Page 1 of Veiled Vengeance (The Devils of New York #3)

ANTHONY, THREE YEARS AGO

T he 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 The Company 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 do that . 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 for my Flower. The symbol that shows her how much I love her—that I’ll always come back to her.

My face flushes a shade of red at the thought of her throwing out the symbol of my love for her.

Looks like my Flower didn’t learn her lesson.

“I’ll be with you in a minute!” a voice calls from an open door that I assume leads to a storeroom.

Chad bounces nervously on the balls of his feet. I glance at him and find a drop of sweat trickling down his temple.

“How can I help you?” A woman steps up to the glass display case that serves as a checkout counter. There’s dirt under her nails and smudges on her shirt. Her hair is long, wavy, and a shade of light brown. Her eyes are dark, like chocolate.

I tilt my head to the side. “Are you the owner?”

She holds her hand out for me to shake. “Yes. My name is Natalie Cabrera.”

Taking her hand in mine, I question, “Do you have an employee named Spencer?”

Natalie drops my hand. “I don’t have any employees. I just opened and haven’t had the time to hire anyone.”

Spasms of irritation flicker across my face. My words drip with fury. “You said it was her.”

Chad’s hands shake, and his eyes round with fear. “I—I thought . . .”

“Clearly, you thought wrong!” My voice gets louder with each word.

Natalie jumps back from the counter. “You both need to leave now, please.”

“I’m—I’m sorry, sir. I really thought it was her.”

Grabbing his cheeks and squeezing them together, I turn his face to Natalie. “You think she looks like my Flower? Her?!”

He tries to speak, but I won’t let him, so he shakes his head back and forth vigorously.

Damn right, this woman isn’t my Flower. But he should have realized that before he called me.

Bringing my mouth to his ear, I whisper, “You should have looked closer.” Before he can react, I slam his head on the display case, shattering the glass. Chad groans, but his eyes don’t open.

Natalie screams and attempts to flee. She darts around the display case, heading for the door. I tangle my hand in her long, wavy hair and pull. “Where do you think you’re going?”

She cries out in pain. “No! Let me go! Please!” She claws at my hand, trying to get free.

I release her hair and spin her around. The slap I land on her cheek knocks her to the floor. “You’re not her!”

Tears pour down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. Please just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Just let me go. I promise I won’t say anything.”

“I promise. I won’t say anything.”

Honey eyes are suddenly staring back at me.

“Stop lying! You said that, but then you left! You left me! You didn’t even leave a note!” Spittle flies out of my mouth.

“Wha—What? But I?—”

I grab the collar of her shirt and pull her to her feet. “Why! I’ve given you everything! We have one little fight, so you leave?”

Spencer pulls at my hands, trying to peel back my fingers from her shirt. “Please stop. I—I don’t know you. I don’t know who you are. I’m not who you think I am.”

How dare she . . .

My breathing grows ragged. “You don’t know me? I’m your fucking fiancé!” I shove her to the ground and grab the first item within reach.

She sobs, and I kneel down next to her. Leaning in close, I plant a soft kiss on her cheek. “I’ll never let you forget me.” Then I raise both arms and plunge the pruning shears into her stomach.

Her mouth opens with a silent scream. Pain is written across her face.

Good. My Flower needs to feel my pain.

She blinks a few times, and her eyes are no longer honey, they’re chocolate.

An enraged scream blows past my lips, and I bring the pruning shears down into the body of the woman below me over and over. Almost every surface in the shop drips red, and Natalie’s eyes remain open and lifeless as she lies there, on the ground.

A groan draws my attention to the man rolling over the broken glass. Chad attempts to crawl towards the door, so I stand and grab his foot, pulling him next to Natalie. “You lied!”

He holds his hands out in front of him, hoping to ward me off. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m really sorry. Please. I’ll—I’ll make it up to you.”

“Too late.” I grab his hair at the crown of his head and pull back, exposing his neck. Then I drag the point of the shears across his exposed skin. Arterial blood sprays my face.

A tattered breath passes through my lungs as I pocket the shears and pull my handkerchief out of my suit pocket.

What the stupid shows on TV don’t tell you is that blood doesn’t wash off easily, and now my suit is ruined. I wipe the handkerchief across my face and leave the shop.

My driver is leaning against the car but jumps when he sees me. His lips part in surprise. “Are you okay, Mr. Cole? Should I take you to the hospital?”

I shake my head. “Back to Teterboro.”

“Are you sure? You’re covered in?—”

My jaw tenses. “You’re not paid to ask questions. You’re paid to drive. Now drive.”

“Yes, Mr. Cole.”

I sigh, sinking into the leather seat.

It’s too bad he’s seen too much.