Page 66 of Promise of Destruction
Declan Evers, holding two cups of coffee and looking sexy as sin in a button up that he didn’t bother to button all the way, his sleeves rolled to expose his muscular lower arms. The fact that he looks so hot when I feel like hell adds a layer of anger to my humiliation at the disjointed memory of begging him to fuck me.
I feel like I need to throw up.
“I didn’t realize the devil made house calls.” I snap.
His lips lift into that effortlessly gorgeous smirk. “I don’t, but he does.”
A tip of his head behind him and I open the door more to reveal a middle-aged man behind him, what’s left of his graying hair swept away from a decidedly kind face.
“Miss Palmer,” The man sticks his hand out for me to shake, a genuine smile shaping his mouth. “I’m Dr. Kent.”
Doctor?
I suck in a breath, turning my glare on Declan and sticking my foot between the doorjamb, just in case I need to bar him from trying to do the same. “What is this?”
He knows how I feel about doctors. He figured that out when he forced me to go to the fucking gynecologist for a full physical. That had been a different doctor, which makes me wonder if something’s wrong.
“Coffee.” He shrugs. “And an IV for the hangover.”
I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but the sharp pinch in my temple reminds me not to be stupid. Coffee isexactlywhat I need, and the idea of not having to drag myself to the kitchen and make it is heavenly.
“I don’t need an IV.”
“Scared of needles?” He taunts.
Declan is holding my coffee hostage, and I know I won’t be getting it until I suck it up and let him in. So, I draw in a breath and step aside, pushing the door open wider to offer him unrestricted entry. The doctor files in behind him and shuts my door.
“I’m not afraid of a little prick.” I tell him seriously, letting the edge in my voice bleed the insult into the air. “Or a giant one.”
“Well,” Dr. Kent laughs. “No giant prick needed. I’m just going to get you setup on an IV to rehydrate and replenish electrolytes and make sure you’re fit for travel.”
Travel?
I don’t know if that’s supposed to have a double meaning. I turn my head sharply to Declan and nearly cry at the lashing it causes in my skull.
“Work trip,” he shrugs, producing a frying pan from the cabinet next to the fridge and setting it on the oven like he’s going to make use of it.
“I don’t have anything worth cooking.” I tell him, annoyed. “And what do you mean‘work trip’?”
“Your groceries should be here any minute.” Declan says. “And I mean just what I said. Your presence is required on a trip forwork reasons. As much as I respect the good doctor, I’m not at liberty to say more right now.”
I open my mouth but don’t find any words. Maybe they’ll come once the crashing symphony in my head is evicted. I think I’ll let that doctor stay after all.
When I turn to him warily, Dr. Kent chuckles. “I’m legitimate, Miss Palmer. I’ve known Declan since he was a child and even though he may think himself some part of a shadow society these days, I am still very much just a small-town doctor. I promise you’re in good hands.”
The sentiment appears genuine, but I’m honestly so exhausted I don’t care. If he’s here to drug me again, at least I’ll have some kind of reprieve from this infernal headache.
Sensing I’m not about to object, Dr. Kent smiles. “You’ll want to sit somewhere comfortable. A couch or recliner?”
I gesture for him to follow me to the living room, and he grabs a bag I hadn’t paid any mind to before trailing me. When I flop down on the couch I expect to see Declan hovering, but he’s still in the kitchen. I can’t see him from my angle, but I hear cabinets opening and closing so I press my lips together and try to act unbothered.
Dr. Kent seems to have a Mary Poppins bag for his supplies; He sets about grabbing things out of it and lining them up on the coffee table. “Is it okay if I grab my phone before we start?”
“Of course.” The elder gentleman waves me off, but I don’t make it far before Declan stops me, his large body barring my path.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, irritation surging as the absurdity of the situation washes over me.
Twenty-four hours ago, I hated this man. I still do, though my reasons for that have shifted. He may not have killed Vin—that’s a truth that I can accept because I feel it—but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. His obsession with making my life miserableproves that, not to mention all that I learned about him while I was preparing to take him down in a blaze of glory. That blaze ended up being more of a dying cough, but the fact that all of my concerns were so easily brushed aside by authorities tells me he's even more dangerous than I originally presumed. And yet, I signed a contract to work for him. I let him into my home, not once but twice. Three times, now.
