Page 48 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

forty-five

Declan

Soren rounds the corner with her hands on her hips, looking ready to give me hell. It disappears in a cloud of confusion when her eyes fall on the trash bag quickly filling on the ground. Lisa is at the stove cooking eggs and Kacey is knee-deep in the former contents of Soren’s pantry.

“What are you doing?”

“This oatmeal expired in January…” Kacey says without looking at her. “Of last year .”

Soren opens her mouth, closes it, and then narrows her eyes at me. “Declan?”

“I’m re-stocking your pantry. Your new paycheck will be sufficient to keep you well-fed in the future, but since I couldn’t find anything to eat last night, I figured I’d make sure you’ve got enough groceries to last you.”

I know she tried putting the money I’ve already paid her toward her mortgage… the mortgage that is no longer hers. She hasn’t checked her account yet to see that it hasn’t been deducted. And it won’t be, either.

“I can buy my own groceries.” She snaps, crossing her arms over her chest now.

“Of course, you can.” I roll my eyes and hand her the coffee she never drank. It’s still warm… enough to soften her a little as her fingers wrap around the base and she breathes in the aroma.

“What’s this about a trip?”

I study her face. She looks remarkably better.

“A work trip.” I shrug. “I’m being called away on business this weekend and you’ll have to accompany me.”

“I can’t.” She says flatly, not bothering to make an excuse.

“Need to stay and take care of the fish?” I tease, knowing there’s truly no excuse to keep her from joining me other than her lack of desire.

“What fish?” She shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Declan.

You can’t just come in my house and start—” Soren looks around, spots Lisa returning the salt and pepper to the wrong spot in the spice drawer.

I think she may start twitching, but she rubs her hands over face.

“You can’t just come in here like you own the place and start throwing stuff around. ”

“I do own the place.” I shrug, managing to look far less delighted than I feel by the glimmer of outrage in her eye. “I own you , right? For the next year?”

The contract said nothing about owning her, of course.

I did need a legally binding paper to get her on my payroll and keep her from falling prey to the IRS, but we both read the terms she agreed to.

Our contract was intentionally vague, and she knew the minute she even agreed to look at it that she was willing to agree to nearly anything for the opportunity I was giving her.

“You don’t own me. You will never own me, no matter how much money you throw at me.”

I grace her with a laugh and take the final sip of my own coffee.

“For someone who thinks she knows who she’s dealing with, you really aren’t very smart. If I’m as bad as you say, what makes you think I don’t already own you?”

Her lips part in shock.

I’ve forgotten that Lisa and Kacey are even still in the same room; everything else fades into the background as I take a single step toward her and eliminate all the extra space between us.

“Did you know that you can pay someone’s delinquent taxes and legally become the owner of their property?”

Her silence speaks for itself.

“I didn’t think so.” I chuckle as the understanding smacks into her.

“No,” Soren shakes her head. “No, you didn’t.”

Of course, I did. That was done before I ever even saw her, when all I knew of Soren Palmer was that the home tied to her car’s registration was in foreclosure. Paying off the bank to satisfy her mortgage was just for her benefit.

“This house and everything in it belongs to me.” I tell her. “Including you.”

I think for a moment she’ll throw herself on the floor and throw a tantrum, but she just takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes in challenge.

“I’ll buy it back with my first paycheck.”

I nod. “Not a bad idea. The delinquent taxes aren’t the concern, of course. I’d be more worried about the foreclosure if I were you. Banks get into the business of mortgages for the interest. If you’re not paying them, they’re not going to hold your mortgage forever.”

That gives her pause. “What do you mean ‘foreclosure’? I’ve never missed a payment.”

“Oh?” I lift a brow and grab my phone, scrolling through my screenshots to show her the photo of her house with the red ‘foreclosure’ listed beneath it.

She takes the phone with shaky hands, her jaw set as she tries to find something to prove this isn’t the house we’re standing inside of right now.

“I don’t understand.”

“The bar is delinquent, too. Maybe it’s not a profitable business?”

Blinking, she tries to process what I’ve just told her. She opens her mouth, closes it, and tries again.

“I don’t understand.”

Her surprise seems genuine, like she really doesn’t realize that she’s drowning in debt.

I’d thought that was why she was so eager to accept my job offer.

The sum I offered her was intentional—it’s enough to wipe away all the debt that lingers from her life before me and then a meager salary she can save or use to buy herself a house where her husband wasn’t murdered.

“I’m sure in the beginning a lot of the companies must have been understanding of your situation, but they must have tried to collect eventually.”

“No,” she shakes her head, pushing my phone back at me. “I’ve never missed a payment.”

“Well,” I sigh. “Somebody has.”