Page 66 of Pure Vengeance

My dog didn’t answer. Instead, he resettled himself in his jumbo-sized memory-foam dog bed and let out a loud snore as he tucked his stuffed bear under one paw. I smiled and reached down to scratch his ears.

I might have been training my body to kill, but he wouldn’t be asked to do it again.

With the funds from the numbered Swiss bank accounts I’d found in my father’s safe, I could go anywhere. I could finally attend college, travel, or even just buy a house somewhere far away from the almost ex-husband I refused to name and be a hermit for the rest of my life.

Some days I could forget what he’d done to me. Mostly not, although every day he didn’t show up to take me back to the kennel made it easier to think I’d be okay. At least I’d finally gotten up the nerve to take out my piercing jewelry and send it to him with a pile of Dante’s shit.

And some days, I could even get myself off without thinking of all the depraved things that used to make my pussy clench with the visceral need only he could assuage.

I had a service dog vest for Dante, so he didn’t have to travel in a crate. Granted, he wasn’t exactly a service dog, but he was extremely well-trained. Besides, my anxiety spiked whenever I couldn’t see him, so I supposed that made him an emotional support animal with better manners.

After sitting on the comfortable microfiber couch, I spread printed travel brochures across the elegant French provincial coffee table. Although I told myself the furniture was only for staging the house for sale, I loved the new décor. Now that every trace of my father was gone, I almost wished I could stay.

Unfortunately, his poison permeated the walls and spread into the soft furnishings. If I looked at it sideways, even the neatly manicured lawn appeared to bubble with tarry black, and the landscaping seemed to wilt more with every passing day.

The house needed to go to a new family who could replace his evil with happiness.

“Maybe we should take this transatlantic cruise to Greece,” I mused out loud. “I’m thinking do the wholeMama Miathing. It would totally count since I’m your mom, and I’ll be single when your former dad gets off his ass and signs the papers. All we’d need is a run-down inn.”

When Dante didn’t answer, I added, “Or how about Iceland? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

The doorbell rang and I glanced at the time on my phone before rising to my feet. “Misaki is way early. We’ll have to decide on our destination after lunch.”

Before opening the door, I checked the video from the security feed and froze, my belly clenching with a mix of fear and anger.

Mostly anger.

I slid my new shotgun from the umbrella stand, then unlocked the multiple deadbolts securing the door and slowly opened it.

“Jerome.”

Dressed in his usual faded jeans and plaid flannel shirt, the kennel trainer kept his eyes fixed on the shotgun.

“Hey, Natasha.” Swallowing hard, he took a step back. “I… um?—”

“Since when do you use my name?” I interrupted. “Did Lachlan send you?”

“No!” He shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t come because of him.”

I caressed the trigger guard with my thumb. “Then what do you want?”

“I’m going to put my hand in my shirt pocket.” When I nodded, he pulled a gray tabby kitten from his pocket and held it out to me. “It won’t make up for what we’ve done, but I hope you like her.”

“You’re giving me a cat?” I blinked at the tiny mound of fluff curled up asleep on his large palm. “Why?”

“We took your kindness and destroyed it, Natasha,” he said quietly. “I’m hoping the kitten will help you get it back. Cats are good at doing that sometimes.”

Stunned, I took the baby from Jerome and decided to cancel my Krav Maga training with Misaki, so I could figure out how to take care of her. “Wow. Okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” Jerome hesitated, then asked, “How’s Dante?”

“He’s good.” I heard the click of Dante’s nails on the hardwood and pushed the door with my shoulder to let him out.

Strangely, Dante stumbled, his front legs almost buckling when he tried to reach Jerome. His head listed to the side, and he panted heavily as his pupils narrowed to pinpricks.

“Dante?” Trying to control my panic, I slammed the shotgun into the umbrella stand and set the kitten on the floor next to it before dropping to my knees. “C’mon, buddy. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Jerome nudged me out of the way, then crouched to examine my dog. “Go on and bring my truck close. We need to get him to the vet.”

---