Page 143 of Seeking Vengeance

I step toward her, my predatory side enjoying her continued retreat a little more than I care to admit as we make our way down the slim aisle, neither one of us stopping until her back bumps into the cockpit door.

She steels herself as I close in. Squares her shoulders. Clenches her teeth.

My limbs thrum with the desire to connect. To command. To fist her fucking hair and drag her forward until our lips mash and tongues tangle.

She wants it, too. I can tell by the way her gaze darts to my mouth, heated and hungry, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

I inch closer, walking into her, my thigh parting hers.

Then, nothing.

I simply stand there, letting the chemistry between us do its thing. Allowing her to see without words or action that there’s no end to the attraction we’ve created.

We’re meant to be together. We won’t be separated.

She blinks back at me, stunned yet steadfast. Panicked and panting.

I ignore the pulse of my dick and lean closer, a bare few inches from those captivating lips. “This isn’t the time or place.”

Her eyes flare. “There willneverbe a time and place. Never again. Do you hear me?”

I smirk. “I was talking about the phone call.”

She thumps my chest, pushes and pummels, her cheeks turning red. “You’re a bastard. Of course I assumed wrong when you’re all over me.”

“Iama bastard.” I sober in agreement, remaining in her space as her attack dwindles. “But I’ll give you everything you need, Layla. I promise. I just can’t risk a phone call right now. Not with what I’ve learned of your brother’s reputation.”

She snarls and shoves past me to escape toward the stairs, mumbling, “Well, I can’t wait to learn the truth about yours.”

33

Matthew

“It’s onlya few miles up the road.” I sit behind the wheel of a rental Lincoln Navigator, driving through the outer reaches of Denver.

I’ve come to this hellhole of a city too many times over the past ten years and not once have I returned to the home I fled as a teenager.

We pass farming houses and million-dollar estates with masses of cropped land in between. But everything is different now. The trees lining the streets tower higher. More homes scatter the countryside. The road has been widened and marked.

“De Marco is leaving it until the last minute to show,” Bishop mutters. “Where is he?”

I slow as I reach the last intersection before Emmanuel’s property, making sure there are no cars in sight when I veer onto the gravel at the side of the road. “We should see him any second now.”

I bring the vehicle to a stop, scrutinizing the nearby trees and bushes along the fence line, searching for the guys I’ve worked with on multiple sabotage tasks in the past.

“There are men running around the corner.” Layla shifts in the back seat. “I hope they’re yours.”

I check the rearview, recognizing De Marco’s bald head, Goodin’s neck tattoo, and the intimidatingly wide build of Whitby jogging toward us, all of them in long-sleeve camo shirts and pants.

“Yeah, they’re ours.” I press a button on the key fob, opening the door to the cargo area, the back row of seats already folded in preparation to stow the men inside.

Layla bristles when they climb in, their labored breathing filling the air as I press the button to close them into their cramped hiding place.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.” De Marco wipes the sweat from his brow. “How’s things, Langston?”

“They’ve been better.” I hold his gaze in the mirror. “Are you guys ready?”

“Always.” Whitby settles his back against the side of the interior. “We’re locked and loaded.”

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