Pure Vengeance

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Claire

It’s a fortress.

He’s locked me away in a tower like some twisted princess in a fairytale. But I’m pretty sure there won’t be any knight in shining armor scaling the three floors to get to my window any time soon.

I sink down onto the cot pushed against the wall and examine my hand. All of the pounding against the trunk of the car didn’t do anything other than split my knuckles open and cut my heel.

There’s no fighting the yawn pulling at me. My eyelids get heavier as the moments tick by, but I can’t risk another nap. It’s been hours since Vince dumped me in this room.

Maybe longer. Once the initial panic subsided, exhaustion had set in, and I’d fallen asleep. I can’t let that happen again.

Escape is my only option.

I tried to kill the most powerful man in the DeMarci family. He’s not going to let that slide. It won’t matter that he deserves to die for his sins, he’s going to seek revenge.

Fresh tears appear, blurring my vision enough to wash out the empty room from my sight. Other than the cot, there’s nothing in here with me. He probably puts people here to forget about them.

How long does it take to die without food or water?

I shake my head and blink away the tears.

Thinking like that will only make the situation worse. I have to focus on escape.

The doorknob rattles. Metal slides against metal just before the door swings open. I jump to my feet as the light from the hallway pours into the dim room.

“You know, there’s a light switch over here.” Anton flicks the switch next to the door with one finger. I blink while my eyes adjust to the bright light of the overhead recessed lighting.

He steps inside, his polished shoes scraping against the wood flooring. His suit jacket and button-down shirt have been replaced with a black undershirt. Two dark stitches on his bare shoulder stick out like a sore thumb against his sun-kissed skin.

With slow steps, he approaches me. The darkness of his stare almost dares me to try to run for the door he’s left open.

I’m not that stupid.

Before I can even get to a set of stairs, someone will catch me. And then he’ll have an excuse to do horrible things to me.

Not that he needs an excuse.

Cold runs beneath my skin with that reminder. Michael didn’t deserve what happened to him. There was no reason for it.

This monster doesn’t need a reason to be a monster. He just is.

When he’s only a step from me, he stops, slides his hands into the front pockets of his black trousers. A thick shadow of a beard covers his jawline. More than when I saw him outside the restaurant.

How long was I actually asleep for?

His nostrils flare as he breaths out a heavy breath.

“Your name,” he demands, leveling me with his glare.

My mouth dries beneath his attention. This man is dangerous. Evil. Yet, I can’t ignore how beautiful he is.

“Does it matter?” I raise my chin, hoping it will keep my voice from quivering like the rest of me. My stomach is in knots, and my heart can’t decide if it wants to leap out of my throat or just stop working all together.

He tilts his head slightly, inspecting me with those eyes of his.

“Tell me.” His voice is firm, and steady.

“Claire.” I relent; it has no bearing on anything. If he’s going to kill me for my attempt at taking him out, he’s going to kill me. Knowing my name won’t change his mind.

“Claire what?” His left eyebrow arches slightly.

“Claire Montecelli.” I fist the fabric of my dress in my fists at my side. “My brother was Michael Montecelli.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, like he’s trying to process the names I’ve given him.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” he asks.

My heart drops to my stomach. He doesn’t even remember his name?

“Not to a man like you, I guess not.”

“How do you know Joseph Fanelli?”

I blink.

“Who is that?” I rack my brain. I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t place it. It’s no one I know. That’s for certain.

“Your boss?”

“My boss?” I huff. “My boss is Samuel Lincoln.”

His brow lifts. “Samuel Lincoln?”

“Yes.” I give a stiff nod. “I don’t know any Joseph Fanelli. What does he have to do with my brother?”

He wipes a hand across his mouth, like he’s getting annoyed with this conversation.

I’m not having a good time either.

“Are you going to keep me here or are you going to…” I can’t say it, I don’t want to think it.

“Your brother?” His eyes narrow again.

I roll my eyes; this isn’t getting us anywhere. “Yes, Michael Montecelli, my brother. You killed him.” Anger rolls through me, and I step toward him. “A bullet in his stomach, and then another to his face.” I take another step until the toes of my ballet flats press against the toes of his shoes. “I couldn’t even have an open casket at his funeral.”

Stabbing pains rip through my stomach at the memory. Having to identify him by the tattoo on his left ankle. I have an identical one my right ankle. A heart broken in two with our parent’s initials on each side. We’d gotten them after they died.

“You tried to kill me because you think I killed your brother?” He has to look down at me now because I’m so closer to him. Close enough to scratch his eyes out.

“You’ve killed so many people you can’t be bothered to remember their names.” Venom slides from my words. I wish it were real, and I could end this monster standing before me.

But now that I’m so close, I can see how big he really is. My head barely touches his chin. His arms are stacked with muscles, and through the shirt I can make out even more of them. He could crush me in a single move.

His lips part, and he runs his tongue over his perfectly straight, white teeth, then laughs.

“I don’t know your brother. Never heard of him.”

“He worked for your casino. He dealt cards.” I try to jog his memory. Michael worked at Billiards Royale for a year, saving up money to pay for medical school.

He’d already been accepted. If he hadn’t been murdered by this monster, he’d be in his second year right now.

He only shakes his head. “You think I give a fuck about the dealers at my casino?”

“I know you…” I can’t stomach to say it again. “You killed him. I know it was you.”

“Well, Claire Montecelli. You’re wrong.” He reaches his hand up to my face, running his fingertips over my cheek. I pull away when it stings.

“Don’t touch me.” I try to step away, but he grabs my arm, pulling me right back where I was and grabs my chin. He’s too strong to fight, and he pushes my head until he’s able to see my cheek again.

“You got cut in those fucking bushes.” He sounds angry about it. He lets go of my face but brings my hands up for his inspection. “And you’ve fucked up your knuckles too.”

“There’s also a cut on my foot, if you want to get angry about that one, too.” I yank, but he only tightens his hold. “Let me go.”

He brings his eyes back to mine, and another shiver runs through me. I wonder if anyone has ever successfully told this man no before.

“For a woman who is a whole hell of a lot of trouble, you have real mouth on you.” His gaze moves to my lips.

“Are you going to let me go?” It’s a stupid question, but I need to know what I’m working with here.

“Are you going to try to kill me again?”

I stare at him.

His mouth kicks up to the right. “I didn’t kill your brother.”

“You’re a liar.” I yank back again, and this time he lets me go. I stumble back from the force and fall ass first onto the cot.

He’s over me in an instant. His hot breath washes over my face as he continues to glare down at me with uncertainty.

“Fuck off.” I look away from him, unable to stand the darkness lurking behind his eyes. They pull at me in a way that makes my insides twist, but my heart warm.

I’m hoisted up from the cot and shoved up against the wall. His knee jams between my legs, pressing upward into my sex. Heat rises to my cheeks as his hand sinks into my hair and he wrenches my head back far enough that he’s looking down right into my soul.

“What to do with you?” His gaze lazily wanders over my face, stopping a moment at my mouth, before returning to my eyes. “I should kill you for taking that fucking shot.”

I stiffen, feeling the world closing in on me.

“If you want to live, you probably should.” I barely manage to get the words past my lips.

His grin suggests I’m not the danger to him I want to be.

“Well then.” He twists his hand harder in my hair, pulling at the roots. Tears sting my eyes before slipping from the corners and sliding down my cheeks.

“I’m not going to kill you.” He drags his tongue over my cheek, licking away my tears. “At least not yet.”

Pressing my hands to his chest, I shove, but I’d have more luck moving Mt. Rushmore. The man is nothing but muscle.

“I am going to punish the hell out of you though.” Little creases form on the sides of his mouth as he smiles. The tiny grins he’s given me so far weren’t genuine. This though. This smile is filled with pleasure.

“Punish me?” I swallow, in his world that could mean so many things and most of them probably worse than death.

“Yes.”

“No.” I struggle against him, but his lips spread further apart. There’s a spark in his eyes.

“What is a fitting punishment for an attempted murder?” He lifts his knee, pressing into my sex.

Holy fuck, that feels good.

I clench my teeth before I actually say the words out loud, but his face tells me I don’t have to speak.

He knows.

“Should I give you to my men? Let them have a fun night with you?” His free hand rests on the collar of my neckline. “I can strip you and leave you here. They’ll line up outside, take their turns. At least Vincent. You hurt him, you know. With your nails.” He works the first button of the dress open, then moves to the second.

“He was kidnapping me.” I wince when he tugs on my hair again.

“You tried to kill me,” he reminds me.

“You killed my brother,” I remind him.

His eyes darken.

In a heartbeat, he pulls back, spins me around and has me pinned face first against the wall. My hands scramble up the wall, trying desperately to shove away.

The skirts of my dress are raised up over my hips, until only panty-clad ass is showing.

“No!” I fight harder.

“White cotton panties.” He huffs. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Please. Just…no.” My arms ache from trying to get away and it’s for nothing.

Easily, he pulls my head back until he’s able to see into my eyes again.

“Hold your dress up, I don’t want it in my way.” He gives the order in a flat tone, like he’s ordering an egg omelet for breakfast.

“Why?”

His brow snaps together.

“Because I’m going to whip your ass, and I don’t want all that material in the way, so either you hold it up or I rip this fucking dress off.”

“You can’t.” It’s a stupid thing to say. I’m not sure there anything in the world this man can’t do.

“Oh. But I can.” He grabs the elastic band of my panties and yanks until it breaks. The material slides down my hips when he shoves them, and they pool at my feet.

“And I will. Now hold your fucking dress.”