Pure Vengeance

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Claire

A purple splotch stares back at me in the mirror. The size of a half dollar, the bruise sits perfectly where my ass meets my thighs. And is the reason every time I try to sit on the chair in the bedroom I’m locked in, there’s discomfort.

At least the monster didn’t mark me as much as I’d feared. When I first raised my dress up to see the mess he’d made of me with his belt, I’d expected angry welts and bruises, maybe even some bleeding.

But no. Just three little bruises, the largest being the one I poke at.

“You haven’t changed your clothes.” Anton’s deep voice echoes in this massive bathroom. This one room is larger than my kitchen in my apartment. Along with the stand-up shower, there’s a jacuzzi tub and a double vanity.

I shove the dress back down and spin around to find him leaning against the door frame. A lazy smile settles on his lips.

For a moment, my breath catches. This insane attraction I have to him has to stop. He’s my captor. He’s my brother’s murderer. This tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach when I see him has to fade.

“I had clothes brought up for you. Why aren’t you changed?” he asks, this time, his eyes wander over my body.

“I don’t want your clothes. Or your hospitality. I want to go home.”

He lifts his left shoulder. “That’s too bad. Don’t ask me again, Claire. You did this. When you aimed that gun at me last night, you chose this.”

“I didn’t choose to be your captive or your punching bag,” I blurt.

What little smile that lingers on his lips fades at my comment.

“I don’t punch women. Not even ones that deserve it.” He lifts an eyebrow.

“How nice of you. You’ll kill a man in cold blood, but you draw the line at punching a woman.”

He cocks his head.

“You’re mad that I won’t punch a woman?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Of course not. That’s not… Just let me go home!” I stomp my foot, immediately regretting it as the cut on my heel screams in retaliation.

“Now you hurt yourself again.” He sighs, pushing off the door frame. “Come here.” He offers his hand to me.

I stare at it like it’s a rattlesnake ready to bite me.

“Claire. I hate repeating myself. Now. Come. Here.” He wiggles his fingers at me, beckoning me to listen to him.

Over my dead body.

I limp over to him, but I ignore his hand.

“Stubborn woman.” He shakes his head. “Up on the counter.” He pats the marble countertop.

I press my ass against the edge, managing to hide the discomfort that causes, but when I grip the countertop so I can hoist myself up, I wince at the pain it brings my knuckles.

“Stop,” he orders, gripping my hips and lifting me off the ground, plopping me on the countertop hard enough I yelp.

I wiggle my ass so I can scoot back, ignoring the discomfort the material of my dress rubbing against my sore ass brings.

He lifts my leg until he can get a good look at my foot. His rough fingertips trail along my ankle, inspecting the little tattoo there before moving to my foot. A sweet tingle lingers where his fingers were.

“You’re not bleeding through the bandage, so I’ll assume you haven’t caused any more damage with your childish behavior.” He checks the Band-Aid to be sure it’s still secure, then puts my leg back down.

He steps closer to me, pushing my legs open until he’s standing between them.

I press my hands down over my skirt, keeping it from riding too high up my thighs.

“The doctor said you have to keep the bandages on your hands until tomorrow.” He lifts one hand, inspecting the wrapping the doctor did around my knuckles.

“Yes.” I try to pull away, but he gives me a sharp look that suggests I stop struggling.

“He also said you need to take medicine every day.” He pulls a pill bottle from his pocket. “Here it is.” He pops it open and pours out one tablet before screwing the lid back on.

I watch him as he leans around me to the sink and fills a small plastic cup with water.

“Take it.” He offers the pill to me.

“How’d you get these so fast?” I ask, taking the tablet from his palm.

“Your car is parked in my garage. I have your purse, your wallet, your phone, and your medication.” He puts the bottle back in his pocket. “Take it.” He nudges his chin at me.

For a moment I think about fighting him on it. If I don’t take it today, or tomorrow, I’ll get a debilitating migraine soon. And if I can manage not to take it even after that, he’ll be forced to take me to the hospital. It’s happened before. It’s horrible, but if it gets me out of this house, the blinding pain will be worth it.

Or he’ll just ignore how sick I’ve become and leave me to wallow in my own misery.

“If you don’t take it, I’ll have to force you to, Claire. And I think you’ve learned already that I’m not a gentle man.”

He’s right. I toss the pill back and down the water, swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he says, taking the cup from me and tossing it in the little trash can in the corner.

“I won’t try again,” I tell him.

“Try what?” He cocks his head.

“Try to kill you. I obviously don’t have it in me, so you can let me go. I won’t try again.” I’m not sure when this decision was made, and I’m not even sure if I’m lying to him or not. What I do know, is I want to go home.

Away from him.

Away for those dark eyes of his that make my stomach flutter when he’s nearby.

You’re not supposed to be attracted to the man you want dead.

And I’m sure as hell not supposed to want my brother’s killer to touch me.

“Two years ago, someone tried to have me killed,” he says, flattening his hands against the counter on either side of me.

He’s closer now than ever.

I try to focus on my attention on his lips while he talks.

“Did you kill their brother too?” I ask.

He ignores my question.

“The man who he sent missed, worse than you did. Completely missed me when he took a shot at me. My men had him pinned to the ground in seconds.”

My mouth dries. Vincent didn’t waste any time getting to me behind that bush.

“Did you spank him too?” I need air, desperately. His closeness is taking all of it from me.

A cocked grin crosses his lips.

“I had his fingernails removed, one by one until he finally confessed to who hired him. Then I used his own gun to shoot him in the stomach. Took him a full day to die from the wound.”

I try to make my expression go blank, but I’ve read enough true crime novels to know how horrific that death was.

“Then I found the man who’d hired him.” He leans in closer, until his nose touches my earlobe. “It took him three days to finally die.”

“Are you going to do the same to me, then?” My question barely makes a sound, but he’s so close, he hears.

“No. Killing a man in my world is the easiest form of revenge. It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s done. But you, my little assassin, aren’t a man in my world.” He leans back, bringing our gazes in line. “So, for you, it’s different.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means until I decide what to do with you, you’re not going home. You’re going to be living here, in my house, doing exactly what I say when I say. You’re my own personal little toy. I’ll take you out to play when I want, and I’ll put you away when I’m done.”

“I- I have a job.” It’s the dumbest thing I could say at this moment, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

He chuckles joylessly.

“No. Not anymore.” He lifts one hand from the counter and cups the back of my head, pulling me to him.

I barely have a second to react before his mouth covers mine. My first instinct is to fight him, to shove him away, but his fingers curl into my hair, and his tongue easily brushes past my lips into my mouth.

And I’m lost to it.

It’s not my first kiss.

But hell, it’s the best kiss.

It’s so easy, giving into him. There’s no awkwardness. It’s like we’ve kissed a million times before.

When he breaks away, he smiles down at me.

“You have a new job now, Claire. And your first assignment is to shower, get changed, and be ready for me when I come home tonight.”

He lets me go, helps me off the counter.

“What… what happens then?” I fight the urge to run my tongue over my lip where he’d just been, where his taste lingers.

“When I come home, we’ll play together.” His phone rings, cutting through the thick air that’s filling the space between us.

He steps out of the bathroom to take the call, and I’m left taking in deep breaths.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

He pokes his head in moment later.

“Ten o’clock sharp,” he says, then he’s gone. A moment later the bedroom door shuts.

It’s hours away.

Plenty of time to figure out how the hell I’m going to get out of this mess.