Page 17 of Hunted Vengeance

A few moments later, he walks into my office and flops down on the sofa across from me. Without a word, he jerks his chin, his gaze finds mine, and he arches a brow, waiting for me to tell him why I called him in here.

“Colette Bellucci,” I state. His lips slowly curve up into a grin, and he watches me, his eyes dancing, but he doesn’t say anything immediately. “I need everything on her. I can’t find a damn thing. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

“But she does,” Boden states.

“Indeed.”

He slaps his knees before he stands to his feet. His gaze finds mine, and he smirks. “I’ll see what I can dig up. I may need to talk to Vaughn. He seems to have a whole fucking line on shit that I didn’t even know existed.”

I snort because he’s absolutely correct. We didn’t know he was on the dark web, let alone taking hit jobs as a way to maintain his control and earn some extra cash. I can’t even fault him for it because his presence there has been a goddamn boon to both Theron and now me.

COLETTE

The reflectionin the vanity mirror doesn’t even look like me, but I know it is mainly because I pinch myself to ensure it is indeed me staring at my own reflection and that I’m not dreaming.

I can’t believe this is my engagement party.

I was really living under the impression that this night would never happen. This only means that my wedding is going to happen, too. Even if I hope, wish, and pray it never does. I don’t think my prayers are going to be heard—ever.

My long dark hair has been fashioned into some fancy updo, the likes of which it’s never been before, complete with little rhinestone clips placed all over. I hate it. But only because it’s not me—I’m not sparkles and glitter.

My makeup is also definitely not me. It’s dark and heavy, thick, and makes me want to scrape it off. My lips are bright red, and I feel like I’m all painted up for display. Which is exactly what I am, so I guess I appear the way I’m meant to.

Slipping on the too-high heels, I stand and take a step back from the vanity to look at my entire reflection in the full-length mirror. My dress is also something that I would never choose for myself.

I look like a stranger.

No part of the person staring back at me in the mirror looks like… well,me. Pressing my lips together, I try running my fingers down my dress and cringe. The entire dress is entirely see-through, its elaborate beading the only thing keeping my naked body parts from being on display.

It’s gorgeous, and I would admire it on someone else.But on me?Absolutely not. I feel far too exposed. Fighting back tears, I try to keep my makeup from running down my cheeks and inhale a deep breath. Holding it, I turn around and face the bedroom door as I let that exhale escape through my lips.

I need to let it go. I’m being dressed up like a doll, and I need to remember that’s exactly what I am right now and potentially will be for the rest of my life. Slowly, I make my way toward the door and reach for the knob.

Twisting it, I gently tug the door open. Marcello is standing across the short hallway, his back against the wall, doing something on his phone. He lifts his gaze, and his eyes widen at the sight of me. I watch as his nostrils flare, and I almost laugh because he’s into the whole ridiculously made-up version of me. Not that I thought he was into any other part of me, but this is over the top.

“Ready?” he asks.

I shake my head and plaster a smile on my face. “No,” I say.

He grunts and pushes off the wall to stand beside me. “Doesn’t matter if you are or aren’t,” he states.

I know that. As much as I hate it, I know it. “They’re waiting for you at the car outside.”

Giving him a tight smile, I follow behind him and head toward the front door of the house. When the door opens, I lift my gaze to meet my father’s, then slowly slide it over to take in the man I am about to marry.

He’s older, much older than me. He’s older than my father, too. My breath hitches as my eyes catch his. It’s not the fact that he’s older that bothers me. It’s the darkness behind his gaze—the emptiness. That’s what scares the absolute shit out of me.

My father speaks as soon as I approach the two of them. “Colette, say hello to Malcolm Ravet.”

Chapter Seven

COLETTE

Malcolm Ravet isscary as hell. Although I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t be. He essentially bought me, I’m sure. At the very least, he traded me for something with my father. My father is scary as hell, too, but there is a darkness that swirls around Ravet, the likes of which I have never experienced before.

Ravet reaches forward, wrapping his fingers around my hand before he lifts it to his lips. When his dry mouth touches the back of my hand, a sensation of dread washes over my skin. I should turn and walk away right now—no, I should run as fast and as far as I possibly can.

However, I would be caught, and I can’t imagine the punishment for running away from the man who is to be my husband in just a few weeks’ time. So, like the true rule follower, the fully controlled woman that I am, I give him a tight smile and follow him and my father into the back seat of the waiting car.

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