Revenge In His Arms

Carla stared at the gun on the vanity and glanced at the invitation card one last time. The cream and gold card was an invitation to the celebratory dinner hosted by the Goulding Group of companies, but to her, it was an invitation to finally meet the one person she had been hunting down all her life. The man who killed her parents.

With uncertain and watery eyes, she looked at herself in the mirror. Feeling her heart beat violently against her chest, she raised her shaky hands and touched the gun. Her mind flashed back to that night fourteen years ago when she’d found it in her father’s bedroom—the same night he and her mother were murdered. She had hidden it ever since, vowing through gritted teeth and bloodshot eyes that she’d get justice one day.

“Carly?” A high-pitched feminine voice called her from the living room. “Hurry, or we’ll be late for the event.”

Carla quickly snapped out of her thoughts, grabbed the gun from the table with her small hands that refused to stop shaking and shoved it into her purse.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she said, adjusting the curls of her long brunette hair. She gently dabbed the corners of her mascara-lined eyes with a tissue, and stepped out of the bathroom.

“Babe, you took so long in there, Max has been waiting downstairs for about ten minutes now,” June said, the look in her eyes was a mix of concern and slight annoyance.

“Sorry, let's go now,” Carla said, avoiding June's face and headed out the door, but June had already caught sight of Carla’s eyes. They looked teary, or was it the living room lights that just twinkled in her eyes? She shook her head, grabbed her bag and followed.

* * * * * * * * *

The night air was chilly, Carla rubbed her hands against her upper arm to make them warm.

“We’re here, ladies,” Max said, turning off the engine of the car. As they all got out of the car, June latched onto Max’s arm.

"I forgot to bring my lip gloss. I need to retouch my lips,” she pouted.

Max chuckled and leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek.

“You look gorgeous as ever, Love.”

She blushed and smiled, unconvinced, before glancing at Carla, who was standing quietly on the other side of the car holding her purse closely to herself.

“I think something is up with Carla,” she whispered, making him shift his gaze to Carla.

Max followed her gaze, his brow furrowing.

“We’ll keep watch on her,” he said gently.

Inside the lavish hotel ballroom, Carla’s eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk. As usual, the hall was filled with men in sharp suits and women in silk and jewelry. She would have been invited with a plus-two card had she not won best staff in a row for three months in the junior category at the Chicago branch. She would have turned down the invitation with every skill she could come up with, even as much as feigning a sudden sickness, but Jilo, her private investigator, had finally discovered the location of the man she was searching for.

Although they were still unable to get his full identity, he had told her that he was a man in his 40s or 50s, with a full thick mustache and a visible scar at the side of his face.

Carla's pulse raced. Tonight was the night.

As the three sat at the table, Carl stretched her hand and grabbed a passing flute of champagne and gulped it down her throat.

“Carla!” June whispered, her eyes enlarged. “Are you trying to get drunk? That’s your fourth glass, and we only just got here."

Carla would have three more glasses if she could, she needed to summon as much courage as she would need tonight.

“He’s here. I can feel it,” Carla said, folding her hand and into a fist under the table, her eyes scanning the hall.

“Who’s here?” June asked, looking around, her hand on Max’s shoulder whose full attention was on the anchor who had mounted the stage and began to speak.

“I can feel it in my bones, he’s here.” She said, her fingers twitching, with eyes filled with anger and her breathing unsteady.

“Carla… should we leave?” We can leave right now if you want to,” June said, holding on to Carla's hand and squeezing it gently.

She looked at June and immediately put up a soft smile, masking the storm in her. She squeezed back.

“I’ll be fine.”

June nodded unsure. Carla looked away toward the stage in a bid to calm her down.

A soft click of expensive shoes echoed behind Carla.

“Good evening, Mrs. Tinders.” A deep, chilling voice sounded faintly a few meters away from her. Though she wanted to ignore it, she forcefully tilted her neck in the direction of the voice and her eyes landed on a man in a wine hat, his face partially hidden under the shadow of the hat. He nodded and walked past Carla’s chair, but as he passed, the scent of his cologne triggered a memory.

She inhaled sharply. That scent.

Trying to steady her breath, she looked up to see a thick black mustache with a scar that sat on the right side of his face.

She shook suddenly at the rush of adrenaline that flowed through her body. Her heart ran into a sprint and goose pimples covered her sleeveless arms. Without wasting a second, she grabbed her purse and stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured to the two and moved away from the table.

The man turned into a corner that led away from the hall. That was perfect, she wouldn’t be able to use the gun in her bag in a crowded ballroom anyway. She increased the pace of her steps, struggling to stay calm as she ran her eyes cautiously through the hall to be sure no one noticed her.

Turning into the corner, she caught up with him, took the gun out of her bag and glued herself to his back. She pressed the gun at his waist. He froze.

Yes, that was exactly what she would do, she thought. With the man just a few long steps away from her, she opened her bag tactfully to take hold of the gun when out of nowhere, someone collided with her. Carla gasped as her purse slipped from her fingers, its contents scattering across the polished marble floor.

Before she could bend to retrieve it—before anyone could see the gun—an arm wrapped around hers, steady but firm, gently pulling her away from the corridor and back into the glowing light of the ballroom.

She stumbled, struggling for balance, and then froze.

In front of her were piercing blue eyes just a few inches away from her face. The man in front of her was breathtakingly handsome, his sharply carved features softened only by a shadow of stubble. His intoxicating and warm cologne wrapped around her, momentarily drowning out her panic.

“I know this is… infringing on your privacy,” his voice was deep, smooth, and unsettlingly calm, “but will you grant me this dance?”

“The dance will begin in the next 20 seconds,” the anchor announced into the microphone.

Her mind raced. The gun. It was still lying in the corridor. If someone saw it—if he saw it—

She opened her mouth to refuse, but the music started, sweeping through the entire hall. The man stepped closer, his hand firm at her waist, his other hand finding hers with easy confidence. He began to move, leading her into the rhythm with a grace that impressed her even in her shocked state.

Carla’s eyes looked toward the corridor, searching desperately for the fallen gun, but instead she caught sight of a furious woman glaring at the man holding her, her expression sharp enough to cut glass.

Carla’s instincts screamed at her to pull away, to run back for her weapon before the night was ruined. But his aura—warm, commanding, secure—sent an overwhelming thrill through her, making her want to stay there a little longer.