Page 34 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

thirty-three

Soren

I’m curled on my couch, hair swept into the same bun it’s been in since I got off and had to get it off my neck, where I could still feel the ghost of his touch skating over my skin.

Putting on a brave face for everyone at the bar last week, being caught up in Declan’s game, stressing over what he’ll do when he decides he’s had enough of it…

it’s all exhausting. It's been days since he sprung a doctor's visit on me, and I'm not just mad. I'm tired .

Knowing he's watching me, navigating him like he's an atomic bomb in the office, feeling his eyes on me even when I'm alone.

I don’t have the energy to do anything more than sit here while the TV plays something in the background that I’m not paying attention to. I don’t even have the energy to move when my phone chimes with a new text.

I expect to find a message about how I should really be working, or some sort of innuendo from Declan. But the message is from Marissa.

Marissa: Be there in twenty. I’ve got pizza and wine, and I won’t leave ‘til you let me in.

I don’t bother texting back, even to tell her that her message makes no sense. I just sigh my frustration and then immediately feel the guilt gnaw at me.

Other than Vin, Khan and Marissa are all I have that are mine. Tony has made it a point to stay in my life since I became a young widow, but he’s only in my life out of obligation. My depression and neuroses drove away every other ‘friend’ that I had.

As it turns out, most surface level friendships can’t withstand murder allegations and an alleged suicide attempt, particularly because I still have no idea what really happened that night.

When I finally started to process everything, I’d been a constant thorn in Tony’s side. He had always had an answer for everything. He handled the finances for the family businesses and dealt with their enemies as well as their colleagues.

Anyone who had a vendetta against my husband would certainly be on Tony’s radar, and yet every time I called, he’d answer with a sigh, and I’d know that he had nothing to tell me.

Every time I showed up on his doorstep at three a.m. because my thoughts wouldn’t let me sleep, he would just shake his head, and I’d know we were no closer to justice.

I was beginning to think I’d alienated Tony too, the way I’d pushed away all my other friends.

He started ignoring my calls, not answering the door. And then one day he pitched a theory.

Declan Evers.

I knew it was flimsy, but I took it to the same detectives who gave me the side-eye and talked about me like I wasn’t in the room.

They’d all but laughed me out of the building for pitching the idea that an upstanding member of the community, with an established charity set up to provide support to the elderly, would be involved in murder.

It was a ‘ desperate attempt to cast suspicion off yourself’ , they said.

My meeting with the district attorney was much the same—it wasn’t worth the months of calling to try and get an appointment, the hours I spent sitting outside his office waiting for his ‘meetings’ to be over.

Maybe it was desperate, but it was all I had, so I latched onto it.

It’s still all I have.

The thought that I’m working for my husband’s killer is somehow less terrifying than the thought of whoever did this to us flying under the radar.

It’s more comforting to imagine that Declan and I are connected by a blood-soaked thread, that he tried to kill me as some sort of punishment for whatever grievance he had with Vin.

I won’t acknowledge the glaringly obvious fact that if Declan wanted me dead, I would be. He isn’t the sort of man who misses.

I’m still spiraling when the doorbell rings.

I barely even have a chance to open the door before Marissa is shouldering it open wider so that she can step inside before dropping the pizza box balanced precariously on the palm of her hand.

“Come on in,” I tell her drily.

She’s already setting the box on the counter when I turn to see Khan at the door.

“Ren,” His voice drips with sympathy, and I can’t tell if it’s from the last-minute intrusion or just the shambles of my life. Marissa clears that confusion up when she turns to face me with a frown on her glossy lips.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I laugh in spite of her sentiment.

Marissa is the friend who tells me the truth, even if it hurts. She always had been, and the fact that she still does in spite of my precarious mental health is a source of strange comfort.

Even though so much in my world has changed since we met and the girl who laughed too loud and drank too much is gone, she is still the same. It makes the NDA I signed with Declan sting that much more.

“Seriously, you need to try those sleeping pills I gave you. And eat a steak, you look anemic.” She surveys the dark circles under my eyes and then blows out a breath.

“God, Rissa. You don’t have to be so cruel.” Khan shakes his head and pulls me into his embrace, squeezing me tight. He gives the most incredible hugs that make you feel like you’re the best part of his day, but I don’t hug him back. I’m too confused by their sudden appearance.

“Who invited you?” Marissa snaps, waving away his response before he even bothers to open his mouth.

“Not me.” I say when Khan steps away. “I didn’t invite either of you.”

“You don’t have to invite us.” Marissa shrugs out of her black leather jacket, throwing it over the back of one of the bar-stools situated at the island.

I grab it quickly and fold it before replacing it over the stool.

Her eyes narrow on me, judging without words…

until she turns to the cabinet and pulls out a plate.

She lifts it up, letting it catch the light. When she looks back at me, her face is incredulous.

“There’s dust on your plates, Soren.” Her lips pull into a frown, and she exchanges a glance with Khan.

“I haven’t had time to clean.” I lie.

“Your house is clean.” She objects, gesturing around the kitchen that opens to the living room. Everything is in its perfect place.

I don’t like clutter—I can’t hear myself think in a messy space—so there’s no dishes in the sink, no appliances left out after use.

“Have you just not been eating?”

“I eat.” I force a laugh, hoping she won’t be able to sense the lack of humor in it. “I’ve been doing take-out a lot, so I don’t have to worry about cleaning up after.”

“Oh,” she nods dramatically. “Of course. You’ve been ordering take out.” She shrugs, turning to Khan. “Mystery solved. Soren’s lost thirty pounds in the last year by ordering take out all the time. We should call Woman’s World and let them know about this amazing new diet.”

I haven’t lost thirty pounds, but that’s Marissa. Dramatic as she is beautiful.

“Oh, hush.” I roll my eyes. “You know the medication made me lose my appetite.”

“The medication.” She nods again, but I can hear the ire dripping from her tone again. “The medication that you flushed down the toilet?”

I didn’t flush anything down the toilet.

I simply haven’t been taking it. I’m tired of grief, and tired of swallowing pills that don’t do anything, and tired of being tired, and tired of sleeping when I take the right medicine but waking up just to feel like a zombie for half the day only to lay in bed and not be able to sleep again that night.

“Please stop,” I groan, looking to Khan for backup. He hesitates, torn between keeping the peace and taking a side.

“I can’t stop caring about you, Ren!” Marissa slams the plate down so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break.

I flinch.

Recognition sparks in her eyes when she realizes she got a reaction out of me. “I love you and you just seem determined to let your life fall apart. You quit going to therapy, quit refilling your prescriptions, quit eating. If it was me, what would you do?”

“It’s not you.” I say coolly. I’m glad it isn’t her; I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy, and certainly not my best friend.

“No,” she agrees, “I’ve never been in love so I can’t possibly relate to what you’re feeling.”

She’s being sarcastic. Marissa loves as easily as she does everything in life. She’s had her heart broken more times than I can remember and she’s broken even more hearts. I’ve been there every time to pick up the pieces and hold her together.

“You’re angry, right? I see how angry you are, Ren! It’s the only thing I see in you these days! The only sign that you’re still alive is your anger!”

Khan’s discomfort is even more obvious as he opens his mouth, then closes it summarily.

“Who wants pizza?” He suggests, making a show of opening the box and lifting a piece in his hand. It drips cheese down into the box, and he continues his production by taking a big bite and making exaggerated sounds of pleasure.

Marissa and I don’t give him our attention.

Khan is used to this. He came into our friendship late, and though we love him indiscriminately, he doesn’t understand the depth of our relationship.

He does understand that the best thing for all of us is for him to stay out of the way when Marissa and I go at it.

“Are you angry?” Marissa asks, her voice softer now.

“Yes,” I tell her honestly, crossing my arms. I think of Declan, telling me that he knows I want to watch the world burn. He sensed it after knowing me for two days.

That seems to appease her. She picks her plate up again and takes a step closer.

“So,” she walks past the pizza box and stands in front of me in some sort of challenge. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What?” I sigh my frustration, feeling myself deflate. I’m tired and not in the mood to do this with her tonight.

“What are you going to do about it, Soren? You’re angry, so what are you going to do? You wanna break shit?”

“Rissa,” I threaten, her nickname thin and tired on my tongue. It’s a warning for her to back down.