Page 7 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

seven

Declan

Soren Palmer’s house is quaint… the sort of place you’d expect to see a stay-at-home mom with a husband in banking who takes business trips to cheat on her with his assistant.

The house across the street from it has a ‘for sale’ sign in the lawn, so I back into the driveway and cut the lights, watching as the windows in her home slowly illuminate while she moves from room to room. There’s a small garage on the side of the house, and no car in the driveway.

Maybe I’m dead-on about the husband who takes business trips to cheat on her. Or maybe she’s single… a woman who lives alone in a big, old house.

It’s not the smartest decision I’ve ever heard of.

Crime is on the rise in the city, and it’s been bleeding out into the suburbs of neighboring towns.

Plenty of homes have been broken into this past year, a few of which ended in rape and murder.

The news stations all report on the gruesome murders, dubbing the perpetrator as the Covington Butcher, but it seems no one has any inkling who the killer is.

No, living alone isn’t the brightest idea in a place like this, but it would be convenient for me. I scroll through the screen on my dash that shows me a list of contacts, landing on Collins’ name. It rings for less than ten seconds before his voice fills my car.

“Mr. Evers?”

I ignore the fact that he called me mister .

“I want a little more information about this Palmer person I had you look up earlier. I know it was purchased by a trust, but is there any name on the deed to the house?”

“Let me see.” I hear the scrape of a chair against the ground, quickly followed by clacking on a keyboard. He mutters something to himself, clicks a few things on the mouse, and then clears his throat. “Soren Palmer actually isn’t listed on the deed at all.”

“Oh?” I squint as a figure steps into the kitchen, and a moment later she goes to the sink and fills a glass with tap water. Instead of drinking it, though, she stands there for a moment, staring blankly out the window as I’m sure the water flows over the sides.

I don’t know if she sees my car parked in the driveway of an abandoned home, or if she’s staring into space.

Even if she did notice the car, she wouldn’t be able to see me sitting in it.

The windows are tinted too dark and there’s no light in the house I’m parked in front of to offer her any details about the make or model of my car.

“The name listed on the deed is familiar, though I’m not sure where I’ve heard it.”

“What is it?” I prompt, watching her lift the glass to her lips and take a long sip.

“Vincent D’Anerio?” He pauses, testing the name in the air. “Do you recognize it?”

“D’Anerio?” I suck a breath through my teeth. “Valyria D’Anerio was the sister of Tony Bucci.”

“You think there’s any relation to Vincent?”

“I’d bet money on it.” Especially since Tony came rushing to little Soren’s aid when I ran into her at the bar.

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel while Collins does some more clicking around in the background.

“Oh.” Surprise colors his tone as he draws my attention back to him. “Valyria D’Anerio is dead.”

“Yep.” I offer him nothing else. As smart as he is, Collins is sometimes a certifiable idiot. I guess he missed that I spoke of her in the past tense.

“She had a son, though. There’s your Vincent.” He pauses before tapping out something else on his keyboard. “Shit. He’s dead, too.”

That is news to me.

Valyria wasn’t very old herself when she died, and her death wasn’t what I’d call ‘natural’. I hadn’t known she even had any children.

“How old was he?” I demand. “How did he die?”

“I’m pulling it up right… now.” He makes a small noise of appreciation. “Died at twenty-six. Manner of death… homicide.”

It’s not exactly a surprise. People are killed all the time and given what I know of Tony from fifteen years ago, he’s likely slumming it with lowlife assholes just like him.

I’m sure his nephew was just like him, up to all the same tricks.

Extortion, drug dealing. Who knows what else they may have gotten up to.

“What else can you give me?”

“Hmm.” Collins thinks a minute. “The coroner’s report is locked. That’s… unusual.”

“So, unlock it.” I shrug. “And tell me something. If he’s dead, who’s living in his house? And why?”

“There’s an application in here for a marriage certificate.” He suggests. “But no marriage certificate. The application was filed August last year… he died less than a month later.”

“And I’m guessing his co-applicant on the marriage license was—”

“Soren Palmer,” he says at the same time as me.

That, at least, makes sense. Soren Palmer was engaged to Vincent D’Anerio, which means Tony is kind of like her uncle. Maybe he’s all she has anymore.

“Well, that solves one mystery.”

But it still doesn’t answer what she has against me. It’s been years since I last even thought of Valyria, let alone saw her. And I have never heard of her son or his little girlfriend.

“Give me some time to dig into this autopsy situation and figure out why it’s locked. I’ll get back to you when I have something more concrete.”

I hang up, not bothering with pleasantries, and look up to see that she has moved away from the kitchen. I lean forward, bracing my hands on the steering wheel as I try to locate her in the darkness. But I see no movement inside of the house.

Frustration courses through my veins and I roll my neck to ease the tension.

I’ve spent a lot of time in my car today waiting on Soren Palmer.

If she was engaged to Vincent, who owns the house, then it’s safe to assume she lives alone.

Which means getting out of the car to get closer is a calculated risk…

One I’m willing to take.

For a woman who lives alone, her defenses are shit. Never mind the fact her fiancé was murdered .

All of the curtains on her windows are sheer and open, offering me unhampered views of the inside of her house. It’s just as quaint as the outside suggests, though almost certainly an upgrade from what it was when they bought it.

As I draw up to the front door, I notice that she must have a green thumb.

Either that, or she has a gardener, which is possible, but unlikely.

Her driveway is lined with flowers and solar lights that illuminate a clear path to the front door, which is an almost violent shade of purple.

Just to the left is the window over her kitchen sink, big enough to overlook the entire white picket fenced yard.

From my vantage on the outside, I can see that the kitchen looks to be for show…

not even the glass she drank from sits on the large center island, the countertops gleaming beneath the dim light above it.

I scan the room, looking for any sign of her.

But there’s no movement, so I walk the edge of the house, staying just outside the range of the motion-sensing flood lights.

The next window is dark, but when I skirt a path to press myself against it, it reveals an office.

Nothing about it stands out, so I move to the next window and find a bedside lamp casting a gentle glow in what I can only assume is the primary bedroom.

A king-size bed is neatly made with too many decorative pillows on it and a dresser is tucked against the wall beneath a sizeable TV.

A tall mirror stands in one corner, and the nightstand is empty save for one single book on the side furthest from the door.

Maybe the kitchen wasn’t for show. Maybe the whole house is for show. Or maybe Soren Palmer, a woman who clearly has an eating disorder and control issues, simply likes a tidy house because it’s one more thing that gives her power, however feckless that may be.

There are two doors visible from where I stand.

The first is shut, and based on the position, I’d say it leads out into the rest of the house.

The second door is half open and light spills out from around it, but most of the room is blocked by it.

Soren is nowhere to be seen, so I shift around to the back of the house.

There’s a balcony off the second floor, and underneath it, a patio with bricks laid in a staccato pattern.

The backyard is large, covered in darkness that spills somewhat endlessly.

I don’t see another house behind her, but it’s best to be on the safe side.

I tuck myself against the outer wall of the house, avoiding the light again, and move to the window to get a look at the room from another angle.

It’s a large window with wood blinds— the kind meant to let sunlight into the place. The slats are still open from the day, so that when I look through them everything comes into view.

That’s when I see her, leaning over a bathroom counter as she looks at her reflection in the mirror.

At first it looks like she’s giving herself a pep talk, but then she hangs her head.

Her dark hair is being held back by a clip, but the piece that has escaped falls into her face.

When she looks up, I see her chest heave as she sighs.

And then she drops her robe and stares at herself again, dissatisfaction evident by the ever-so-slight pout of her lips. The mirror runs along the wall opposite the window, so as she appraises her body, I have a delicious, unhampered view of her, full frontal.

As small as Soren is, her tits are both full and perky, and against her pale skin, her dusky pink nipples stand out like they’re just begging for someone to grab them between their teeth.

My cock is already hard, but then she spins to get a look of her profile.

Maybe I’m wrong about my eating disorder assessment.

Maybe she’s just got a fast metabolism or something.

Her ribs peek out ever so lightly underneath her creamy skin, and yet when she turns and offers me a full view of her naked silhouette, I realize for the first time that she has an ass that puts her tits to shame.

Oh, the things that I will do to that ass.

I can’t wait to get my hands on her.

I only grow harder as she shakes her head and then stills, as if something has spooked her. In the mirror, her eyes catch motion as I shift outside, trying to relieve some of the pressure building in me.

I still just as quickly as she did and hold my breath, waiting to see if she turns to investigate. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she shakes her head like that will clear the sensation of being watched and strides closer, her eyes on the bathtub.

It’s a free-standing soaker type—the kind that women always ooh and ahh over when they use my bathroom to clean up. And yet, it’s close enough to the wall that when she goes to step in, she’s close enough that if the wall weren’t between us, I may be able to reach out and touch her.

The thought that she is so close that if she just looked up she would see me, sends another thrill through me. She doesn’t look up though. She steps into the tub and sinks below the water that’s been running, submerging her body up to her neck.

Soren stays that way for a while, allowing me a view of her body under the water while she closes her eyes, seemingly trying to clear her head. And I just watch her, willing myself to commit every detail of her to memory.

She’s fucking temptation itself, and my head is full of thoughts of letting myself into her house, watching her from close up, testing how deep of a sleeper she is. They’re vile thoughts, but I’m suddenly as much beast as man, ravenous for the woman on the other side of the glass.

I’m sure the water has run cold by the time she sits up, her breasts rising out of the water as she leans forward with her head in her hands. Frustration seems to be her entire persona as she leans over the side of the tub and grabs something off the ground.

I expect a glass of wine or her phone, maybe even a book.

I don’t expect the neon pink vibrator that she brandishes, or for her to sink back in the water with her feet on either side of the tub, spreading her legs wide open.

Whatever toy she has must be waterproof, because she dips it under the surface, right between her legs, and then throws her head back to soak in the pleasure, her lips parting so easily.

Her breasts break through the water again, and as she arches her back and tilts her hips, so does her pussy. I can’t see much, the way that she’s covering herself with the vibrator, but I can hear her well enough.

Fuck, she’s loud , gasping and moaning at first. Her sounds are the sweetest aphrodisiac I’ve ever known, and finally I can’t take it anymore.

I slide my zipper down and free my cock from my pants, wrapping my palm around it. I can hear the buzzing from her toy, a constant droning underneath the sounds of her soft cries.

“Yes, fuck .”

Her hips grind the air, seeking the friction of her vibrator, and I wrap my hand more firmly around the length of my shaft, focusing on the way her hips tilt back and forth, teasing herself, edging herself like she doesn’t want it to be over so soon.

I see why a moment later when she finds release, tipping her head back as a little scream works its way out of her throat. But she’s not done yet.

She moves the vibrator off of her for a moment, granting me full access to view her clit, swollen from all of the attention. It’s short-lived, because she goes promptly back for round two.

I’m absolutely throbbing , ready to burst through the glass and just take her now. I’m finding my own release, but it feels hollow, paling in comparison to the thought of burying my cock inside that juicy ass or tasting that sweet pussy.

As she nears her second orgasm, she tilts her head to the side, her exhaustion creeping in despite the pattern her hips are cutting through the air.

I adjust my grip, preparing to shoot my load onto the patio where it will likely get washed away by rain before she ever steps foot out here.

Just as I feel the first rope of cum spurt out of me, she screams.

I brace a hand on the wall, her sound spurring the rest of my release to come on faster, harder. I squeeze my eyes shut to fend off the lightheadedness as I milk myself to completion, my breaths shuddering out of me from the magnitude of that climax.

I’m still trying to gather myself when suddenly her eyes lock on mine, shock forcing her mouth open for a deeper scream.

But it’s too late. Her second release is already upon her, and though she is clearly startled to see someone outside of her bathroom window, she rides it out until her bottom half collapses into the water, too exhausted to move.

By the time she gathers herself out of the water and wraps the robe around her to check on the window, I’m long gone.