Page 15 of Vow of Vengeance

She stole from me. She disrespected me. She made me the laughingstock of the Brotherhood for a time, having gotten swindled by an online dating profile.

Those things—I could forgive.

Leah took something away from me that she should never have given me. Hope. And for that, she will pay.

It would have been her had I not driven by and seen Ophelia that day and wanted her so badly. I don’t know why Liam asked me to wait to tell Ophelia’s family the truth about our arrangement, but he did. And so, I will.

For a moment, she debates, hovering where she stands. I watch closely, ready to drop everything and take off after her. She bites her bottom lip, looks at the stairs, then back at my face.

I move in, leaving no room between us as I stare down at her. “You really don’t want to run. It won’t be pleasant for you when I catch you.”

Whatever she sees in my eyes makes her shake her head and say, “I told you—I’m not running.”

We walk to the street side-by-side in silence.

My driver, Nico, is waiting for us beside the black Alfa Romeo Giulia Quadrifoglio. He’s young and eager, hoping to move up in the ranks with his broad, white grin and boulder-like build. He loves this car. He opens the door with a smile that he’s had pasted on his face since he first got behind the wheel.

Handing the bags and bedding to Nico, I guide Ophelia into the back. I didn’t choose this car only because it’s Nico’s favorite—it has a roomy back seat that we might need.

Depending on how she chooses to behave.

A smoky privacy screen is already in place, making the vehicle's cab wholly soundproof and secluded from the driver and the rest of the world.

The moment we’re inside the warm cab, she shrugs out of her coat, placing it on the seat between us like a barrier. I observe, ensuring she buckles her safety belt while thinking of my reckless teen days. Once we’re settled, I press a button, letting Nico know we’re ready. Smoothly, the Alfa pulls away from the curb.

“What’s that for?” She points at the privacy screen. “So you can murder people back here?” Her leg shakes, her knee bouncing up and down as she waits for an answer.

“Stop.” I place a hand over her knee to still her. “You’re going to shake us off the road.”

“Sorry.” She throws me a glance. “I’m nervous.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Seriously?” She stares back at me. “The whole ‘kidnapping-arranged-marriage thing?’”

“Oh—that.” I’m perfectly content with our arrangement. I’d forgotten she’s not. “Right. The screen is not for murders. It’s for our privacy. The side windows are tinted, as well. No one can see in, but you can see out.”

They’re also bulletproof. Seeing as she’s just asked me if we murder people in this car, I think it’s best not to mention bullets.

“The tint is extremely dark.” She squints into the night. “Why do you need windows that no one can see into if you’re not murdering people back here?—”

I slide a hand from her knee and up her thigh, squeezing, cutting off her words. “People like to do other things in private, you know.”

Pushing my hand away, she resumes bouncing her knee. “When I’m nervous, I either freeze up or talk incessantly.”

“Incessantly and fast,” I murmur back. “I’m getting the idea this is one of those nervous, talking times.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs, looking out her window. “At least I can see out of this window. Kind of.” Her voice is low. “You seem to know everything about me. I don’t even know your name.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that I didn’t tell her.

“Harrison—” And almost say “Harden,” my last name from another lifetime that I haven’t spoken in a decade. Harrison Harden no longer exists. “Bachman. Harrison Bachman. But I go by Haze.”

“Harrison.” She looks at me then, a smirk curling on her pretty lips. “You go by Haze because you don’t want people calling you Harry?”

“No,” I lie.

“I think it is,” she says, eyeing me closer. “I think you go by Haze because you don’t want people calling you Harry—like Prince Harry. You know, Harrison can be shortened to other things. Hank. Harris. Sonny—oh, what about that one for you?”

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