Page 17 of Seeking Vengeance

“Follow her.” I casually clap him on the back, downplaying the adrenaline-filled interest coursing through my veins. “I want her name and any other information you can dig up before sunrise. Don’t let me down.”

7

Matthew

The fucker let me down.

Bishop allowed the woman to slip through his fingers.

He didn’t get her name. Or her number. He didn’t even catch the direction she went in because apparently she disappeared into thin air. Now all I have are lingering memories of ocean-blue eyes and hair dark as night to go with the semi hard-on I’ve had since our chance encounter.

I return to D.C. the following morning, unable to get her out of my head. I keep replaying our conversation on a loop, telling myself I need to search for hidden clues to her agenda only I get caught up on other things. Like the way her sass increased my pulse, or the ingenuity that made me determined to get to know her, or those damn inviting rebuffs to my advances that made this more about winning her over than gaining information.

I want to know what she’s up to. And I want to know why. But most of all, I want to know how long it will take to get her beneath me. Ontopof me.

When evening comes, I make my way to my latest club acquisition to check on the staff who don’t seem to appreciate the way their new boss runs things.

They’re scared of me, too, which doesn’t help.

The dark crevices of my reputation aren’t well-known around here, but someone must’ve broken the silence.

“I’ve stocked all the bars.” A short-skirted, slim-waisted, cleavage-bearing waitress stops beside me, her hopeful smile doused in deep red lipstick as she eyes the dancing crowd before us. “And noted all the liquor levels like you asked.”

She’s a brown-noser. There’s always one. Even in a crowd of staff filled with animosity over my overbearing ways. They’re the reason this club had been run into the ground. Themandthe previous owner, who was too busy living the highlife in the Caribbean. But their failings are my gain.

I’ll flip this club within a year and make a mint, all because they’d plummeted its value to begin with, allowing me to buy it for pennies.

“Your hard work is appreciated.” I raise my voice above the loud music. “Are any of the staff continuing to have problems with the way I do things?”

Her wide blue eyes glance away and she shrugs. “Not really.”

“Tell me who?”

She nibbles her lower lip. “Maybe Reece. I think because he managed this place for so long before you took over the transition is harder for him.”

Then I guess Bishop and I need to have a chat with Reece.

“Thanks for the information.” I walk away, skirting the dancing crowd three steps below, the thoughts of my Denver woman assailing me as soon as I’m left alone.

I haven’t been able to concentrate since our chance encounter. Can’t think straight, either.

If she’s an ex-lover looking for payback for Remy or Salvatore, she may not know what her actions will instigate. The Costas aren’t the type of people anyone should taunt. Not only are they vicious, but they’re fucking stupid. It’s a lethal combination.

I stop at the railing separating me from the bopping, booze-infested club-goers and grip the cold metal in both hands. It’s not them I see, though. It’s still her. The dark hair. The unfathomably deep blue eyes.

I need to find her. To touch more of her velvet-soft skin.

The brush of her thighs was enough to haunt my dreams. The jasmine and vanilla scent of her hair will live with me forever. All of her will. Never has a woman been so intriguing. Strong yet scared. Confident yet unsure.

A commotion starts on the dance floor before me. One man shoves another before my bouncers push from nearby walls to silently threaten their involvement. But it’s not the shoving or the hired thugs that attract my attention.

It’s the woman swaying her hips to the beat a few feet in front of me, her arms raised high, her dark hair cascading down her back.

For a second, I think it’s her—Denver.

The figure matches. The lush hips, the slender waist.

It isn’t until she turns that my fantasies take a nose-dive. Everything else about her is wrong. The lips uneven, the lower far bigger than the top, not precisely symmetrical. The face is round, too, not oval with high cheekbones and mysterious eyes.

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