Page 62 of Vengeful Union

She tilts her head, frowning. “Look, Rory, I didn’t mean to offend you?—”

I shake my head, leaning down to cup her face.

I kiss her lips softly, chastely. “You didn’t offend me. I just need to drive around and think.” I pause. “About the plan.”

“Sure. The plan,” she says, like she doesn’t believe me, but she hands me her plate so I can take it down to the kitchen.

I leave the room quickly because if I keep looking back at her, I’ll want to kiss her again, deeper, more hungrily.

I’ll want to make love to her again, and I should stop doing that. It’s only complicating things.

I head downstairs with our plates, going into the kitchen and rinsing them before putting them in the dishwasher.

I regret not taking the back door to the kitchen when I see my father sitting at the dining room table.

“Are you coming to dinner?” he asks as I walk through, and I freeze, turning to face him.

“Already ate.” I hope this conversation won’t continue for long. I hate having to talk to my father. I hate having to pretend to be the monster that he is.

He looks at me with a blank expression. “How’s it going with the wife?”

“Fine.”

He hums. “Just fine?”

“She’s a spitfire.” I chuckle to myself.

“They’re always the most fun to break.”

I don’t answer, just leaving the room and stalking out of the mansion and to my car.

My skin is heated, my blood boiling.

He deserves to be behind bars, and I hope this is the way to do it.

I head nowhere in particular, just downtown where I can make a couple of turns and get back on the highway. I think better when I’m driving, when I have the road ahead of me. I guess it turns the rest of my mind off, and I can focus.

I recognize the area I’m passing when I drive by one of my father’s warehouses, and stop at the red light. I idly look at over at the abandoned building.

I spot a couple of guys I recognize. Not by name, just by face. They’re Irish gangsters, men I’ve seen around my whole life. There are also a few I don’t recognize.

One of them, taller and stockier than the rest, gives me a weird sense of déjà vu.

I narrow my eyes to get a better look, and when it hits me, it washes over me like ice water over my head.

Scott.

The last time I’d seen him, he’d been trying to wrap Lara’s long legs around his waist, trying to force her…

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m parking the car on the street and jumping out, striding toward him.

I don’t confront him right away, though, just blending into the shadows until he separates from the others.

When he goes into the side of the building, I walk up behind him as he pisses on the brick wall, and I wrinkle my nose at the sight, waiting for him to finish.

As soon as he puts his dick back in his pants, I push him, slamming his face against the brick wall.

“Hey, fuck!” he yelps, and I twist his arm behind his back.

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