Page 27 of His Dark Vendetta

The woman next to him smiled and straightened a few loose strands of hair.

I lost it. “You fucking asshole!” I screamed and tossed the martini in his face.

The woman squealed and scooted away.

He wiped the drink out of his eyes and examined his martini-soaked shirt. “What the fuck?” He climbed out of the booth and shook vodka and olive juice from his hands.

A spiderweb of cracks formed at the center of my heart. My temper rose as the fissures spread and shattered the bruised muscle into pieces. I strangled the empty glass, holding onto the stem like it was a club and wanting to hit him with it and hurt him as badly as he’d hurt me.

He held up his hands, and his face softened with concern and regret. He stepped forward and lowered his voice. “Listen, Siobhán, this is not what it looks like.”

“Not what it looks like?Ahyoufahckingkidding me?” My cheeks burned. I was embarrassed, enraged, and utterly devastated, and my remaining control evaporated with his lame excuse. “You were attached to her neck like a leech. The night beforeahdate. Two days after?—”

I hiccupped a sob, my throat hot with emotion at the thought of what I’d done. What I thought we’d shared. I clamped my lips shut and bit the inside of my cheek. I’d be damned if I let him see me cry.

He narrowed his eyes and studied me like he’d never seen me before. He closed the gap between us, and his eyes burned with an anger that seemed to spark in the low light of the club. “What happened to your accent?”

“What?” I snapped.

He loomed over me, dark and menacing. “What happened to your accent, Siobhán?” The question was clipped and heated, and his face twisted with anger and hurt as palpable as mine. “You lied to me.”

I rolled onto my back, cheeks wet from reliving that horrible night for the millionth time. How had it all gone so wrong? How had I believed that he was any different from every other macho, womanizing man in my life? How had I forgotten what that night had done to him? How his pain—as deep and as real as mine—had transformed something more than affection into disdain and distrust? And how had I forgotten what that night had done to me?

I closed my eyes. Silent tears fell onto the pillow, and I wept myself to sleep.

ChapterEight

Siobhán

My body jerked off the bed and I gasped. I pushed my hair out of my face and rested my hand on my heart, waiting for the adrenaline to dissipate and my breath to calm. Plummeting from the Tobin Bridge into the icy mouth of the Charles River wasn’t exactly how I wanted to wake up.

I climbed out of bed and pulled back the drapes. It was dark outside, but the pale light of dawn had started to brighten the sky above the tops of the trees and the calm water beyond.

We must be near Walden, I thought, the only area like this for miles in any direction.

There was no way I was going down without a fight. I’d fought this long to separate myself from organized crime, I sure as shit wasn’t going to stop now.

I peeked out the door. There were three other rooms on the second floor, and the door to the master suite was open.

It was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop on the carpet. I crept down the hallway to the stairs. The house was old, even if it had been recently remodeled. One creak and I was done for.

At the bottom of the steps, my red-painted toes wiggled atop the cherry wood floor. The front door was directly ahead, but my shoes were on the other side of the kitchen in front of the door to the garage. Should I take the time to put them on? I wouldn’t get very far without them, especially if I had to run.

My heartbeat reverberated at the pulse in my neck and against my temples, but I had no choice. I had no phone, no money, and only a passing sense of direction. All I had was my two feet and determination.

I tiptoed across the kitchen and lowered myself to the floor next to my shoes, moving like I was underwater, slow and smooth. But with my heightened awareness and Luca’s warning that he was a light sleeper, each pull of my laces echoed like boulders tumbling down a craggy mountain, each tap of my rubber soles a jackhammer against the hardwood.

There wasn’t an alarm system attached to the front door, at least not one I could see. Not that I’d know how to disarm it even if there was. I wrapped my fingers around the cold copper of the deadbolt and twisted, slowly adding force until it started to turn. The firstclickmade me jump. My eyes darted to the stairs. Not a sound but the incessant beat of my pounding heart. I resumed turning the lock as gently as I could.

Click.

CLICK!

Theswooshwhen I flung the door open resounded like a crashing wave, and my feet on the pavement like hammers striking an anvil as I sprinted out the door, across the walkway, and down the long, sloping driveway.

A terrible athlete and an even worse runner, I barely reached the end of the property before my lungs burst into flames. But my life was on the line, so I pushed through the burn in my legs and in my lungs, pumped my arms, and followed the curve of the road. If I could reach the bend, if I could escape the line of sight from his house…

Footfalls slapped the pavement behind me, closing fast. My heart rate spiked, fueling my pathetic excuse for speed. Within half a block, Luca’s thick arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me off the ground as easily as a rag doll.

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