Milf Hunter: Seducing And Taming Beauties

Chapter 724: Claire’s Vengeance

Claire’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. "I don’t care," she snarled. "I don’t care if it’s a trap. I don’t care if I die. I just—" Her voice broke, the raw emotion in it cutting her off.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the gun she’d pulled from beneath her pillow. "I just need him to hurt the way I do right now."

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look away. Instead, I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I get it. I do. But you’re not thinking straight. And if you go out there like this, you will die. And then what? Nickolai wins. Everyone wins except the people who deserve justice."

I didn’t try to correct her about Nickolai. Not now. The truth—that the Italians had orchestrated the bombing, that Nickolai’s men had tried to kill her just hours ago—would only complicate things.

Right now, her rage was a wildfire, and if I tried to redirect it too soon, she’d shut me out completely. But I would guide her toward the real enemy. The Italian Mafia. They were the ones pulling the strings, the ones who needed to burn.

She glared at me, her chest heaving with the effort to keep herself together. "So what do you suggest, Jack?" she snapped, her voice raw with grief and fury. "That I just sit here while he gets away with it? That I wait for the FBI to maybe do something while he’s out there, living?"

"No," I said firmly, stepping closer so she could see the resolve in my eyes. "I suggest we do this smart. We find him. We make him suffer. But we do it together."

Claire let out a bitter, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. "You don’t get it," she said, her voice trembling with the weight of everything she’d lost. "This isn’t your fight."

"It is now," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Because I’m not letting you walk into a slaughterhouse alone. Not after last night. Not after this." I gestured toward the TV, where the smoldering ruins of the bombing played on a loop.

She stared at me for a long moment, her expression a storm of grief, fury, and something else—something fragile, almost like hope. But then she turned away, her jaw clenching so tight I could see the muscle twitch. "You don’t know what you’re asking," she said, her voice quieter now, the fight draining out of her. "This isn’t some boardroom negotiation. This is war."

I stepped in front of her, forcing her to meet my eyes. "I know exactly what I’m asking," I said, my voice low and steady. "And I know what I’m offering. You’re not alone in this, Claire. Not anymore."

She searched my face, her eyes flickering with something unreadable—distrust, maybe, or the first cracks in the armor she’d built around herself. "Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you do this? You don’t owe me anything."

"Because I can," I said simply. "And because no one else will."

For a long moment, she just stood there, her grip on the gun loosening slightly. The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but the blind fury had faded, replaced by something colder. Something deadlier.

Finally, she exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging just a fraction. "Fine," she said, her voice steadier now, though no less lethal. "But we do this my way. No heroics. No stupid risks. We find him, we make sure he pays, and we get out alive."

I nodded. "Your way."

She wiped the last of the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, her jaw setting with lethal determination. "Good," she said, her voice a blade once more. "Because Nickolai doesn’t get to walk away from this."

Then, her expression darkened further. "We’re on our own," she said, her voice hollow. "According to protocol, the FBI will assume I’m dead, too. So no one’s coming to save us now."

She looked at me, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Do you have money?"

I pulled out an international bank card—no limits, no questions—and handed it to her. "Use what you need."

Claire took it, her fingers brushing against mine for just a second. "I’ll be back soon," she said, already moving toward the door. "I’m getting weapons. You stay here." She paused, her voice softer. "I’ll repay you once this is over."

"It’s okay," I said, but she was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

I didn’t waste time. "SERA," I murmured, "monitor Claire’s movements. Alert me if she’s in danger or if she’s being followed."

The response was instant. "Affirmative."

I checked the time—7 a.m. The city was waking up, unaware of the storm brewing beneath its surface. I had to move. Natalya needed to know the truth.

I teleported back to the room where Natalya was still sleeping, her face soft with a sweet, untroubled smile. I took my phone, asking SERA to delete every message I’d sent earlier. If I were going to explain this to her, it would be in person. No miscommunications. No doubts.

I changed back into the pajamas and bandages I’d worn before, slipping into bed beside Natalya. She stirred slightly, her body warm against mine as she nuzzled into my arms with a contented sigh.

I held her tightly, my mind racing with everything I needed to tell her—the truth about the Italians, about Claire, about the war that was coming. But for now, in this quiet moment, I let myself pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

Natalya murmured sleepily, "Husband...", her eyes fluttering open. I kissed her—slow, deep, possessive—before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "There’s something you need to see," I said, my voice low, charged with something electric.

Her eyes widened as the air around us hummed with energy. Then, with a flick of my will, telekinesis surged to life. Natalya gasped as her body lifted from the bed, floating effortlessly across the room.

The sheets slipped away, leaving her bare, suspended in midair as if gravity itself had surrendered to me. Her breath hitched, her fingers curling into fists as she hovered, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and exhilaration.