Page 20 of Vengeance

"If I tell you now?—”

"You think I'll run,” she finished for him.

"No." He sighed. "I think you'll shoot me."

She actually snorted. "I don't even own a gun."

"You grew up around Royal Bastards."

"So?" she asked.

"So, I'm guessing Bowie made sure you know how to use one,” Vengeance said. She didn't deny it. Instead, she tilted her head to look up at him better.

"You're changing the subject,” she said.

"I know,” Vengeance admitted.

"Why are you doing that?” she asked.

"Because I'm trying to buy myself another day,” he admitted. Her expression softened just enough for him to notice.

"Why?” Chloe asked.

"Because one more day might be enough for you to know me—” His voice dropped. "Instead of judging me by who my father is." The words slipped out before he could stop them. Damn it.

Chloe's eyes narrowed immediately. "Your father?" He nodded once. "What about him?" she asked.

"Well, there’s nothing good about him if that’s what you’re asking." He was dodging her questions, but sooner or later, he knew that he’d have to stop playing games with her. Chloe was too smart for games.

She took a slow step towards him. "You've mentioned him half a dozen times."

"I know,” Vengeance said.

"Do you hate him?” she asked.

"More than anyone alive,” he admitted.

"Why?" He had so many answers to her question that he wasn’t sure which one to give her. He could have gone with complete honesty—because he's Dante. Or that his father had built monsters instead of raising sons. He could have told her that every scar on his back had his father’s fingerprints on it. But the worst part was that he was hunting Chloe, and Vengeance was pretty sure that he was the reason why his father was coming after her.

All of those were valid answers, but instead, Vengeance looked away. "He taught me what evil looks like."

"My therapist says people either become their parents or spend the rest of their lives trying not to."

His head slowly turned back toward her. "Your therapist is smart."

"Which are you?" she asked.

His laugh held no humor. "I'm trying every damn day not to become him."

She studied him for several seconds. "I think you're winning." The words hit him harder than they should have. If she only knew how much he wasn't winning. Hell, he was barely surviving.

His burner phone vibrated in his jacket, and he softly cursed. Only three people had the number. Nobody should've been calling. He pulled it from his pocket and saw that it was from an unknown caller. His blood ran cold as he stared at it. The phone stopped ringing, and a text appeared. His stomach dropped as he read it.

YOU CAN'T HIDE HER FOREVER.

There was no number, no name—just another message.

COME HOME, SON.