Page 1 of Veiled Vengeance

PROLOGUE

ANTHONY, THREE YEARS AGO

The smell of cheap cigars and grocery store perfume permeates the air of the car, setting my teeth on edge. The driver isn’t much better. He’s in his late fifties, and someone should have taken his driver’s license a long time ago. The ride has been so bumpy that I almost spilled my coffee all over my Armani suit.

When I arrived at Teterboro this morning, I didn’t expect it would take hours to get into the city. It’s fucking absurd.

My personal assistant booked this car service for me—guess it’s time to fire her. I know an oil tycoon who would pay top dollar to break her.

The horrendous noise of New York City is adding to the headache I’ve had for the last week. Ever since I came home from a business meeting to find Spencer’s half of the closet empty, I’ve been scouring the country for her. Finding her stuff gone was like a stab to my stomach—I couldn’t breathe.

I’ve called in every favor and even gave out IOUs. I don’t like owing people, but I’m desperate. If owing that piece of shit at The Company means I’ll finally have my Flower in my arms again, I’ll do it. I just might have to take something else from TheCompany to ensure the IOU isn’t cashed in for a favor I don’t want to do.

The driver puts the car in park and turns his head to me. “We’re here, Mr. Cole. I’ll come open your door.”

At least he knows how to dothat. If only he knew how to keep his fucking limo from smelling like two-dollar hookers and wannabe thugs.

As I step out, through the open door, he asks, “Should I just wait here?”

Refusing to satisfy his question with a response, I narrow my eyes and walk past him to the employee waiting for me in the dingy coffee shop. The sign above the store reads, “The Mudhouse.”

A fucking ridiculous name for an establishment.

The man I’m looking for sits at a small round table by the window.

Chad has been in my employ for less than a year. Normally, I wouldn’t make the trip for a meeting with someone so low on my totem pole, but he claims to have the information I need.

When he sees me, he jumps to his feet, almost knocking over the nauseating coffee. “Sir, th-thank you for coming,” he stammers and pulls out a chair for me.

Taking the seat, I get right to business. “You said you saw her.”

Sitting back down, he sips his coffee. “Yes, sir. Just a few streets over, in a flower shop. She said she’s the owner.”

“What’s the name of the shop?”

“Uh, Central Park Blooms.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you’re sure it was her?”

He nods. “Positive. I even pulled out the picture that was sent around when I saw her.”

“Then let’s go.” Not wanting to wait another minute for the reunion, I stand and walk out, knowing Chad will be right on my heels. “How far is it?”

He points in the direction I came from. “Just a couple blocks that way.”

“We’ll take my car.”

“Yes, sir.”

My fingers tingle as I anticipate the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair. It’s been too long since I last had her under me. Blood rushes to my cock as I think about sinking into her again. I’ll chain her to our bed and never let her go.

Chad directs the driver to the flower shop. It’s so small that if you blink, you’ll miss it entirely. There’s one large window next to the glass door, but I’m unable to see inside with all the damn flowers on display in the window.

Without a word or direction, Chad follows me into the shop. A bell chimes as we step over the threshold and I lock the door behind us, flipping the sign to read, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

Lilies, roses, baby’s breath, sunflowers, and carnations decorate the room with the colors of the rainbow.

But not a single hyacinth is to be found. The flower formyFlower. The symbol that shows her how much I love her—that I’ll always come back to her.

---