Page 33 of Vow of Vengeance (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #2)

twenty-seven

Soren

Violet is wildly entertaining. And an exceptional chef.

"Listen," I tell her, leaning back in my chair.

I feel just the faintest bit nauseous from how much I just ate, and yet, I'm so comfortable I think I could fall asleep here at the table.

"There are plenty of rooms here. You can go pick one, two, three.

Just stay here and be my chef because that was undoubtedly the best thing I've ever tasted. "

Violet laughs loudly, unashamed of the way her voice bounces around the apartment. "I'll cook for you anytime. Wes gets sick of all the mess. He does dishes for me, his little contribution, and I do a lot of cooking for my sister and her kids... whether she likes it or not."

"Why wouldn't she like it?" I venture, wondering if that's too personal a thing to ask. I mean, how could anyone not appreciate her cooking? If everything else she makes is half as delectable as her lasagna, then I'd probably double my weight by the end of the year with her cooking meals for me.

Maybe that's the problem.

"Her housekeeper gets a little jealous." Violet laughs, her lips twisting as she tries and fails to contain her smirk.

"Because your food is better?"

"Because she feels useless if I take on the cooking." Violet laughs. "I don't know why. Trust me, her hands are full cleaning up messes and wrangling children all day."

"You have a lot of nieces and nephews?"

"Yeah," Violet snorts. "You could say that." When she senses me questioning it, she shrugs. "Thirteen."

" Thirteen ?" I nearly choke on the word, or the air, or the strange bit of resentment that just sprung up inside of me for a stranger I don't even know. "Surely, they're not all your sister's kids? Do you have other siblings?"

"No." Violet laughs. "Just Claire and her little rugby team. But the way her husband can't keep his hands off of her, they'll have a hockey team by the end of her twenties."

I stare at her, gob smacked.

That ridiculous jealousy rears its head again as I remember how hard I had to try to conceive with Vin, how hard I worked just to lose it in the end.

It's pathetic to be bothered by someone else's life when it doesn't have any bearing on mine.

And yet, I can't help consider the harshness of how cruel life can be.

Maybe the reason I had to work so hard to conceive the first time was because I wasn't meant to. Maybe it was fate's way of protecting me from the way everything was going to shake out, from the loss and the inevitable revelation that my child's father was a fucking monster.

"Sorry." Violet says suddenly. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm just... jealous, I suppose." She bites her lip, and I blink, wondering what she's jealous of. "I can't have kids."

"Oh." I suddenly feel extra stupid for my short-lived jealousy. "Have you been trying long?"

Something about my question makes her laugh. "Yeah." She nods. "You could say that."

Violet doesn't look terribly old... barely older than me. Everyone always tried to calm my disappointments by reminding me I was young, that there was plenty of time to try. It was Vin's favorite excuse.

But I don't feel like most people my age have tried too hard to have children.

I was desperate for a companion, a reason to live.

In hindsight, my motivations were wrong.

I know that now. And while I will grieve for the life that was lost for the rest of my time on this Earth, maybe there's a reason I didn't have a child sooner.

"I understand." I sigh. "I tried for a while with my ex.

" I'm not sure why I'm telling her this, other than the fact that I like her.

Maybe it's because I've been so isolated for so long, missing Marissa, and I need to talk, to feel some sort of connection to someone other than Declan.

"I was obsessive with ovulation strips and timing intimacy. " I shake my head.

"I don't have a uterus." Violet says it so coolly that I stare at her, wondering if I misunderstood what I think I heard. She cringes, takes a gulp of her wine, and shakes her own head now, too. "I am so sorry. That was an overshare that no one asked for."

I can see her embarrassment on the apples of her cheeks. Something tells me not a lot of things embarrass her, and that shouldn't be one of them.

"Don't apologize." I tell her earnestly. "Never apologize for that."

She tips her head a little, and I watch her think through something before she glances back up at me. "It's not rude to ask." She says finally. "I know you're thinking it."

I open my mouth, but I don't know what the hell to say in response to that.

"It feels pretty fucking rude." I laugh. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be nosy, I just..."

"That's human nature." She laughs, too, dragging her nails slowly over her lips as she thinks. "I volunteered a random piece of information, of course you're curious about it." She sighs. "I... had a hysterectomy."

"I'm so sorry." I tell her, because that sounds painful and horrible.

My research when I was trying to conceive led me down a few frightening alleys, including ectopic pregnancies and ruptured tubes and partial versus total hysterectomies.

I also know some people elect to do them, when their period pain is too great and their uterus causes nothing but issues.

That's one thing I have going for me, and maybe why conception was so hard to begin with.

My periods have never been heavy... or regular.

"Well, it's not your fault." She shrugs. "It's fine. The damn thing was useless anyway."

I laugh, just enough that she relaxes in the chair across from me.

I study her face, deciding that while it may not have been rude to ask why she doesn't have a uterus, it absolutely is rude to ask about what happened to her face.

Violet smirks. "Why so serious?"

I stare at her in horror, not even bothering to hide it as my brain connects her scars with the first movie I watched with Vin, the villain with his face paint to cover his scars... scars that were never explained.

"I'm sorry." Violet chuckles. "I couldn't resist. But your face..." She presses a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her laughter.

I don't know why, but it's infectious. I laugh too, because even though we're talking about her scars, she's making fun of my face. And for good reason. I probably look white as a sheet.

She doubles over in her amusement, and I laugh so hard I can feel the lasagna I ate way too much of threatening to come back up. I don't even know if anything about it is objectively funny, or if it's just the way we're feeding off of each other, but I can't stop laughing.

Tears are slipping from the corners of my eyes by the time there's a knock on the door, and Violet recovers first, her laughter slowly subsiding as she goes to the door.

I watch her look out the peephole, and then she turns to waggle her eyebrows at me. "There's a package for you."

"A package?" I ask, standing slowly as I try to shake off the last of my humor. I haven't ordered anything, but I suppose Declan could have.

She shrugs, opening the door enough that she can take a step out onto the porch to grab the parcel on the ground.

The figure that rushes at her moves so fast I don't even see him until he slams into her, throwing her body to the ground. Her head knocks hard against the floor, and the attacker grips her jaw, searching her face for something. He doesn't find it though.

I'm turning to grab the gun that Declan left for me, but it's too far. The man looks up, noticing me, and gets to his feet.

He's upon me quick, his weight pinning me to the floor as I struggle to get out from beneath him.

It's useless, and terrifying, and everything in me reels in horror as a strange feeling like Deja vu pulls at me.

Panic claws me from the inside out, and I do my best to slip out from him, but a hand grips the back of my neck and knocks my head into the ground... hard enough to make the world blur in an instant.

Everything in me goes weightless, like I'm floating in water.

"There's my fucking wife."

Declan

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bad turned to worse turned to a fucking nightmare.

I am not equipped to deal with this.

"Shh!" I tell her, my hands up to show her I'm not a threat. I reach for the cloth tied around her mouth, but there's not enough slack to yank it free, so I grab the knife, still wet with Khan's blood. "It's okay." I tell her. "I'm going to cut this off you, okay?"

She closes her eyes and sobs as I slide the blade beneath the fabric and pull, letting it shred against the sharp edge. As soon as the fabric is free, her sobs fill the small basement.

"Help me." She sobs. "Please."

We found Marissa.

"Shh." I soothe. "It's okay. We're going to get you out of here. Just take deep breaths."

She shakes her head and then dissolves into more sobs.

"Can you find her some clothes?" I ask Wes, trying to keep my voice calm. "Or a fucking blanket. A towel. Anything."

Wes heaves a sigh like he's inconvenienced by the woman we just found naked and tied down in Khan's basement. I suppose I did only ask him for his help getting away with murder. I didn't expect that it would turn into a recovery mission.

It’s been months of searching for her, writing and rewriting code to try and make her searchable for the shot of pulling a partial view of her face. And all this time, she was in her best friend's basement.

Fucking hell.

I want to kill Khan all over again.

I don't appraise her too closely, afraid of what I'll see if I do, and cut the straps that have her secured to the filthy table beneath her.

Her entire body trembles as I free the last strap, and she sits up fast, wrapping her arms around herself.

Wes wraps a blanket around the front of her and turns to me, bewildered.