Page 8 of Hunted Vengeance

He didn’t even have to say it because that’s all I’ve been thinking about. Adriano would not demand an annulment if he didn’t have a plan in place. Hell, he wouldn’t have come and got Colette if he didn’t have something in the works.

“Are you suggesting I stop it?” I ask. “That could start a war. She’s out of my bed and my hair. I should be fucking happy.”

“Except you haven’t signed this. Instead, you’ve been sitting in this chair drinking for God knows how many fucking days.”

He’s right.

I don’t know how I feel because feelings aren’t something I’ve allowed. But I would be a liar if I said I didn’t miss her around the house. I’m also filled with regret that I didn’t treat her better. I should have. I liked Colette. Forced into marriage or not, I liked having her around.

I especially liked having her in my bed.

“What do I do?” I ask. “Fight it? That motherfucker is going to bury me in paperwork and probably have me knocked off while doing it.”

Grayson watches me for a long, silent moment. I take another drink from my bottle, then set it down as his gaze bores into mine. When he’s finished taking me in, in silence, he clears his throat before he speaks.

“Do you give a shit about her?” he asks.

I could lie. Hell, Ishouldlie, but I don’t. Instead, I tell him the truth. “I don’t know her enough to give a shit about her,” I state. He arches a brow, his lips twitching into a smirk. He doesn’t say anything else, but I, for whatever reason, continue speaking.

“But Colette Steele is mine. She’s my goddamn wife.”

Grayson lets out a chuckle. “I thought you might say that. Since hunting down Ravet is on hold, I’m thinking we start fucking with the Mafia.”

“I’m thinking that sounds like a damn good idea,” I growl.

Grayson calls a meeting for the next morning. I would rather do all this shit on my own, but the last time I tried to do that, I ended up with a wife who I didn’t want, and when I decided that I might want to keep her, said wife was taken from me, so maybe it’s time I call in my brothers for help.

Chapter Three

COLETTE

I feellike I should do something. Go somewhere. Call someone. But there is not a single soul who I can ask for advice, help, or even to just listen to me. Pinching my eyes closed, I press my palms against them just so that there is complete darkness.

I’m not sure who the hell my father has me betrothed to, but I want no part of it. None at all. I already know whatever scheme they have, whatever he’s got this man in his back pocket for, it’s going to be big, and it’s bad.

My father should absolutely not be in politics at all, and I’m pretty sure that this isn’t just some city council thing. No way would he force an annulment over something small.

Which makes me want to get away from it all even more.

Short of climbing out the window, I’m not sure what I can do. I don’t have any access to the house phone, and even if I did, it’s monitored. Merrick’s company ensured that this house was impenetrable, even from the inside. Maybe especially from the inside.

And I have a feeling that my father requested it that way for this exact reason.

Glancing at the clock, I wince at the time. I am dressed for my meeting with the wedding coordinator, but I’m not ready in the slightest. I don’t want to discuss anything like that. I want to get the hell out of here.

I don’t even care if I have freedom at this point. I could be locked away in another bedroom somewhere for the rest of my life as long as it meant I was away from my father and any man he chose for me.

Merrick was ultimately my father’s decision, but I tried to force the situation. I should have known that he wasn’t going to let me have him. Not that Merrick really wanted to keep me for himself anyway. But I knew that it wasn’t going to last. No matter how hard I hoped that it would, I knew it indeed would not.

Lifting my hand to my mouth, I slip my thumbnail between my teeth and chew on the corner. I’ve never admitted to being smart in any capacity, but I feel like there should be a logical way out of this mess that is called my life… or lack thereof.

A knock on the door startles me. My spine straightens, and I let out a quiet yelp. Slowly, I close my eyes, then reopen them as I gather myself. Marcello cannot see me like that. If he does, it’ll be a weakness, and I cannot let that man, or any other man, see an ounce of weakness. He’s already heard enough through closed doors.

Witnessing it is a different story.

Once I’m composed, and he knocks again, I make my way toward the door and turn the knob. When I open the door, I tilt my head back as I look into the eyes of my father. I wasn’t expecting him here. He never comes to me. I’m always beckoned to him.

“You will not embarrass me,” he growls.

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