Mr. Lawson's Assistant

Chapter 18

I stared at Damon, my jaw hanging down, and my eyes wide.
No. Freaking. Way.
I was just being shot at by the most influential and dangerous group in the entire region. 
Crap.
"How the heck did I manage to get dragged into this?" I burst, the words flying to my mouth before I had time to think the through.
Damon inhaled sharply. "A letter was found, opened in Greyson's office. One that shouldnt have been opened. Somehow word got around to Pedro that someone else had read the letter. The only reasonable explination was you." Damon said quietly.
I shook my head, reaching up to rub the side of my face in horror. "They're trying to kill me because I opened a letter?" I murmured, and Damon nodded grimly. "But I didn't even know-" I started, and Damon cut me off.
"It doesn't matter. You could get some of their important people arrested or killed."
I let out a breath, sitting back against the seat, and closing my eyes. "How am I supposed to get out of this?" I breathed.
"Good question." He murmured.
"What about the shooting at the party?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer. "Was it them?"
"I don't know." Damon, gripped the steering wheel a bit harder as he said this, and I got the feeling that I'd missed something.
His eyes were focused firmly on the road now, and I didn't have time to ask any more questions, because we turned into the neighborhood, and I was presented with a more present problem.
"Why are we at your house?" I asked quietly, clamping my fingers together in front of me.
"Because it's safe here." Damon pursed his lips, pulling into his driveway, and parking the car. I stared at the house for a moment, as Damon pulled out his keys, and silence suddenly filled the car. Without saying anything, he opened his door, got out of the car, and walked around to open my door for me.
What?!?
Unbuckling, I stepped out of the car slowly, trying to slow my jumbled thoughts. This was all too much to take in at one time. What was I supposed to tell my family? Had they been hurt? Where was to I supposed to stay? There was no way I could stay here!
I wordlessly followed Damon up to the front door, but as he ushered me inside, I faltered.
"You alright?" He asked, his voice quiet.
I forced a nod, and moved inside, slipping off my shoes and setting them by the door. Turning to Damon, I let out a breath and blinked back tears.
"Follow me."
I waited for Damon to pass me, before I trailed after him, making my way up the stairs behind him.
He lead me down the long hallway, to a series of white doors, before he stopped outside the third one on the right.
Opening the door for me, he gestured that I go inside, and I glanced from him to the room. I wanted to scream at him and tell him that there was no way I was staying at his house, while the freaking mafia was trying to murder me, but I clamped my mouth shut. I had nowhere else to go. I didn't even have a change of clothes. Right now, he was right, I was safe. Walking into the room, I couldn't help but notice the posh mahogany bed frame, and fresh, silver-painted walls. There was a matching mahogany desk underneath the big window, to the right of the king bed, and matching nightstands on each side of the mattress. An adjoining bathroom, and walk-in closet were to my left, and a small black couch sat in the remaining left corner with a TV in front of it.
"Make yourself comfortable, I'll be in the kitchen." Damon said, and I glanced up at him, tearing my eyes away from the beautiful bedroom.
I couldn't find any words, so I just nodded and averted my eyes, before he closed the door, leaving me in silence.
Glancing around helplessly, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. My face was pale, and my hair was a mess; tangled, and still wet from the shower. Staring at my reflection, I slowly ran my fingers through my hair to try and straighten out the knots, but it only made it worse. Digging in my pocket for the single hair tie I had, I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Tying the last loop, I felt a small sting in my hand, as my hair tie dropped to the ground, broken. I blew out an angry breath and kicked it across the floor.
Taking off my socks, I went to set them in the closet, and paused when I saw that it was filled with clothes. Not just any clothes, they were a woman's clothes. Dropping my socks, I stared at the closet and my eyes scanned the contents of the shelves. Slowly, I ran my hands across the folded clothes and pulled out a pair of sweatpants. I held them up to my legs, measuring to see if I would fit them. They were slightly longer than what I'd normally wear, but other than that, they seemed to fit perfectly. Taking the liberty, I pulled off my jeans and replaced them with the sweatpants, before I realized my phone was still in my pocket. As I pulled it out, it buzzed, and David's name flashed across my screen.
'When will you be home?'
His text lit up the screen. I stared at the phone, until it went dark again. Was it even David texting me? Had the men with guns already shot my mother and brother? I tried to get my mind to function, but it wouldn't.
I can't do this right now.
Throwing my phone onto the bed, I shook my head and moved towards the door. I needed to walk, or run. Preferably run. For miles. Without stopping.
You can't even go outside!
Chuckling bitterly to myself as I closed the door behind me, I glanced to the left where the hall lead to the kitchen. I didn't want to talk to Damon, I was overwhelmed enough as it was. I turned right. As I walked, I gazed into a few open bedrooms, and saw that each one looked similar to mine, with different color schemes. One of the rooms I passed was a study, with papers scattered over the desk and the floor. Frowning, I passed it by, and continued walking.
It was unlike either of the Lawson brothers to keep their things untidy- Mr. Greyson especially.
Letting out a breath, I wondered how big their house really was, as I took a left turn at the end of the hallway. Almost suddenly, the hallway dead-ended into a pair of brown double doors, that were cracked open to reveal a brightly lit room beyond. Curious, I pushed a door open enough to peer inside, and a gasp escaped my lips. Tables of paint and sketch paper were set neatly around the room, surrounded by half-finished and barely begun pictures.
Covering the walls, were finished pieces of art work, and I was enthralled at how meticulously the creations had been painted. Every picture was nearly perfect, down to the last drop of paint. I pushed my way into the room, and spun around gazing at each of the pictures. My troubles mometarily forgotten, I stared at the art. As I did so, my mind wandered to who might have created all of the beautiful pieces.
Damon? Greyson?
I turned fully around once, then again, before my eyes wandered to a portrait that sat half done on the easel in the center of the room, and I blinked in surprise. Strikingly familiar green eyes stared back at me from underneath a tidied mess of black hair, but the face I saw, was not Damon's face. It was slightly different. And as I looked at the picture, I realized that the black hair was streaked slightly with grey, and the jawline was slightly more loose than the young Mr. Lawson I knew. Closer inspection helped me to begin noticing more and more obvious differences between Damon and whoever the man in the painting was, and the more it made me wonder. Was he Damon's father?
Hearing footsteps, I spun on my heel and rushed towards the doors of the art room, not wanting to get caught snooping inside a room I wasn't invited into. Slipping out of the double doors, I moved quickly and quietly back down the hall towards 'my' room, listening closely to the fading footsteps that echoed behind me.
Luckily, when I glanced back, whoever that had been coming, had turned off the main hall and gone somehwere else. Turning back, I let my hand fall away from the handle to my bedroom door. Staring at the closed door, I let out a breath, and gazed towards the stairs, my stomach growling impatiently.
I hadn't gotten any of the dinner that Mom had been cooking earlier.
Giving in to my stomach's grumbling, I headed towards the steps, being sure to stay quiet as I made my way downstairs. Padding through the living room, I glanced into the kitchen, and saw Damon. He was standing with his back to me, his hands pressed into the counter and his head lowered. Beside his left hand was a glass of light brown liquid.
I stared at him for a moment, before I internally slapped myself, and cleared my throat.
Damon turned, picking up his glass as I entered, and he raised his eyebrows.
"Scotch?" He asked.
I shook my head. I didn't even bother to remind him that he knew I wasn't legal. "Are you hungry?" He asked me, running his eyes over my face quickly. I shrugged, and he tried to meet my eyes, but I avoided his gaze.
Not saying anything else, Damon walked over to the stainless steel fridge and pulled out a pizza box. "Pizza?"
I felt my stomach churning in hunger. "Sure."