Page 50 of The Colour of Revenge
I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him. “Okay. Not normal. But…you’re nice.” I lean up to kiss his jaw. “Sweet.” Another kiss. “Funny.” My lips find his briefly before I pull away. "’It’s disarming.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me close as his mouth closes over mine.
“You’re a serial killer too now, Princess. And you’re all those things.”
His words shock me. Because he’s right. I am a killer. I’ve killed multiple people. And I feel no hint of remorse. Not flicker of guilt for the lives I’ve taken.
If anything. I feel alive for the first time in a very long time.
“Goodnight, Carina,” he whispers against my lips before stepping back.
“Night, Nate.”
14
Let The Games Begin
Hypothetical Question: Would you rather be trapped in a room with an aggressive puppy or a very polite crocodile?
Nate
"Nate,"myfathersays,striding into the meeting room with self-importance that makes me want to grind my teeth. His suit is dark, much like mine, though his is straining at the seams from his beer gut. The grey shirt he wears is perhaps a size too small—though I'm sure he'd never admit to that. Shiny shoes squeaking on the polished floor, he stands across from me, arms folded, face hard.
He's gearing me up to take over the family business—again. It's a conversation we've had more times than I can count. And I make it clear every time: I have no intention of doing that. Who in their right mind wants to get into real estate? Certainly not me.
My father is a businessman through and through—rich, ruthless, and calculated. He thrives in contracts and handshakes, where power is measured in net worth and acquisitions.
Me?
I'm only cold when I'm hunting.
I care—more than I like to admit. I'd never fit into his world. I don't want to.
He looks me over with cold indifference. His brown eyes holding no warmth as he looks at his only son. His only living child.
"Father," I reply dryly, leaning back in the uncomfortable office chair like a petulant teenager, not the thirty-year-old man I am.
"There's a party this weekend for the company," he announces as if this is a surprise. "Your presence is expected."
I roll my eyes, the motion almost instinctual at this point. "Of course. What's this one for?"
"The merger with Gardner Enterprise."
I perk up, unable to hide my interest. "Simon Gardner?" I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, though my pulse quickens.
"Yes," my father replies, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to read me. The wrinkles on his pale face crinkle with the action.
Perfect. That's perfect. Gardner's going to be there.
"Can I bring a date?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.
My father freezes, his body rigid as if I'd suggested burning the family empire. "A date?" he repeats, his tone sharp with disbelief.
"Yes." I meet his gaze evenly, deciding to push forward. "I'm seeing someone. I want to bring her." I don't call her my girlfriend because the word feels far too trivial to describe what Carina is to me—or, at least, what she's becoming.
Whenever she messages me, my heart lights up like a lovesick idiot. She's utterly captivating—smart, funny, terrifyingly competent. Watching her exact revenge on Robert was exhilarating. Her dark, poetic justice mesmerised me, but the softer moments—her teasing texts, the glint of mischief in her eyes—hooked me.
I haven't seen her in the past week—since I ‘bumped’ into her at Starbucks. I've been too busy with work, and I miss her presence more than I care to admit. It was nice to spend my Saturday just sitting and listening to her talk. A reprieve from my usual routine of working and stalking. Or murdering, when the urge arises (which is often).
