Page 1 of Pure Vengeance

CAPTIVE VENGEANCE

BY MEASHA STONE

CHAPTER ONE

Claire

For the second time tonight, I swallow back the bile crawling up my throat and set my eyes on my target.

Anton DeMarci.

With his thick black hair slicked away from his face and his searing blue eyes, he’s by far the most handsome man in this room. Maybe the city.

My stomach turns over again as I reach my hand into my purse, feeling for my weapon. It’s there. Nestled beneath the extra tissues I always carry and a pair of sunglasses.

“Can I help you?” A waitress steps in front of me when I get closer to the back room of the restaurant.

The Salamander is a private dinner club, but the back party room is even more private. It’s for the family members of the DeMarci family only, and my untamed auburn hair, fair skin sprinkled with freckles highlighted by the summer sun tells this woman I am not one of them.

“I was just making my way to the restroom. It’s back here, right?” I slip my hand out of my purse and point at the hallway to my left.

Her eyes narrow briefly, and I wonder if my voice trembles as much as my stomach.

I’m no good at lying.

I’m worse at planning this hunt.

But, for Michael, my brother, I’m learning fast how to do both.

He deserves it.

To have his death avenged.

He was too young to be killed. And too innocent.

Anton DeMarci doesn’t know the first thing about innocence.

“Oh, yeah, right down that hallway.” She steps around me and continues her way through the restaurant.

Feeling her eyes on me, I turn toward the restrooms and weave through the tables in that direction.

The party room is closed off from the rest of room with dark wooden paneled walls and frosted windows at the top. Anton stands just outside the room talking with two other men. He’s scowling and jabbing his finger at one of them.

As I make my way past them, his eyes swing my direction, and he catches me in his tracker beam like gaze. My breath catches. A shiver runs down my back, and I’m certain he knows why I’m here.

One of the men start talking, and he looks back at them.

Air whooshes back into my lungs, and I hurry into the shelter of the restroom.

Hot tears well in eyes once I’m alone in a stall. I wipe them away, gritting my teeth.

I can’t be emotional about this.

Stick to the plan.

It’s seven fifty-six. He always leaves by eight thirty. I just need to keep an eye on him for a little while longer before I slip out to my hiding spot in the parking lot.

His driver keeps his black Mercedes parked in the lot on the side of the restaurant. He’ll stay parked by the side entrance until Anton steps out, then he’ll pull up to the stairs.

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