Pure Vengeance

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Claire

My ballerina flats make no sound against the tiles as I stalk through the main floor of the house. From my explorations last night, I know where the living room is, the media room, and another living area. This place can fit three families in it, but from what I could tell it’s only Anton living here.

Any staff he has probably live in the back wing of the house.

As I make my way down the hallway toward the kitchen, a man walks toward me.

“Claire, Mr. DeMarci is in the dining room, he’s expecting you.” He gestures toward the room behind the large archway and a set of double doors.

I hesitate a moment. Breakfast with him or get into the kitchen for something on my own?

“He’ll send for you if you don’t join him,” the messenger tells me in a low voice.

I frown.

“You mean he’ll have you come drag me to him.”

The right corner of his mouth lifts.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods.

“Fine.” I’m not in the mood for any more drama than I’ve already endured thanks to my own actions.

Seriously, trying to kill a man? What the hell had I been thinking?

If I’d been able to get it done, how would I feel this morning? Would I be proud of my actions, would I really have felt justice had been served, or would I have felt a crushing darkness descend over me?

I’m not a killer.

The obviousness of that truth sits at the head of a long table when I enter the dining room. He’s sipping a cup of coffee when the doors shut behind me, leaving us alone in this massive room.

“So, this is how a king enjoys his breakfast.” I fold my hands in front of me.

He puts his cup down and leans back in his chair.

“You got the clothes. Good.” His eyes wander over my white blouse and black capri slacks.

“They’re mine.” I lay a hand over my stomach. After I’d gotten out of the shower this morning I found three suitcases on the bed. The cases weren’t mine, but inside were the contents of everything from my closet. “You had men go through my things.”

He raises his chin.

“I had members of my staff pack up your things. Anything in your closet or dresser was put in the cases.”

“If you’d let me go, that wouldn’t be needed.”

“I’m not discussing that again. Sit.” He gestures to the chair beside him. “There’s coffee.”

The moment I sit in the seat to his right, the swinging door opens, and a woman walks in with a tray. She places a plate filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes.

“This smells so good, thank you.” I smile up at her.

“There is plenty more, so don’t hesitate to ask.” She grins, then takes her leave.

The potatoes are delicious. I haven’t had breakfast potatoes in a long time. A breakfast sandwich from the coffee shop in the library is as fancy as I get in the mornings.

“You’ve tied your hair back.” He tilts his head to the side, inspecting the tightly wound bun at the base of my neck.

“I did.” I take a bite of the eggs.

“Hmm. I think I like it better down.”

“I don’t give a damn what you like.” I focus on my breakfast. I can’t win with him while I have an empty stomach.

“I don’t think that’s true.” His eyes narrow slightly. “But we can play with that theory later.”

“I’m too tired for your games, Anton.” I sigh, placing my fork over my plate. There are no knives on the table except for the butter knife next to his plate. My toast has already been buttered, but there is a crystal bowl with jelly in it right in front of him.

“No games, Claire.” He grips the arms of his chair.

“Did you think I’d kill you with a butter knife?” I mutter while I use my fork to spread the jelly over the piece of toast. “This fork would be a better weapon.”

“So, you still plan to kill me?” he questions.

My shoulders sag.

“If I couldn’t manage it with a gun, I doubt I’d be able to do it any other way.” I glance up at him. “But seeing you pay for what you did is still very much on my mind.”

He wipes his hand across his face.

“You won’t believe me that I had nothing to do with it.”

“Why should I believe you?” The fork clamors against my plate when I drop it. “You’ve kidnaped me, locked me away, and last night you… you…”

He leans toward me, his forearms pressed against the edge of the dining room table.

“I what, Claire? Gave you pleasure? Fucked you so hard you were begging me and screaming my name by the end of it?” The words he puts to the memory make my face flame.

I want him to be lying.

I wish he were exaggerating, but he’s not.

He made my body sing for him, and he knew every word of the song.

“You took advantage,” I barely manage the words past the ball of my own shame. I hadn’t fought him. It didn’t even occur to me.

“I took what belongs to me.” He tosses his napkin over his plate.

“And how long does that last? Me belonging to you?” I ask him. “Because I have a life. I have a job. And I have friends. I have… had a future.” I blink back tears that threaten to fall. I won’t give him the satisfaction of it.

The room falls silent.

Though his glare fills the space, making the air heavy.

“If you’re going to keep me locked up here forever, just kill me.” My words cut through the silence.

“You’d rather be dead than be mine?” he asks quietly.

“You killed my brother, Anton. I will never belong to you.” I shake my head. “Not really. Not in any way that matters.”

“Your brother was fired for helping a player cheat at his table. He’s not the first person to do it, and he won’t be the last. I don’t kill bad employees. I fire them with no reference. I do not send someone to kill them.” He reaches across the table and grabs my hand, squeezing it until I look up at him.

His brow scrunches as he stares at me.

“He said…” I suck in a breath, steadying my resolve. “He said he was going to visit Mr. DeMarci to get his job back.” I yank my hand from beneath his and push out of the chair, nearly knocking it over in my haste. “He never came home from that meeting.”

His jaw sets.

“I never spoke to your brother, Claire.”

I roll my shoulders back.

“If you’d kill someone, anyone, not just my brother, why wouldn’t you also lie? I would think dishonesty would come easy to someone who can take the life of another human being.”

The doors behind me slide open and the same man I’d seen in the hall steps inside.

“Sorry, but Daniel Barton is here. You wanted to talk to him.”

Anton gives a hard nod.

“Put him in my office. We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sure thing, boss.” He steps back out and slides the doors closed.

“We?” I ask.

He gets up from his chair, buttoning his suit jacket closed.

“Yes. Daniel Barton is the manager that fired your brother that day.”

“Why is he here?”

“Because I’d like to know who did kill your brother.” He moves my chair out of the way, and gestures toward the door.

“You’re going to help me figure out who killed Michael?”

“Yes.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“But why?”

“So, the next time you aim your gun, it will pointed at the right person.”