Page 6 of Pure Vengeance

The doorknob rattles. Metal slides against metal just before the door swings open. I jump to my feet as the light from the hallway pours into the dim room.

“You know, there’s a light switch over here.” Anton flicks the switch next to the door with one finger. I blink while my eyes adjust to the bright light of the overhead recessed lighting.

He steps inside, his polished shoes scraping against the wood flooring. His suit jacket and button-down shirt have been replaced with a black undershirt. Two dark stitches on his bare shoulder stick out like a sore thumb against his sun-kissed skin.

With slow steps, he approaches me. The darkness of his stare almost dares me to try to run for the door he’s left open.

I’m not that stupid.

Before I can even get to a set of stairs, someone will catch me. And then he’ll have an excuse to do horrible things to me.

Not that he needs an excuse.

Cold runs beneath my skin with that reminder. Michael didn’t deserve what happened to him. There was no reason for it.

This monster doesn’t need a reason to be a monster. He just is.

When he’s only a step from me, he stops, slides his hands into the front pockets of his black trousers. A thick shadow of a beard covers his jawline. More than when I saw him outside the restaurant.

How long was I actually asleep for?

His nostrils flare as he breaths out a heavy breath.

“Your name,” he demands, leveling me with his glare.

My mouth dries beneath his attention. This man is dangerous. Evil. Yet, I can’t ignore how beautiful he is.

“Does it matter?” I raise my chin, hoping it will keep my voice from quivering like the rest of me. My stomach is in knots, and my heart can’t decide if it wants to leap out of my throat or just stop working all together.

He tilts his head slightly, inspecting me with those eyes of his.

“Tell me.” His voice is firm, and steady.

“Claire.” I relent; it has no bearing on anything. If he’s going to kill me for my attempt at taking him out, he’s going to kill me. Knowing my name won’t change his mind.

“Claire what?” His left eyebrow arches slightly.

“Claire Montecelli.” I fist the fabric of my dress in my fists at my side. “My brother was Michael Montecelli.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, like he’s trying to process the names I’ve given him.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he asks.

My heart drops to my stomach. He doesn’t even remember his name?

“Not to a man like you, I guess not.”

“How do you know Joseph Fanelli?”

I blink.

“Who is that?” I rack my brain. I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t place it. It’s no one I know. That’s for certain.

“Your boss?”

“My boss?” I huff. “My boss is Samuel Lincoln.”

His brow lifts. “Samuel Lincoln?”

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