Page 13 of His Wicked Revenge

“When we were running, we came to this clearing, and the alarms started going off. Veronica completely turned on me.” I slowly lift my eyes to my dad and say, “She stabbed me in the stomach and ran. They don’t know where she is.”

“She stabbed you?!” He raises his voice with a mix of disbelief and anger.

“I was in the hospital for a while before I was brought here.”

“Jesus, Leo! You could have died!” The grip he has on the phone tightens, his knuckles turning white.

“But I didn’t, thank God.”

Footsteps sound behind me, and when I glance to my left, I see a guard approaching me. “Your time is up.”

That wasn’t nearly long enough. Why does everything have to be timed in this damn place?

I nod in understanding and turn to my dad. “I have to go. I know this was a lot to take in, and I’m really sorry about all of this. Please tell Chloe anything you want, seeing as she won’t be coming to visit me anytime soon.”

“I’ll talk to her.” I thank him again, put the phone back on the receiver, and stand. Dad watches me as the officer attaches the handcuffs to my wrists, and right before he is about to take me away, I hear my dad's muffled voice one more time when he says, “Please stay safe in there.”

I give him a gentle nod. My eyes fill with tears as the officer walks me out of the room, but I blink the tears away and steer my emotions toward something else. Not sadness, but hatred.

Hatred, not only for Veronica but also for me.

Veronica isn’t the only one at fault for my current position. I can’t place all the blame on her when this is my doing. The hostility replacing the sadness can’t be one-sided.

This is why I allow it to fall heavily on my side; as of right now, I’m the only person who suffers the wrath of the festering emotion.

I’ll hold it with me until the day I’m free.

After that, I’ll unleash it on Veronica.

CHAPTER 7

Veronica

I hate Vegas.

There are too many people here. The streets are crowded, the air smells awful, and it’s too loud. Every so often, someone hands me a card for an escort service. They insist I take it, so I do—only to flick it back in their faces.

Not only is it too loud and overstimulating, but everything is too damn expensive! How is anyone supposed to eat or shop without breaking the bank? I’ve been getting food at a convenience store because I have to be careful with the money Slater gives me.

The food isn’t great. I think the food at Black Lake was better than the garbage they sell at these stores. Today, I settled on a chicken salad sandwich, cheap off-brand chips, and a water bottle.

I sit outside under the sun in front of the Bellagio, waiting for the fountain show to begin. It is honestly the only thing that has kept me entertained.

Why did I come to the most popular place for gambling when, one, I don’t even like gambling, and two, I don’t have any fucking money to waste? I only have enough to keep me running.

I break apart the plastic container, opening it to get to my sandwich. Taking a decent-sized bite, I watch the people around me.

A mother is chasing her toddler, who is going feral. The little girl is screaming and giggling as her little arms flail. Although I don’t like children, I laugh because she is having so much fun despite making her mother angry.

I shake my head, and right when I am about to take another bite of my sandwich, I hear the crowd behind me collectively gasp in awe.

Thanks to my curiosity, I turn my head, and I get a sharp pain in my gut when my eyes immediately find a man wearing black slacks, a fancy white button-down, and perfectly styled brown hair.

He is on one knee in front of a woman, obviously proposing. I stare at the back of the man’s head, and... no... it can’t be... Leo? My eyes move to the woman standing before him with her hands cupping her mouth, and I glare at her. The brown strands of her hair blow gently in the wind.

The fountain show begins, catching my attention for only a moment. I whip my head back to look at the man, blinking my eyes a few times. Realizing that it is not Leo—my Leo—I roll my eyes at the public proposal.

What a cliche.