Page 62 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

fifty-eight

Declan

I’m seething at the thought of his hands on her, but I’m not stupid.

The best thing I could do for her is let him lead her away without incident.

I should have kept the gun on my person like he apparently did.

I’d brought protection, of course, but it’s in my bag.

There’s no way I would have gotten to it before he could pull the trigger.

While I don’t want to die, a gun to the head doesn’t paralyze me with fear. If it was just me that I had to concern myself with, I’d have kicked him in the knee and dove for my own weapon, seeing who could shoot first. But I’m not gambling with her safety.

If I die, Soren is at the mercy of my enemies. If I die, she will likely be swept up in their business, just another girl stolen from the world, her identity erased by the software I created, her screams a lullaby for some twisted fucking sadist on the other side of the world.

No, if I die, she suffers.

So, I tame my anger, set the bag with the gun on my lap and close out of the screen I left up before we disembarked the plane.

I can’t blame her for that reaction, honestly.

I never should have left that on my screen—it’s stupid, the kind of mistake that there are no words to even explain.

She probably thinks I left them there for her to find; She’s made it clear since before I even knew anything about her just what she thinks of me.

Fuck.

I try to type, but my fingers fumble on the keyboard, slipping on the wrong letters. It takes longer than it should, probably because I’m acutely aware of how long it’s taking Dimitri to return with Soren. When I finally get the name Rhea Boudreaux in the search field, it returns no results.

Motherfucker.

I slam my fist into the keyboard, watching the screen populate a nonsensical string of characters. It does nothing to assuage my frustration, so when Dimitri walks back in alone, I curl my fingers on the gun and wait for him to make a move.

“Where is she?” I demand, grinding my teeth together to keep anything more at bay.

“I was going to ask the same. Do you have anything?” He nods to the laptop, his eyes never leaving mine. I notice his arms are crossed, though I don’t know if that’s a habit for him or if he’s intentionally trying to look flippant.

“If anything happens to her—”

He doesn’t allow me the opportunity to finish that threat, throwing his hands on either of the armrests of this executive leather chair and bending over so that his face is level with mine.

“I could say the same to you, Evers. The scales have been tipped. Jonathan Boudreaux is dead, and Remington is out for the head of Davos. You don’t think he’ll rip through every single person who stands in his way? If you’re stupid enough to say no , you haven’t been paying attention.”

There’s fire in his eyes, and just like that, realization sinks in my gut.

“This isn’t just another mark to you, is it?”

“She’s the boss’ sister.” He snaps. “I already told you that.”

“Right.” I agree. “ Your boss’ sister.”

“Yours too.” Dimitri’s voice is terse. He looks like he’d like to rip my head from my shoulders, but he knows he needs me.

“My boss?” I laugh. “You mean my fucking prison warden?” I stroke the trigger of the gun where it is still concealed in my bag, entertaining the idea of taking him out now and going to get my girl. We can live on the run… she may not like it, but it’s not exactly her choice.

The idea of being free from my benefactors once and for all is a powerful draw. It’s also a pipe dream. I’ve seen firsthand that their reach is too great. And betraying them by running will only compromise Soren, ensuring she becomes their victim more than I already am.

The men who sign my paycheck are among the most sinister monsters to walk this fucking Earth. I’ve seen too much to take the chance of her getting wrapped up with them because of my stupidity.

For years, I’ve avoided letting anyone get close because I knew that letting someone into my orbit would make them just as much a pawn as I made myself when I made a deal with the devil.

It’s why I have a team of assistants, people who handle various things for me without ever forming a bond with them so that they can’t be used against me.

“Your prison warden?” His laugh is cold. “Funny.”

His eyes fall from mine, and in an instant, he whips the gun from his waistband again. This time, he doesn’t aim it between my eyes. He directs the barrel down, at the bag obscuring my lap.

I could shoot him right now, but I don’t have an exit strategy.

I don’t know where he put Soren, I don’t know how many people are waiting in the main house for him to come back, and I don’t really want to paint a target on my back with Remington Boudreaux.

I doubt he’d accept my killing his associate as self-defense any more than he’d tender it as my resignation.

Costa Rica has a fair cost of living, but even if I find Soren and we make it off this property alive, we won’t get far on the $1,000 cash in my wallet.

Plus, there’s not a place in the world I can hide while they have access to the monster I created.

“She have social media?” I ask, gesturing to the screen.

Dimitri blinks, surprised by my sudden shift. “All the usuals.”

I navigate to her photo grid and scroll through a few pictures of her with other people until I find one of her solo, facing head on. I lasso the picture and drop it into the software.

He seems to hold his breath as we wait for the search field to come up empty. A guttural stream of words in some other language spew from his mouth, and I slam my fist again into the keyboard before drawing in a deep breath of my own.

Someone locked me out of my own software, which means someone really doesn’t want this girl to be found.

“Aren’t you the cleaner?” I ask after a minute, taking in the look of desperation on his face.

“No.” He sighs. “The cleaner is… indisposed.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don’t mess with this shit.” He slams the empty chair, sending it rolling until it slams into the desk and comes to an abrupt halt. “I don’t make girls disappear!”

I give him a moment, aware that if I don’t, he’ll explode, and I’ll lose my chance to get a reply.

He runs his hands through his hair, the anxiety practically bleeding out of his pores.

It’s an interesting look on a man of his reputation.

I’ve heard of this man who looks like a damn nightmare, his muscles stacked on top of one another to make him look like some sort of ancient warrior.

His long hair is tied at his neck, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that he’s a powerful man… the boogeyman, according to some.

But right now, with his desperation written on his face and something more hanging in the air around him, he doesn’t exactly look like the monster I’ve been told to fear.

“Isn’t that exactly what you guys do?”