Page 33 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

thirty-two

Declan

Oh, I know she's mad at me. And I can't exactly blame her.

I really did need her to see a doctor in order for her policies to begin.

Considering that her last visit to a medical facility was the temporary institutionalization after she tried to kill herself, I needed something the insurance companies could put on file, so they can't deny any claims that may arise.

I definitely don't expect her to die anytime soon, and insurance wouldn't pay out for a completed suicide, but I know better than most how crucial life insurance is. I offer it to every one of my employees, from those in the offices I've never met to my personal staff and my housekeepers.

Of course, taking her to the gynecologist had been a calculated move; I needed her to be tested because I fully intend to fuck her, thoroughly and often.

She didn't agree to be my concubine or anything— I'd never want a contract for sex— but if I am going to destroy her, I need to destroy all of her.

Her sense of self-esteem, her self-worth, her hope. ..

Maybe it's wrong to push it this far. Maybe it's wrong of me, to play with her like a fish on a hook or a mouse in a trap.

I don't even know what my plan is yet, beyond forcing her to submit to me, to give me all of her and do it willingly, to make her give me pieces of herself no one has ever had before.

I don't know if I'll leave after that, if the thrill will fade and I'll tire of her.

The future doesn't matter all that much, really.

What matters is that destroying her is a game she set into motion with that article, and it's a game she's set up to fail for all of the reasons she already knows it will.

The same reasons she claimed in her article are the same reasons she won't be able to withstand me, why she'll come to regret publishing that article and putting herself in my path.

No protection will be enough. Not for her, and certainly not for her sweet pussy.

I won't take her against her will, no matter how enticing the thought had been the first time I watched her.

Instead, I'll make her crave me. I'll make her not just want me but need me.

.. and when she finally admits to that, I'll take it all.

Soren Palmer will have nothing when I'm done with her.

.. she'll be a well-fucked whore, brainless and jobless, without the home she thinks is her safe place.

But she will have money... enough of it that she can buy another house and take her time finding another job.

I don't mean to leave her destitute... just broken.

Today is not the day for that, though. Taking her to the doctor had been a win even if I hadn't planned for it, because part of her fractured already.

I could see the humiliation painted all over her gorgeous face when she realized where we were, what I was doing.

And yet, she didn't run. She didn't walk out or refuse to go.

She just relented, the perfect show of submission.

I'd be a fool to think all of the submission to follow will be so easy.

Being inside of her house is an opportunity I didn't expect to have so soon, but she was so desperate to get away from me that she locked herself in the shower and essentially gave me the freedom to explore.

I want to explore... I want to get inside of her mind, to see what she keeps hidden, what sort of panties she wears beneath those tight skirts and whether she has more toys beyond that vibrator.

But I also feel like maybe I've violated her privacy enough for today.

Instead, I end up snooping just enough to find where she keeps the medicine-- in a cabinet above the oven.

I grab down the basket with various over the counter products and prescription bottles, rifling through them until I find the pain reliever.

I empty two of them into my hand and then add a third just in case.

But before I put the basket away, my curiosity wins, and I find myself plucking the prescription bottles to view the labels.

Amitriptyline, Clonazepam, Oramorph, Trazodone, Zolpidem...

The names of the drugs don't mean anything to me.

What does mean something to me is the fact that all of them are prescribed to Soren D'Anerio.

There's enough prescription medication to kill a race horse, and I recognize a few of the names as I move to the back.

.. Avinza and Vicodin. My mother used those toward the end of things, before she couldn't swallow pills anymore.

And Eszopiclone. I was prescribed those shortly after I left college, when I fell asleep driving for just long enough to wrap my car around a tree.

The responding officer had been convinced I was inebriated, particularly when I told him I wrapped my tree around a car, but when he realized it was just a manifestation of exhaustion.

I got addicted to the sleeping pills, until they quit working.

I could see Soren needing sleeping pills after the murder of her husband... especially if she's the one who killed him. Something tells me that's unlikely, though. I can't imagine her to be capable of something so violent.

My eyes flit down to the dates on the bottles-- some of them are from years ago, and others were prescribed just last year, or in the last few months.

A quick glance at the hall assures me she hasn't yet opened the bathroom door, so I slip my phone from my pocket and snap a few pictures of the labels, deciding I'll have to research them myself later. I note that everything up until last year was prescribed by the same doctor— Emile Vitoli.

Once the medications are secured, I put them away and fill a glass with water, wondering just how unwell Soren really is.

I told her she was sick, but I didn't realize it was like this .

I don't want to leave her, but I also don't want to fight her when she gets out of the shower and realizes I'm still there. So, I leave the ibuprofen and water on her nightstand, wait for the shower to kick off, and leave.

I'm sure to lock the door as I go, but I can't help wondering if the bigger threat isn't inside of the house.

Maybe she's not violent enough to kill a man. But she could be crazy enough to.