Page 167 of Seeking Vengeance

“Have you seen a girl?” Salvatore asks. “Dark hair. Jeans. Blouse.”

“Pretty face?” the creep replies.

I backtrack toward the dilapidated kitchenette, my limbs heavy as I open the top drawer to find two plastic forks and a metal butter knife. There’s nothing else. No potential weapon. No cause for hope.

I’m going to have to escape through the bathroom window into the alley. Then what? Run for my life? Hide around the corner until Cole comes face-to-face with a man responsible for his brother-in-law’s murder?

They’ll kill each other.

“I guess,” Salvatore replies. “So, you’ve seen her?”

“No, but I’d like to.” The creep snickers. “If you find her, do you think you can give her my number?”

I don’t buy the act. Paranoia has me picturing the sleazy asshole blatantly pointing Salvatore toward my door.

“You sure you haven’t seen her?” This time it’s Remy’s voice, closer than his brother’s. “She isn’t hiding in one of your rooms, is she?”

A car door slams. A shadow passes my window.

I blindly trek backward toward the bathroom, my limbs growing heavy. I’m about to step into the tiled area when a skitter of sound carries from the alley, the subtle rattle of my bathroom window following.

My throat burns. The pounding beat of my heart threatens to crack my fragile ribs.

Did Salvatore run to the back of the building?

Now there’s nowhere to go.

I lunge toward the wall beside the open bathroom door, my back to the plaster covered in fingerprints, the butter knife clutched in my hand.

My head fills with visions of Stella, my eyes burning at the thought of never seeing her again.

I wipe my tingling nose with the back of my hand, measure my breathing, and raise the knife, preparing to strike. I won’t go down without a fight. Butter knife or not, I’ll cause injury.

Remy’s voice continues to carry from the parking lot at the scrape of the window opening. A light footstep against the tiles follows.

Salvatore is inside. He’s right there.

The ring of static grows in my ears.

I hold my breath, my raised arm throbbing, my heart frantic.

As soon as the suit-covered frame hits my periphery I lunge only to have the knife blocked, my wrist snatched, and my arm twisted behind my back before a rough hand clamps over my mouth.

“Quiet,amore mio.” Matthew holds me against his chest. “Save your screams for later.”

I hyperventilate, my breaths short and sharp as relief pummels me.

I hate him. But I hate even more that I love that he’s here.

“If they find you, you’re done,” he whispers in my ear. “Do you understand?”

I nod, grateful and angry. Panicked and indebted. Hurting and so goddamn confused.

“Good.” His palm falls from my mouth. “We need to get you out of here.”

I turn to face him, retreating a step. “Cole’s coming to get me.”

“He’s not here now, though, and my brothers are right outside your door.” He grabs my wrist and drags me toward the bathroom. “Come on. The car’s in the alley.”

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