow, you really made her out to be the devil in your head, didn't you?”

“You don't know her,” I tell her in the calmest voice I can muster. I'm being unreasonable, but I don't trust her not to hurt Hayley, and I can't have that on my conscience. What would she do to get out? Would she kill? I think she would.

“Well, you don't know her, either,” Hayley says, folding her arms against her chest.

“I know who she is. That's enough for me.”

“Does she know about any of this, Devon?” Hayley asks after a beat.

“No.”

“I thought so.” Hayley sighs dramatically and stands up, straightening imaginary wrinkles from her shirt. She fishes out the keys to Leighton's room and throws them on the sofa next to me. “I'm not coming back tomorrow.”

I want to argue, but that would be unfair as well. She spent close to a week with the girl. I don't know why I didn't expect they'd at least form some sort of friendship.

“Just for a week or two,” she assures me, and I relax, thankful she's not abandoning me after all. “I need to distance myself. I know what must be done,” she finishes, determination lacing her voice.

She walks to the door and stands there for a second, contemplating something. “She's been asking about you,” she says, and exits the library, closing the door behind her.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I get up and start pacing the room. Of course she's been asking about me because why the hell would she miss an opportunity to play with my head? At least when she wasn't here I could avoid her, and focus on things that were important. But knowing that she's just three flights of stairs above me makes it impossible for me to think straight.