Page 35 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

“I wanna break shit, Ren!” She grins, one eyebrow bobbing quickly over her green eye in a mischievous display of her intentions. I’m just opening my mouth to warn her against it when she lifts the plate over her head and slams it with all her strength toward the ground.

The sound of shattering glass creeps up my spine as chunks of it skitter across the floor, brushing past my bare feet and skidding to a stop all around the kitchen.

Mouth still open, I survey the damage—shards of my plate lay like the fragments of my heart on the ground.

Khan’s mouth is open too, like he’s waiting for permission to say what’s on his tongue, which flicks out over his lips nervously.

Marissa’s lips are twisted in a smirk, as if she did something silly but inconsequential. She doesn’t even seem to realize the depth of her own insanity to think that what she just did was anywhere near rational.

“You weren’t using them anyway.” She laughs.

The sound that comes out of me takes me by surprise. It bubbles out of me on its own, without seeking my permission. It’s just one laugh at first, a sound of disbelief. And then as I survey the pieces of my dinnerware on the ground and flick my eyes up to my best friend’s, I nod.

She’s still wearing her shoes, but I don’t want glass in my feet, so I turn toward the island and brace my hands on it.

I pull myself onto it with minimal effort and rise to my full height.

I’m just short enough to miss the chandelier, but when I offer Marissa a hand and hoist her up with me, she has to side-step to keep from nailing her head on it. I turn to Khan with a grin.

“More plates please.”

His dark eyes are full of concern as he watches us, trying to gauge whether we’re serious. When neither of us wavers, he sighs. His boots crunch over shards of ceramic as he crosses to the cabinet and withdraws two plates, handing one to each of us.

“Alexa!” Marissa calls.

I shake my head, clutching the plate against my chest. “I turned her off.” I couldn’t handle her randomly deciding to play at random intervals.

Marissa frowns and Khan sighs, retrieving the phone off the other side of the kitchen counter. A few clicks later, she’s paired with my Bluetooth speaker and the cover of Enjoy the Silence by Anberlin starts playing through my kitchen.

She turns it up louder, until I can feel the beats in my chest. I can’t help the grin that breaks over my face, but I don’t need to stifle it. Marissa’s matches my own and we come to a mutual understanding.

Khan scurries out of our sight, no doubt wishing he’d stayed home tonight.

We throw our plates at the same time.

From the new height, the pieces jump higher.

It looks like the videos I’ve seen of people shooting glass bottles with shotguns.

The fragments fly through the air and rain down around my kitchen, the sound swallowed in the tenor of music.

Marissa surveys me, gauging my reaction, and then turns to gesture for Khan to fetch us more breakables.

This time, he grabs an entire stack.

Being young and ambitious, Vin and I had planned for a large family. We’d dreamed of entertaining guests on the back patio and serving them meticulously prepared meals on these plates. I’ve never wanted to break something so badly in my life.

“I want them all!” I yell to him as he sets all the remaining dinner plates between us.

“What?” He calls over the music. I know he heard me; He just doesn’t believe that I’d ask for something so absurd.

“I hate these plates!” I scream. “And the bowls, and the mugs!”

Khan stares in disbelief for another moment, glares at Marissa, and then quickly empties my cupboard of my dinner set. While he works, Marissa grabs one of the bottles of wine she brought and pours the entire thing into two wine glasses—the only thing I tell Khan not to add to our pile.

The song gives way to another of the same contagious tempo, and we barely wait for Khan to scurry out of the line of fire before we gather our ammunition. Marissa slams hers against the ground, and I throw mine like a frisbee at the wall.

We laugh and dance on the counter, grabbing dishes and breaking them. In between we sip our wine until we have to open the second bottle, dancing and grabbing one another to keep from getting too close to the edge of the counter. When we finish the second bottle, I grab that and throw it too.

Marissa’s laughter overpowers the music for a moment, and it’s such a freeing sound that I feel uninhibited.

It’s the best damn feeling I think I’ve ever felt, and I don’t want it to slip away.

Marissa climbs gingerly off the counter, her shoes crunching over discarded glass.

Some of it skitters across the ground while she tries to get her footing, throwing her hands out for balance.

Neither of us have ever been great at building an alcohol tolerance, and we drank our wine really fast. It mixes with the heady feeling of our plate-smashing euphoria, leaving us both feeling drunker than we probably are.

Khan grimaces at me when he sees me with my toes hanging over the edge of the counter, looking for a safe place to land.

There isn’t one.

Every inch of my kitchen floor is littered with ceramic pieces of my dishes; It looks like a war erupted between the salad plates and everything else. The absurd thought makes me laugh as Khan backs up to the counter, gesturing for me to wrap my arms around him.

I hop on with a little more gusto than he was prepared for.

Khan has to grab hold of me to keep me from slipping, one hand reaching back to support me under my ass like the child I’m acting like.

It’s not a sexual touch—Khan has never shown any interest in Marissa or me like that.

I don’t think twice about it as he totes me to the couch, which is far enough removed that it’s been spared the casualties of my war with my kitchen accessories.

I fall gracelessly onto the couch and consider staying there for a moment.

But the alcohol is pumping like adrenaline through my veins, and if I don’t sit up, it will probably churn my stomach too.

I spring up quickly and plant a kiss on Khan’s cheek.

He’s such a good friend, and a real trooper to put up with the antics of two crazy women—one of which is certifiably psychotic.

“I found provisions!” Marissa yells, brandishing a bottle of liquor.

I cheer for her while she grabs our wine glasses. One of them slips from her hand, hitting the floor before she can even try to pick it up.

“Shit!” She cries, as if it’s a tragedy of Shakesperean proportions.

Looking at her stressing over a single broken wine glass when she’s wading through an inch of shattered glass is ridiculous, and I don’t try to hide it. I burst out laughing, with Marissa following close behind.

By the time she makes it over to join me on the couch with a new wine glass in hand, even Khan is laughing.