Page 73 of The Colour of Revenge
The officer's expression doesn't change, but I see it in his eyes—a flicker of suspicion.
Before I dig deeper, Nate steps in, voice smooth as silk.
"I surprised her with a trip to the countryside," he says, draping an easy arm around my shoulders. "Had to cram myself into her tiny car—not exactly my idea of fun, let me tell you."
The officers glance at Nate—taking in his broad frame, then gaze at my Fiat in the driveway. One of them cracks a faint smile.
“Yeah, I bet.”
"Anything else we can help you with?" Nate asks, casual but firm.
"No, that's all for now. Just… keep your wits about you."
I wait until the door closes before slumping against it, exhaling hard. My heart is still hammering.
"That was too fucking close," I mutter.
Nate, infuriatingly, doesn't even seem fazed. "Come on. Let's eat."
I stare at him, incredulous. "How are you so calm?"
He shrugs, already heading for the sofa. "Kai's too good for us to get caught."
I hesitate. "But what if—”
“He’d have told me if he missed something," Nate interrupts, his tone firm and final. "We're good."
I don't argue, but the anxiety still hums under my skin. I settle onto the sofa, digging into my noodles. The familiar flavours help ground me.
After a few bites, Nate leans back, stretching lazily. "So," he muses, as if we didn't just narrowly avoid disaster, "who's our next target?"
I roll my eyes. "Michael Carmichael."
His brows lift. "Michael… Carmichael?" Then he snorts, failing miserably to stifle his laughter.
"I know. His parents must have hated him."
A small laugh escapes me despite everything.
Nate smirks. "Alright, so what's the plan?"
His voice is light, but there's something darker beneath it—an edge of quiet intensity. A silent promise that he's in this with me. That my revenge isn't just mine anymore. It's ours.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "Michael thrived on manipulation. He twisted people's minds, made them trust him when they shouldn't have. The revenge needs to reflect that. We need to make him feel like he's losing control."
Michael was my breaking point. Before him, I had tried to be compliant, through fear, through desperation.
But something changed.
Rage built in the cracks that fear created. I began to plan, to wait. I told myself I would survive, I would get out, and, when I did, I'd make him pay.
Nate's expression sharpens. "So, we flip the script. Use his own tactics against him. Make him feel powerless. Hunted."
Satisfaction flickers in my chest. "Exactly."
He leans in closer, his grin dark and inviting. "Let's make him pay."
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