Page 16 of Vow of Vengeance (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #2)

fourteen

Soren

Declan called in some favors. I don't know what those favors entailed, and I don't quite care.

I can worry later about how my stalker has enough leverage to get the damn chief of police to come to my best friend's apartment and take her missing person's report on his own.

Weirder still, he's not what I expected, listening to my concerns, jotting down details, assuring us that we'll find her.

None of it makes me feel any better. I'm sick to my stomach the entire time he questions us.

I have to excuse myself at one point, feeling like I'm going to go insane as Declan recounts the entire experience of us searching her apartment, barging into Chik's.

I don't know where I'm going until I wind up in her room again, sinking on top of her made bed and pressing a hand over my mouth to keep the scream inside.

There's no way I can quantify this feeling, no way to make anyone else understand that this isn't normal.

I've been a headcase for the last year, and I wasn't the world's best friend even before.

But Marissa was. She's kept me in one piece through all of the shit, and I can't lose her too. She's the only family I have left.

I find myself turning the TV on to drown out the sound of the officer in the next room, but I don't pay attention to whatever starts playing. I'm too busy staring at my phone, at the long line of calls I made to her, calls she's missed.

I decide to call one more time, a wild hope that maybe she'll answer this time. Instead, it goes straight to voicemail. That's new, and it's not a good thing.

With tears in my eyes, I call Khan. He's quicker to answer this time. "Ren?"

"Marissa's missing." I tell him, choking on the word.

Khan sighs. "Ren. Calm down."

"I can't calm down!" I snap. He's been our friend long enough to know that you never tell a woman to calm down. It only has the opposite effect on me. "I just filed a missing person's report."

"You what ?"

"Filed a missing person's report." I repeat. "I'm here at her apartment. They came here to take the report, they've looked around but there's no sign of her. Her car isn't here, either."

"Shit." Khan says. "So, this is... real?"

"Of course, it's real." I snap again, my patience so worn that it's practically non-existent. "She's never done anything like this, Khan."

"Yeah." He blows out a breath. "You're right. Sorry, Ren. It's just, after the whole thing with Declan Evers..." He hesitates.

"What about him?"

"I've just been questioning your decision-making skills. I'm sorry I came on so strong, but we were worried about you last week."

I'm quiet as I consider his words. Part of me wants to be offended; a part of me that has fallen hard for Declan Evers, the dark millionaire with secrets I haven't even unraveled yet.

But Khan is right. I, too, was worried about my decision making skills when I took the contract that Declan offered.

"I'm sorry, Khan. I know I've been weird lately."

"Lately?" He laughs. "You've always been weird, Ren. But I love you for it, anyway."

I laugh, too. And I cry, swiping away tears from the corners of my eyes. I'm a mess, anxious and depressed, overwhelmed and terrified. My entire world has been turned on its head so many times in the last year and then again in the last month that I don't even know which way is up anymore.

"Want me to come over? We can… I don't know, make posters or something?"

I laugh, already picturing her complaining that whatever picture we choose isn't good enough to plaster around the town. I think through the photos on her socials, mentally trying to decide which one to use. And then it hits me.

"No," I say, standing up quickly. "Thanks. Declan's here with me."

"Declan?" Khan repeats, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah. He was with me when I got the feeling that something was wrong."

"So, what? Are you together now? Or are you just loaning yourself out to him whenever he wants you?"

I don't even have time to consider the question. "It's complicated. I'll message you later."

Khan is trying to say something more when I cut him off, stashing my phone and running out to the living room where Declan's just escorted the chief outside.

He spots me, assures me once more that he'll do everything he can, and then turns to go.

Declan shuts the door and raises an eyebrow, prompting me to spill it.

"You can find her, right? Your software?" I hold my breath, thinking of his ruined laptop. I hope he has access to it on more than just that device.

"Yep. That's our next move. You ready to go?"

"Yes." I don't hesitate, following him out the door. "Where to?"

I'm really praying we don't have to go all the way back to Costa Rica again, either. We'd lose too much time. The first forty-eight hours of a person being missing are the most crucial, if I recall, and we don't even know when she went missing yet.

Declan smirks as he glances at me, awaiting some sort of reaction.

"Home."

Home, it turned out, meant his home.

Luckily, he lives in the city, not far from Marissa's place. The building is massive and shiny, a glittering black facade that stretches high enough I feel a little dizzy trying to take it all in. He doesn't park, just pulls up to the building and hands his keys to a man in a suit.

Valet parking.

Nice touch.

"Let me guess," I say as we head toward the entrance, a revolving door that looks into a richly decorated lobby. "You live all the way at the top."

"Scared of heights?" He teases. I only roll my eyes, because he should know better by now. I handled the plane ride just fine.

"What about elevators?"

"Nope."

"Mr. Evers." The doorman greets him with a kind smile and a curt nod, not even bothering to look at me as he fixes his eyes ahead of him.

It's low on my priority list, so I decide not to focus on it too much.

The reality is that this man is probably used to seeing Declan come home with different women all the time.

I try not to let that fact bother me as he escorts me through the revolving door into a warm lobby.

It's immaculate, every surface gleaming. The sharply dressed women behind the counter look up and smile at us—both of us, this time—and greet him the same as the doorman.

When we get to the elevator, there's actually a man standing there whose job it seems is simply to press the button to call the elevator. It's all opulent, weird.

Declan smirks at the look I give him, and as the doors part for us to get in, the elevator attendee chauffeurs me on.

When the doors shut and we're finally alone, I turn to Declan and let out the laugh I've been holding onto.

"You're really fucking rich, huh?"

He laughs but doesn't try to deny it. "Once you have money, it's easy to make money. That's the secret that they don't want you to know."

"What?" I laugh. "Who doesn't want me to know?"

"You know," he shrugs. " Them ."

I don't know, but I let it go anyway because I'm more focused on watching him press the last button— P. There's Twenty-five buttons before that one, not including the ones for lobby, basement, and pool, so I deduce that we are, indeed, going all the way to the top.

That's confirmed when the doors open on a view of the city that looks like it came from a magazine. I didn't realize how close we were to Lake Michigan, but it glitters under the setting sun, an unobstructed view.

"Make yourself at home, obviously." Declan says, ushering me into the penthouse with a hand on my lower back.

I'm distantly aware of him moving behind me, but I'm too stunned by the view to pay attention to what he's doing.

I walk toward the windows on instinct. Floor-to-ceiling and immaculately clean, it doesn't even look like they're windows.

If I didn't know better, I'd think the whole side of his apartment was open to the outside.

In the distance, I can see the sky wheel and the pier.

My heart squeezes, remembering the first time my mom took me to Navy Pier, before I ever had a sister.

Before I ever lost one. We ate cheeseburgers and shopped and got ice cream before we left, walking along the pier and watching the water roll with the wind.

I'm so lost in the memory I don't recognize the tapping sound coming toward me until something swipes at my legs, trying to take me down. I spin, looking for the source of the attack, and barely get a glimpse at the animal before it jumps at me again, yapping excitedly.

I blink and stoop to pet the little white dog, but before I can, it jumps right into my arms. I catch her on instinct, but get no chance to recover as the dog begins licking my face, covering me with her little pink tongue.

"Damn." Declan chuckles, watching me try to wrestle the tiny dog away from me so that I can breathe a second. "I guess she likes you."

The dog barks playfully and ceases licking me long enough for me to get a look at her as she presses her paws against my chest, staring at me like she's searching my soul.

She's a cute little thing, fluffy and white and much lighter than she looks under all that fur.

Her pink collar glitters with rhinestones, and a pink bow holds a tiny tuft of fur on the top of her small head.

"You have a dog?"

I never would have guessed Declan to be the type for pets.

If anything, maybe a snake in a fish tank.

Not a dog... and certainly not a dog like this.

The little furball looks like the type of thing celebrities used to pop in their purse to carry around like an accessory.

.. not the sole companion of a broody millionaire.

"Yeah," he sighs and I glance around, looking for any signs of another woman. "That's Roxy."

The name sparks a memory, and it doesn't take me long to recall his password.

Roxyblue72.

"Your favorite whore." I say, looking down at the dog who takes that as permission to resume licking me.

"My favorite bitch ." He corrects. "You're my favorite whore, remember?"

I roll my eyes at him, but the insult doesn't feel like one. I'm just grateful there's not another woman I have to compete with.

He drops onto the couch behind me, loosening his tie from his neck and unfastening the top button as he leans forward, making my mouth go dry.

His attention is on the laptop he set up before him as his fingers navigate over the keyboard, rapidly tapping.

I go to stand behind him and Roxy jumps from my hands, jumping on his lap instead.

I expect him to push her aside, to tell her to calm, to demand she sit. Instead, he puckers his lips, letting her give him kisses too.

It's so fucking absurd that I want to laugh, but I hold it in, watching in disbelief as he coos at the little dog like she's the cutest thing he's ever seen. And to be fair, she is pretty damn cute.

"I know," he says, his voice gentle. "I missed you too, Rox."

"Should I be jealous?" I tease.

Declan laughs and turns to me, seizing my chin and demanding my full attention as the dog settles next to his lap.

"You should never be jealous for my affections, little bird. I don't long for anything other than to worship at the altar between your legs for the rest of my days."

I gasp, trying to sound properly offended by that. But I can't deny the clench deep inside of me, or the way my ovaries have been fawning over him rapid-fire.

"I'm more than my pussy." I mumble. But there's no heat in it.

"Of course you are." He laughs. "You're also a tight ass, a great pair of tits, and a hot mouth."

I roll my eyes.

The truth is, we both know he can have anyone he wants. He's never let onto why he wants me . Because I didn't want him? Because he wanted to see if he could make me give up my hatred for him?

"I'm serious, actually." I sigh, gathering the courage to meet his gaze. "We both know you can stick your dick in just about anything, and you have."

"Well, that's rude." He laughs despite the words, clearly not bothered.

"I just mean, you can have your pick of anybody. Why me?"

He looks confused by the question. "Why not you?"

I can think of a dozen reasons just off the top of my head, but I keep them all to myself.

"Because we don't make sense, Declan." I laugh. "The millionaire playboy and the widowed journalist who death stalks?"

He shakes his head, muttering to himself, and then stands, pulling me around the couch toward him.

"I don't want to make sense." He says, stroking my cheek with a thumb. "I want to make babies."

His words are an echo of a conversation we had in Costa Rica, before he betrayed me by punishing me for loving someone before him… before he turned my world on its head. He didn’t bring up my lack of birth control again and I’ve been a little too distracted to worry about it.

"Declan." I laugh, turning to walk away. He's being ridiculous, pedantic.

I try to deny the clenching as I feel myself growing wet. My cervix is all but rolling out the red carpet for him. It's embarrassing, and I have to wonder if he just knows that this is the thing I want most in the world. I wonder if he knew it all along, if it's part of his long con.

"You're crazy."

"You make me this way." He growls, gripping the back of my neck and tugging my hair just hard enough to force me to look up at him.

I can't escape his probing gaze this way.

"I've never wanted anything the way I want you, the way I want you to bear my children.

I don't know why you insist on making me come up with a reason why.

Why do you love coffee or the color blue?

Why do you drip for me even when your brain is telling you that I'm wrong for you? "

I open my mouth, trying to come up with a response to any of it.

He doesn't give me a chance, crashing his mouth upon mine. The collision is violent and perfect, and everything I need. I breathe out the doubt, the insecurities that have me questioning why, and breathe in his need.