Page 72 of Pure Vengeance

Unable to control it any longer, I sank into a chair and kept laughing.

Lachlan

Her giggles eventually faded, but I didn’t want her to stop laughing—even if it was at my expense. I had no idea what the hell I was thinking when I tried to cook actual food. I was lucky I hadn’t burnt the house down.

After wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes, she snorted out another giggle, then said, “Well, let’s hope you’re better at cleaning than you are at cooking. When you’re finished, make sandwiches. Lettuce, tomato, and mayo on mine, please.”

“You’re not going to help?”

She shrugged and went to the wine fridge for a bottle of chardonnay. After uncorking it, she got a glass from the overhead stemware rack and poured herself a drink without offering me one. “Nope. Not my mess.”

“I’d get done faster with two of us.”

“And?” Leaving me to it, she spent several minutes looking through the fridge and pantry.

The woman in my kitchen wasn’t the same one I’d married. This Natasha was confident and self-assured, with a dry, somewhat acerbic wit I enjoyed. I especially liked that she wasn’t bending over backward to please me out of fear, or because she thought she had to. Of course, her attitude probably had a lot to do with her newfound combat skills. She also made a note of where all the knives were as she got her wine.

And because I was still a sick bastard, I loved it.

“As my lady commands,” I murmured as I got cleaning products from under the sink. “What are you planning for supper?”

She got a large steel bowl from the shelf under the kitchen island, then added yeast, water, and a healthy dollop of honey. “Herbed Focaccia, salad, and I think pastina with parm and chopped kale. I’ll make plenty for all of us, plus leftovers because I’m not cooking when I should be spending time with Dante.”

“All of us?”

“You, me, the vet, and her technician.” She dumped flour into the yeast mixture without measuring it, then mixed it with a wooden spoon.

“Where did you learn to cook?”

Natasha’s spoon stilled for a moment before she started stirring again. “My father used to hire undocumented workers for housekeeping staff. He paid them a pittance and threatened them with deportation or worse if they tried to report what he was doing to me. Sometimes the cook would let me watch her. They finally managed to get out a few months before our wedding.”

“How?”

“My father took me and the guards to some fancy hotel for a party. Nobody was there to stop them. After that, I watched cooking videos on the internet.”

“So glad he’s dead.”

“No kidding. Anyway, I assume Saoirse won’t be joining us.”

“No.” I hesitated, then added, “You scare her.”

“Good. I meant to.” She spread olive oil on the kitchen island, then turned the dough out. “As long as you don’t fuck with me again, she’s in no danger from me.”

I nodded and scrubbed sticky burnt fruit from the cooktop. “I get it. I… Everything I did to you was to make your father hurt. I can’t exactly blame you for turning it back on me.”

“I don’t want to harm her, Lachlan.” She kneaded her dough in silence for a few seconds. “But she will die if you try to force me into that kennel again.”

Natasha’s words, spoken in a flat, emotionless monotone, chilled me. “I understand. You have every right to protect yourself, and I won’t touch you without your consent.”

“Good.” She slid the smooth ball of dough into the bowl and coated it with more oil, then covered it tightly with plastic wrap. “I do want to thank you for something.”

“What’s that?”

“You gave me the means to finally end the old bastard.” She grabbed a rag and cleaned up the last traces of flour and oil from the kitchen island, then washed her hands. “And once Dante is well, we’re leaving California. You’ll never see us again.”

“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have done any of it if I’d known.”

“Considering you still haven’t signed our divorce papers, it’s not worth much.” After drying her hands, she added, “Forget the sandwich. I’ll be back in a few hours to make supper.”

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