Page 128 of Seeking Vengeance

I snarl, my worst fears realized, but it’s his choice of words that give me pause.

He doesn’t use her name. Doesn’t address her as if they have history.

Why?

“I sincerely apologize for ruining the fun.” His voice drips with sarcasm. “If I’d known you were pretending to be someone else I wouldn’t have used your real name.”

“Matthewismy real name.” I stalk across the room, needing to get eyes on her.

“Matthew is who you wish you were. Unfortunately, you’ll never be anyone other than Dante to those who know you best.”

Anger stabs through my skull, blinding in its efficiency.

I stop my progression to the hall, unable to escape the rage fighting for control.

“What is it, brother?” Remy drawls. “Does the truth hurt?”

One second, I’m determined to find Layla. The next, I’m cocking my fist as I reach the sofa and launch my knuckles at his face.

My punch connects with his chin, the impact screaming through my bones.

I launch again and again, pounding, pummeling. Seeing blood and tasting fraudulent victory.

But he’s already won. I know he’s ruined everything as he uses both feet to kick me backward, sending me tumbling over the coffee table, my head hitting the tiles.

“That was a fucking cheap shot.” He shoves to his feet to tower above me, that smug expression now wiped from his face. “You may be older than me, but I’m no longer a kid you can push around.”

I shove to my elbows, then rise to stand in front of him. “I bet you’re still your daddy’s little snitch, though, riding his dirty coattails all the way to the bank.”

His eyes flare. Nostrils, too.

I tense for retaliation and don’t have to wait long for his fist to swing for my face.

I block the strike with my forearm. It’s the swift kick to my ankle I don’t expect. I stumble sideways, grabbing his shoulders in the process, then punch him in the gut.

We grapple and shove. Swing and charge.

I ram him into the sofa. He pummels my head with his knuckles.

The little fucker is right. He isn’t easily pushed around anymore. It takes a good two minutes to pin him beneath me before I grab him in a choke hold.

“I told you not to come here.” I spit blood to the tiles.

“And I told you we needed to talk.” He bares his teeth, the vicious smile covered in crimson.

“It’s been fifteen years.” I add pressure to his throat, clamping down on his carotid. “There’s nothing we could possibly discuss.”

“You were fucking shot at. Excuse me for caring.”

Caring?

My hold loosens without my consent, my intuition searching for the real reason he’s entered my life after more than a decade apart.

The swoosh of an opening door steals my attention. Footsteps patter toward us.

I raise my gaze to the hall, finding Layla standing there in my thin silk robe, knife in hand, face pale, eyes wild.

I release Remy and scramble to my feet. “Let me explain.”

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