Page 1 of Vow of Vengeance (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #2)

one

Soren

I eye him warily as I step out of the shower wrapped in a fluffy white towel.

The irony isn't lost on me, but I watched as Declan opened the closet door and pulled them out from the stack of white linens.

I guess Declan was on to something when he said that most people use white towels.

.. or maybe just most people who have a need to bleach them. People like killers and criminals.

I stand in the warmth of the bathroom, not sure what to expect as Declan stands between me and the door, shaking water from his dark hair.

Is he going to lunge at me? Take me down and drag me back to the bed so that he can.

.. what? Pry more orgasms out of my tired body?

Make me piss myself again in the name of giving up control?

Declan laughs, and his abs ripple with the beads of water still glistening to him, making him look like a Calvin Klein model.

The towel wrapped low around his waist draws my eye to the V between his hips, and I have to make a conscious decision to look away as he smirks, realizing he's got me intrigued.

But of course, I'm intrigued by him. He's gorgeous, wealthy, powerful.

I dug into him and thought that I knew who he was, what kind of atrocities he was capable of.

I believed he killed my husband, that he made me lose my baby and then threw me in the tub, leaving me for dead.

I don't believe that anymore, and I can't even explain to myself the reason I don't. If anything, his tying me to the bed should have proven that he is, in fact, capable of awful things.

The problem is, my scale for awful is fucked now.

My husband was cheating on me. Copiously, by the looks of what I saw when I glanced at Declan's laptop.

When I saw the photos, a voice inside my head screamed that it was a trick, that they were doctored, falsified so that this man who has inserted himself in my life can taint my memories of life before him.

But he doesn't have to taint them, because they weren't as pristine as I've led myself to believe they were.

It makes sense, in retrospect. There were late nights with no explanations about where he was and times when he came home and wanted nothing to do with me, as if I repulsed him.

Times where we tried, but he couldn't get it up for me.

Times where I cried myself to sleep because he'd been gone the whole weekend and in the two hours that he was home, I couldn't get any sort of connection with him—physical or otherwise— before he'd leave again.

When we finally agreed to start trying for a baby, he'd been so hesitant.

Was it because he already had one foot out the door, and a baby would complicate things?

Was it because he was sleeping with so many other women that he had knocked one of them up?

Was it because he wanted to be done with me and a baby would tie us together permanently?

"Where did you find those photos?" I blurt it out before I've even considered whether to ask it or not. It's too late by the time Declan turns to me, slowly. He looks like a predator when his eyes lock on me, cold and hard. "The ones of Vin..."

"I know what you meant." He seems suddenly stiffer as he turns, tossing his towel on the glossy bathroom counter and striding away, leaving me with a view of his ass.

And it's a nice ass, tight and muscular like the rest of him.

My mouth goes dry as I tell myself to give it a minute before following him.

He's already slipping into a pair of boxers by the time I get to the room, a disappointment I'm surprised to feel.

I don't know if he plans to answer me or if he's just decided to ignore me, so I move around the side of him, arms crossed over the towel. It feels awfully flimsy to be the only thing between the two of us, which is silly considering that he had me naked and spread open for him.

The tension is weird, though. There's something between us that I can't quantify, something that defies logic. He stalked me. He coerced me into working for him. He forced me to come for him multiple times already. And yet, he hasn't tried to fuck me.

I don't dare tell him that some sadistic part of me is disappointed by that.

I don't dare let on that I want him to take that from me, that I want him to make this decision for both of us, the way he's made every other one.

I don't know if he's entertaining some sort of delusions about being a gentleman or if he really doesn't want me like that. I don't dare ask him.

He steps into a pair of gym shorts, which look both out of place on him after seeing him in his suit for a week and also still somehow sexy. This fucking man would look good in tartan golf pants, and here he is... with me. And here I am, thinking about my husband.

I swallow the strange stirrings of guilt percolating in my stomach, not sure what exactly prompted them— betraying Declan by thinking of my husband? Or betraying my husband by thinking of Declan?

"It's just..." I sigh, raking a hand through my wet hair. It's disheveled, like me. A complete fucking mess. "I'm wondering if..."

He doesn't say anything as he looks at me, letting me have enough rope to hang myself. I wonder if he's sadistic enough that he'd like that.

The tears won't be denied, but I don't let them fall. Instead, I close my eyes, looking for the courage to give a voice to the wild thought in my head.

"I wonder if he messed with the wrong person? If what happened to us was some sort of... revenge."

He only responds with silence, so I force my eyes open to see if he's even still there. Declan looks intrigued by the suggestion, one eyebrow quirked just a little bit to make him appear pensive. My stomach tightens, something stirring deep inside me.

"That's an interesting thought."

My heartbeat falters, waiting for him to say something more. But he's quiet as he watches me, like he's tossed the ball back into my court and is waiting for me to go on. So, I do.

"I mean, he slept around with other women. Maybe married women? What if he slept with the wrong man's wife? People kill for two things: love and money. We didn't have any of the latter. Not enough to kill for."

Declan nods, seeming to agree with my sentiment. "There's a third reason people kill, though."

Because they're insane. Because they like to hold another's life in their hands, and they get off on the power of playing God.

I shake my head. "I don't think it was a random attack by some serial killer. It was... personal."

"Exactly." Declan agrees easily. "It was personal. Almost like... revenge?"

I stare at him a moment before I roll my eyes. "That's basically what I said. If some guy found out my husband was fucking his wife behind his back, maybe he snapped? We should figure out who all he cheated on me with so that I can figure out who's responsible for this."

"Is that what you really want?" His eyes rove my face, looking for something he doesn't bother giving a voice to. "You want to know the truth about what happened?"

"Obviously." I snort.

"Why?"

" Why ?" I laugh. I’d think that answer would be obvious.

Declan shrugs. "Why do you want to know what happened? It won't change the outcome."

I hate the betrayal his words spur inside of me, the disappointment that unfurls through me at the indifferent tone of his voice. The tears are back to pushing at my lids; I feel one slip down my cheek.

"I lost everything ."

"You didn't." Declan argues. "You lost a cheating husband. No loss there."

He doesn't say anything more, doesn't mention the thing that I know he knows. The thing that he so boldly threw in my face. The thing that I've never said out loud, as if doing so would solidify what was already set in stone.

"I lost my baby ." Even my own voice betrays me, breaking over the little word and leaving space for a sob to burst through me. "My baby, Declan."

My heart hurts, a heavy useless thing that seems like it would be enough to sink me to the bottom of the ocean right now. I turn to go because I'm not going to be able to make this man understand my pain. And if he can't understand it, he doesn't deserve to share this agony.

His hand closes on my wrist as soon as I've turned, and he uses the leverage to spin me back to face him, pulling me in close. His broad chest is pressed against me, his dark eyes hungry as he looks down at me and with the hand that he used to stop me, he tips my chin up to make me look at him.

"What do you want, Soren? Be very intentional with your answer.

If you want to move on with your life and heal, tell me that.

If you want to find out the truth about that night, tell me that.

But you can't have it all, so you have to make a choice.

Protect your peace, or go down a road you won't be able to turn back from? "

I stare at him, the earnestness in his eyes and the set of his soft lips.

I don't know what he means, or what he means to do based upon my choice.

But the fact that he's giving me a choice after telling me I need to learn to let go of my need to control, means more than I can even begin to contend with.

I think carefully about what I want— or rather, I think carefully about how to say what I want.

I know what I've wanted for the past year; it's never changed.

"I want justice for that life."

“Vengeance.” He agrees with a nod, like he expected that answer. “Then you will have it.”