Page 31 of Vow of Vengeance (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #2)

twenty-six

Declan

We’re silent as we leave the building, not wanting any of our conversation to be overheard. Wes waves off the valet who straightens in surprise when he sees me and leads me toward his car.

“Drop your phone.” He instructs, slipping his into a planter near the row of guest parking. I eye him warily but slip mine into the soil all the same. A quick glance around shows us no one’s around to have noticed.

"I wasn't expecting you to show up at my house." I tell Wes as I sink into the passenger side of his car.

Speaking of expectations, this car isn't what I'd think a man like Wes would have. It's a black crossover, the most stereotypical car in the suburbs. Has having a wife domesticated him so much that he drives a soccer van?

"Well, I'm not going to let you commit murder alone.

" He shrugs, leaning forward to flick the radio on.

I notice the list of names to choose from on the Bluetooth menu, and suddenly the car makes sense.

It's a rental. "Although, having met your wife to be, I can assure you, if you do end up in prison for this, Violet and I would be very happy to take care of her. "

“Fuck off.” I grunt, because I know exactly what he's offering.

And it may be a genuine offer, in part. But the thought of anyone other than me touching Soren?

The thought of her getting pleasure from anything that's not me?

It's inconceivable. And imagining her wrapped up in his sinister dealings? That's the worst part of it all.

"So, you don't share anymore, huh?" He chuckles. "You make a little bit of money and suddenly you're too good to share with one of your oldest friends."

"I still hate you, in case you've forgotten." I shrug. "Even if I was willing to share a woman, it wouldn't be with you."

"Yeah, yeah," Wes waves his hand flippantly. "You're mad I set you up, you'll never forgive me for making you a millionaire." He rolls his eyes. "Where are we going by the way?"

I don’t trust the car’s GPS, so we have to rely on my memory to guide us.

"Take a left on Cadence and then go straight for fifteen miles."

Wes drives in relative silence for all of two minutes before turning to me. "How is your mom, by the way? Still in remission?"

I swallow, but it feels like choking on glass.

"Never made it to remission to begin with.

" I laugh, not because it's funny, but because Wes knew how hopeful I was that she'd make a recovery.

Of course, that was before I realized the extent of how bad it was.

"She kept it from me too long. By the time I had the money, it was too late.

All the money in the world couldn't have helped at that point. "

I was in denial, of course. I exhausted a lot of resources trying to fight what everyone was telling us, that it was time to lay down the battle axe and enjoy what we had left.

"Fuck." Wes mutters, shaking his head sadly. "I'm sorry, man."

"Mm." I grunt, not ready to accept that surrender. "What about you? You're married, so I'm guessing life is grand, just like you always knew it would be."

Wes laughs harshly, his tongue flicking out over his lips. "It's different than I thought it would be, that's for sure."

"Your wife... she knows what you do for a living?"

"What I did ." Wes corrects. "I'm no longer affiliated with my father."

That's a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. Wes' father is without a doubt the vilest man I've ever met. I'm considering asking him about their meet-cute but think better of it. It wasn’t lost on me, the day I went to help find Rhea, when I saw the other girl… the one whose face has haunted me. Claire Boudreaux, the results had come back. Except, it wasn’t her. Remington had confirmed as much when he said his wife was safe at home, and that’s when I’d realized Claire had a very identical looking sister.

Seeing her outside my door today, with Wes no less, was a shock. I’m dying to hear the story of how he sold a woman into sex trafficking and then ended up marrying her sister, but now isn’t the time for that.

Violet is beautiful, but her scars tell me a story that isn't mine to know.

After my mother died and all that was left was rage, I had someone dig into Wes' father, the organization he was running in the shadows.

I wasn't prepared for the information I gleaned there, and a lot of it I've tried to force out of my head in every possible way.

But some things were too cruel to pretend I didn't know of, too horrible to pretend they weren't real.

The truth is, I’m not even sure it matters. I can forgive Wes for almost anything if he helps me avenge my girl. I’m not sure what that says about me, but I don’t really care. Because I choose Soren above everything else. I choose my wife. The mother of my child. My fucking purpose.

"And to answer your question, she knows. We've worked through our bullshit."

I'm not sure how they'd manage to do that, but I guess it's not for me to understand. I’m sure some people wouldn’t be capable of understanding how Soren and I worked through our bullshit, either. And I couldn’t care less about a single one of them.

"This guy we're gonna merk..." Wes says, glancing at me. "He deserves it, right?"

I clench my jaw at the reminder of what Khan did, the thought of him looking at Soren every day since and pretending like he's never done anything wrong where she's concerned. Does he get off on the fact that she has no idea? She still trusts him, believes in him, loves him.

Rage floods my veins.

"He deserves worse than whatever we're going to do." I promise him.

That seems to be a good enough answer for Wes, because he nods and launches into his explanation for how this is going to go down.

Nothing elaborate, no ridiculous ruse. Just us in a couple of balaclavas, brute force, a couple of knives and gloves, and a silencer for the gun.

I don't intend to torture the sick fuck, but I also don't plan to let him die peacefully.

He won't slip quietly into eternal sleep.

No, he'll be ripped from this world screaming against the duct tape I'm going to wrap around his whole fucking face.

What I appreciate about Wes is that he doesn't know who our target is. All he knows is that I'm telling him I want Khan gone, and that's enough. He's not making me go to elaborate lengths to scope out his place, to establish an alibi and make exhaustive plans to do this.

Maybe it would be better if we had, but honestly, the closer we get to his home, the less I care if we do get caught.

I'm alight with anger I've had to keep on a leash from the moment I found out, anger I had to contain because I can't let Soren see it unless I want to explain it to her.

And I'm sure as fuck not going to do that.

I don't care if it's wrong or unethical.

There's zero chance that it will do anything to help her move forward with her life, which means as far as she's concerned, it's irrelevant.

But not to me.

I'm ready to throw the car door open and storm the porch as soon as Wes gets the car in park, but I restrain myself just long enough to assure myself he doesn't have a doorbell camera. The neighbors might, which is why we put the balaclavas over our faces.

But I told Wes I want him to know it was me who kills him, and I mean it. It's why I lower my hood when we get to the porch.

I ignore the bell in favor of beating on the front door, because fuck it feels good to get out some of the rage that’s been quietly building by the minute. It’s just enough so that when I see him, I won't put the knife in my hand to his throat and decapitate him right off the bat.

"You're gonna catch the attention of the neighbors." Wes warns calmly, like he could care less if I do or not.

"Too fucking bad." I snap, earning a chuckle from my accomplice.

It takes a few minutes, but I hear him yell, hear him muttering a string of irritated profanity, and then hear the lock scrape as he pulls it back. I brace myself, readying for the moment he opens the door.

I don’t even give him a chance to ask what we want before I slam into the door with all of my strength. It flies back and so does he.

I get a quick grip on the back of his neck and raise the knife to his throat, yanking his head back so that I can see the knife glisten under the light.

"What the fuck?" He asks, his voice shrill as he raises his hands like he's showing me he won't fight me.

Wes shuts the door behind us, and it takes everything in me not to drag the blade across his windpipe.

The only thing that stops me is that I want him to know.

I want him to know that I know , to die with the knowledge that he's being ripped from the earth for being a fucking rapist. That he’s going to die because of what he did to the woman I love.

When I tear the mask off my face, his eyes widen and his jaw falls open, preparing to spew excuses to try and get him out of this mess.

"You don't fucking talk unless I tell you to." I growl, cutting off all of the words his tongue trips over. "I mean it. Not a fucking sound. Understood?"

His wide eyes traipse from me to Wes, clearly trying to figure out what’s going on. "Yeah, I-"

" Understood ?"

Khan's brows furrow in confusion, and his gaze darts to Wes again, who smirks as he pulls the balaclava off his head and tucks it in his waistband.

"You should listen to him." He warns.

Understanding finally seems to take hold, because Khan nods slowly.

"You're a sick fucking bastard, you know that?"

"I-"

I grit my teeth and rear back, sinking my knuckles into the side of his face.

Blood flies from his mouth as his head whips to the side, and with my touch no longer holding him up, he crumbles to the floor.

"You forgot you're supposed to keep your mouth shut already?" I laugh. "I don't want to hear your excuses."