A Love of Vengeance

by Nancy Haviland

  “Yeah,” Nika said with zero enthusiasm. “Are you at the airport?”

  “Not yet. I just got to Caleb’s to drop off some stuff he left at my place a while back. He was supposed to pick it up last night but didn’t show.” So here she was, delivering Nika’s brother’s crap when she could be performing some sort of closing ceremony to end her time in New York before heading home to Seattle.

  “That’s not like him. I wonder what happened.”

  Eva smirked. “One of their biker groupies probably cornered him and he lost track of time.” Caleb Paynne was never short of female attention. He was great-looking, with his short dark hair and mischievous espresso eyes. The vest he wore over his broad shoulders, proudly claiming him as a brother of the Obsidian Devils Motorcycle Club, put him in the same sought-after category as a minor celebrity.

  Having settled into the role of protector early on—his and Nika’s parents were both taken from them by cancer before Nika had turned eighteen—Caleb’s brotherly, hurt-the-girl-and-you’ll-bleed wing had extended to include Eva. The security he offered had always been a comfort. Though it had made dating in high school a total nightmare.

  “Maybe you’re right—he must have gotten sidetracked. Tell him to call me, okay?” Nika said, not sounding convinced. “So what time will you be home?”

  “Not until after midnight. Actually, it’ll be after nine your time.” She stepped out of the decrepit but clean lift and made her way down the threadbare hallway, sandals snapping. “I’ll take a cab from SeaTac and hopefully see you tomorrow?” If Kevin allowed it.

  “I’ll try to be there early so I can help you clean. If I can get away this afternoon, I’ll go over and open the house up. It’s going to be stuffy.”

  Eva rested the box on the handle of Caleb’s door to give her arms a break. “That’d be great. Thanks. I can’t wait to see you.” They hadn’t seen one another since Eva’s mother’s funeral.

  She closed the thought off right there. Couldn’t deal with that right now. It was bad enough knowing she was going home, which wasn’t really “home” anymore but an empty, lonely house that she now owned by default. She couldn’t bring herself to think about why that was.

  “Me, too, hon. I’m dying over here without you,” Nika said around a quiet laugh that sounded forced.

  She and Nika had been friends since middle school. Had even attended high school and Seattle Pacific University together. Nika had gotten a degree in accounting and headed straight into the workforce after graduation. Eva had waited to specialize, but once she had, she’d continued on, coming to New York—at her mother’s prodding—to attend Columbia, where she’d just received her MBA. The accomplishment was an empty one. She hadn’t even attended her graduation ceremony. She’d thought about it, wondered if someday she’d regret not going, but in the end she couldn’t imagine crossing that stage, her classmates looking out into the proud faces of their loved ones, while she searched in vain for . . . no one. Sure, Caleb would have been there for her, but her mother wouldn’t have. She was gone forever.

  “Listen, I have to go,” she said to Nika, her voice strained now. “I’ll see you in the morning, ’kay?” She hung up as soon as she heard an agreement and shoved the phone into her back pocket.

  Her lips thinned in annoyance at herself. She had to stop. Yes, it was acceptable to think about her mom, expected, but not without attempting to push through this part of the grieving process, or so the grief counselor she’d forced herself to see at school had said.

  Five steps. She’d done the first, denial, refusing to acknowledge that a tragic car accident had taken her mother’s life . . . until she’d seen the burned-out shell of what had once been their MINI Cooper. Dental records had confirmed her mother had been the only one in the vehicle at the time.

  Coming back to New York after the funeral, she’d blown through step two, anger, like a champion, studying for her finals—acing every single one so as not to fail her mom—while raging at the very fact that this had happened to them. Okay. To her. It had happened to her, because she was the only one left suffering.

  She’d swiftly moved on to check three off the list—bargaining, with God, or any higher being she’d thought of at the time, offering them all her very life if one of them would bring back her mom. They hadn’t. And she was still alone. She’d promised to try harder. But could she have tried harder? Doubtful. It seemed that’s all she’d done growing up. Tried. To be the perfect daughter. Could she have relaxed and enjoyed the odd thing, instead of striving for excellence in all she did? And she didn’t mean excellence, as in doing the best she could. No. That had never been enough for Eva. When she referred to excellence, she meant excellence. Perfection. Flawlessness. Even in something as small as making her bed every morning. Had the corners not been ruler precise, not a wrinkle in sight, would it really have made that big a difference to her mom? Of course not. But she’d gone the extra mile anyway. Why couldn’t she have just accepted the unconditional love she’d been given? Had she screwed up or left her room a mess or disagreed or refused to do as she’d been told, would her mother have blown up and finally blamed her for the Russian’s defection? Again, no. Eva’s father, the Russian, the sperm donor, had abandoned them when Eva was only a few months old.

  She frowned. He’d been on her mind more in the past couple of months than he had in years. Mainly because she kept wondering if he’d even care that his daughter was alone in the world now. Probably not. She almost wished she knew more about him. Almost. But him being Russian and wealthy was it, because other than letting those two details slip at some point, her mom had refused to speak of him. Eva didn’t even know his name. And she doubted she ever would.

  Which brought her to number four on the list: depression. She was excelling at this one and was only hoping number five, acceptance, wasn’t far off.

  Shaking herself into action with the reminder that the taxi’s meter was ticking dollars away downstairs, Eva pulled Caleb’s key from her pocket. She unlocked the door and quietly entered the man cave. She’d spent her fair share of time here during the past couple of months since Nika’s brother had moved to New York.

  She glanced around, taking in familiar leather couches and blackened bike parts strewn on the tables, the Harley skeleton that was Caleb’s latest project sitting in front of the balcony doors. She was in the right place.

  The problem was, neither one of the two intimidating strangers taking up space across the room were Caleb. She wouldn’t have thought much of it—most of Caleb’s friends were intimidating and there was always someone hanging around his place—except she’d never seen a friend of his so formally dressed. The guy sitting in the recliner just didn’t have that biker vibe, she was coming to recognize.

  She bent and slowly placed the box at her feet. “Good morning,” she offered politely as her ears strained to pick up any sounds of Caleb in his bedroom or the bathroom. “Is Caleb here?”

  The seated man, who looked to be in his mid- to late thirties, leaned forward. He was handsome in an Italian gangster sort of way, with his black hair, olive skin, and chocolaty eyes. But his features held an edge of cruelty that destroyed any feminine appreciation she might have felt. “You seeing this, Vincente?” he murmured in lieu of answering her question.

  She checked out the man to whom he was speaking and took in sculpted—if rather sinister—features. His midnight gaze was centered somewhere over her right shoulder. He had long black hair and wore a leather jacket, beat-up jeans, and heavy boots. All of which covered a hard, well-kept body.

  Gorgeous but scary as hell, Eva decided with a slight shudder she hoped they missed.

  And oddly familiar. Why? She peeked up again to check out the worn black leather, but she saw no Obsidian Devils MC patch, which would have signified he was one of Caleb’s brothers she might have seen at the clubhouse.

  “Where’s Caleb?” she asked again, trying to ignore the suit now giving her the on
ce-over. In her periphery, she saw his dark gaze linger a moment too long on her breasts. She refrained from rolling her eyes, hating such blatant attention from men, something she’d dealt with most of her adult life. Without even trying, he’d just made the comfortable jeans and simple black tank she’d thrown on this morning feel indecent.

  “What’s your name, bella?” he asked.

  Clearly he was the higher up of the two. Maybe the long-haired guy didn’t talk. “Eva,” she supplied. “And you are . . . ?”

  Surprising her, he stood and slowly crossed the room, stopping when only a couple of feet separated them. Up close, his looks were without question good, but there was something not right about him. His eyes were empty. Fathomless. As though he had no soul. And, was it her, or had the other guy moved closer as well? Her nape tingled in warning, but she was too centered on the man in front of her to check.

  “I’m Stefano Moretti.”

  He announced himself with expectation, as if she should recognize his name. She didn’t. She also didn’t want to shake the hand he now held out to her. Didn’t want to touch him at all. But because it would be blatantly rude if she didn’t, she brought one of her arms from around her waist and instantly felt a score of invisible insects crawl over her skin when his strong fingers closed around hers. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Moretti,” she lied, tugging on her hand, shaken and puzzled by the odd light that flared in his eyes. But he held firm.

  “Yes. It is very . . . nice to meet you as well, Eva.”

  Oh, God. She tugged again, harder this time, and he released her. Her heart hammered as she refrained from rubbing her tainted palm down the leg of her jeans.

  “Making a delivery this morning?” he asked.

  She followed his gaze to the box at their feet. “Yes. I told Caleb I’d drop his stuff off on my way . . .” Why was she volunteering information here? Caleb would kick her ass. She and Nika had suffered through more warnings on safety and self-defense tips than they’d ever remember. He was nothing if not thorough. “Why are you here, Mr. Moretti?”

  “Please, call me Stefano,” he ordered, and with nothing more, returned to his seat.

  She glanced at the door behind her. As much as she wanted to bolt, she wouldn’t. What if they’d done something to Caleb? Nika would never forgive her if she walked away without at least trying to find out where her brother was. She would never forgive herself.

  She twisted her fingers together to stop the sudden sound of her nails clicking—stupid habit. “Where is Caleb, Stefano?” she tried once more.

  The quiet partner with the long hair, she noted, was still standing motionless behind the recliner. Actually, not motionless. He was moving. His face anyway. It softened slightly as he gave her what looked to be an attempted smile that barely curved his lips. The quick wink that followed confused her. Did she know him? Was he trying to reassure her?

  Or was he attempting to lull her into a false sense of security before the assault?

  “If I had to guess where Paynne is,” Stefano surprised her by saying in a bored voice, “I’d say at the clubhouse. Now, why don’t you sit for a minute? I won’t keep you long.”

  Relief was instant. If they knew about the MC and that Caleb spent a good deal of his time at the clubhouse, they must know him pretty well. But she still couldn’t stay. “No. I mean, no, thanks,” she said, striving to be polite. “I have to get to the airport.” Squatting, she kept them in her periphery as she slipped Caleb’s apartment key inside a back issue of American Rider that was tucked in beside the old carburetor in the box. Not that it was necessary—since they were already in the apartment. “With the way security is these days, I’m cutting it close as it is.”

  “Taking a vacation?” Stefano inquired when she straightened.

  “No.”

  His lips twitched at her one-word response. As if she was entertaining him.

  “Running?”

  Her eyes widened. “Running? I have nothing to run from, Mr. Moretti.”

  “It’s Stefano. Remember? Maybe you have something to run to,” he then countered. “Maybe you’re on your way to your lover? It’s all right,” he said when she blanched. “We’re all adults here. Please, speak freely.”

  If she spoke freely, she’d be telling him to fuck off, so she kept her mouth firmly closed. She wasn’t dumb enough to start a fight with two strange men by herself, even if they were Caleb’s friends. And like she’d casually blab about something so personal. More laughable was the very idea that she’d ever run to any man. Pfft. Not after having witnessed the misery her father had left behind. He’d destroyed her mother with his desertion.

  She hung tight to the resentment that always followed thoughts of her absent father and allowed the anger to overshadow the grief residing in her chest. “Where I’m going, and why, is none of your business, Mr. Moretti,” she stated coolly. “What my travel plans could possibly mean to you, I have no idea. So, I’ll be going.”

  A small smile curved Stefano’s lips, as though he’d enjoyed her display of bravado. She didn’t care. She reached back, clasped the doorknob, and with one twist stepped back into the hallway, both men never leaving her sight.

  Stefano Moretti’s vacant brown eyes watched her until the very last second, his parting words slithering through the crack of the closing door. “See you soon, Eva Jacobs.”

  Not if I see you first, she thought as she flew toward the stairs, unwilling to wait for the elevator after such a bizarre exchange. She faltered when his farewell registered. Eva Jacobs. She hadn’t told him her last name was Jacobs! Oh, God. How the hell had he known it? Glancing behind her at the still empty hallway, she shoved through the exit door and rushed down the four flights, phone out, Caleb’s number on the screen. She hit “Send” and put it to her ear with a shaking hand.

  “Hey, Priss. I didn’t expect to hear from you until—”

  She cut through Caleb’s familiar rumble, his annoying nickname for her—that had started with him teasing her about being a Prissy Princess when she was thirteen but had since been shortened to just Priss—not even registering for once. “Are you aware there are two men in your apartment?” she asked, knowing Caleb wouldn’t miss the fear even she could hear in her voice. “Who are they and how do they know me?”

  “What! What two men? Are you okay?”

  No, she wasn’t. “Other than being confused and largely freaked out, I’m fine,” she said anyway. “I came by to drop your things off on my way to the airport, and two men were sitting in your place. The nosey one performing the cross-examination said his name was Stefano Moretti, and . . .” She shook off the cold shiver that snaked down her spine and nearly missed a step as she racked her brain for the other man’s name. She came up blank. “I can’t remember if he mentioned the other guy’s name.”

  The silence in her ear stretched out so long she thought the call had been dropped.

  “Caleb? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” he growled. “I’m here. I told you to dump that shit if I didn’t make it over last night. Why the fuck didn’t you listen?”

  Seriously? He was chastising her for not following orders? “I would have,” she said through a tight jaw. “But I wanted to give you your apartment key, so I figured I’d drop everything off since I had some time to spare. I thought you’d be home. I certainly didn’t expect two goons to be hanging out.” She finally made it to the main floor and paused, attempting a smile, as an older woman with a yipping poodle passed her in the foyer.

  “They knew me, Caleb,” she continued as she bolted for the front door of the building, breathing easier once she was outside in the fresh air. “Stefano asked my name and I told him Eva, but when I was leaving, he said, ‘See you soon, Eva Jacobs.’ I didn’t mention my last name!”

  As she yanked open the still-waiting cab’s door and fell onto a seat with zero springs remaining, she nodded for the driver to go. Caleb’s groan was impatient in her ear.
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  “Aw, for fuck’s sake. How many times have I told you not to give out your real name? You didn’t know these fucking guys—”

  “Well, they knew me,” she cut him off, nose immediately out of joint at the you-silly-girl note in his voice. And her giving them her real name was the only thing he was concerned about? “They would have known I was lying anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Yes, it does, Leila,” he insisted, using the stripper name he’d chosen for her to use as an alias if she ever needed one. “You should have done as I told—”

  “Listen,” she interrupted again. If he got started, he’d lecture her right through her boarding time. “Do you know Stefano Moretti? Why were they in your place?”

  After a tense pause, Caleb said, “Moretti heads a big organized crime family. Anyone who hangs out in our world knows the name. I don’t know him personally, but he’s been to the clubhouse. Maybe he saw you there or something.”

  She frowned at the weak suggestion. He didn’t sound convinced. At all. In fact, he sounded as if he was humoring her and the very idea wasn’t even a possibility. “If you don’t know him, why the hell is he in your apartment?”

  “I don’t know, Priss. Listen, I’m going to make a few calls and get back to you. Get your ass to the airport and get on your plane. Go home. You’ll be good there.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What do you mean, ‘I’ll be good there’? Should I be worried?”

  “Not unless you’ve crossed him in some way or owe him money,” Caleb answered distractedly. “Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe it’s something as simple as he spotted you around my building and wanted to check you out.”