Page 11 of Vow of Vengeance
"Of course not." Marissa chides, sounding offended for me. "They're gone, Ren. But you're not. Don't stop living because you think they'd want you to suffer forever."
I nod, recognizing the truth in her words. They're rational, logical— not the type of answer I usually get from Marissa, but it's unshakably reasonable.
Vin loved me. He wouldn't want me to suffer, right? Surely, it's better for me to move on, to love again or at least give myself permission to try.
"A week ago, you were convinced that he killed your husband," Khan argues. "In which case, yes, it's a very big betrayal."
"It wasn't him," I say, spearing some cold pasta on my fork and taking an idle bite. The flavor is mild but pleasant, and I take another bite, suddenly realizing I'm famished.
"What makes you so sure?"
This part, I don't know how to explain... not without telling them the truth about what happened that night. I've kept some details to myself, left some pain for me to suffer alone.
At the time it had seemed like the right thing to do. I was in shock, too concerned with the accusations and questions directed at making me look like a suspect rather than considering myself a victim. By the time I realized reportingit would prove that someone else had been there, all evidence would have been washed away anyway. I never told them that I was sure something more than a murder attempt had happened… that the attack that caused me to lose my baby wasn’t just physically violent, but sexually as well.
Somebody broke into my home, killed my husband, and raped me. I’ve never said the last part out loud, and I probably never will. It’s too painful.
To that end, I can't tell them that now that I've been with Declan, I know for a fact it wasn't him. I was fairly certain the first night he spent at my home, watching me sleep and cleaning my messes, but having felt him inside of me now, I'm confident.
"I just know." I shove another bite of pasta into my mouth, giving myself more time to think before I can rattle off anything more.
"Know what?" The voice doesn't come from the phone; it comes from behind me.
I whip around to find Declan standing in the door, one muscular arm braced against the frame as he stands there, stark naked.
"I— " I open my mouth and close it, surely looking like a fish before I manage a smile. "Nothing." I lift the phone in my hand, feeling oddly guilty, and tell Khan and Marissa I'll talk to them later.
Khan warns me to be careful while Marissa makes a joke about having fun with dick.
I'm sure that Declan can feel the heat rolling off of me as he draws closer, taking the phone from my hand. His long fingers close around the device, sweeping it into his palm without ever taking his eyes off of me.
"What do you know, Soren Palmer?"
In this moment? Nothing. My head empties of all thought as his thumb brushes against my hand, and I stare at the point of contact.
"I trust you." I tell him truthfully. It's not a lie, not the entire truth.
"Really?" He laughs. "Brave little bird. Some might even say foolish."
"So let them." I breathe, glancing up at him to see if he's on the same page.
His mouth crashes upon mine before I can say anything more, a hand tangling against my scalp to trap me against him.
I guess that answers that question.
seven
Declan
Havingsufferedinsomniaforyears, I've learned to make good use of my time so that I don't have to find myself lying in bed staring at a ceiling fan while the thoughts in my head run circles in time with the blades. And yet, tonight, that's exactly what I'm doing. I slept too long earlier, having crashed so completely with her in my arms. But now, though I'm satiated and exhausted and wish more than anything that I could shut it all out, attempting to sleep is useless.
I'm jealous of her, deep in the throes of sleep, looking so damn innocent... so unbothered. It's a peace I wish I could bestow upon her in her waking moments, too. I'm willing to fight her demons, but I don't know if that will be enough. I can't unwrite her past, and I wouldn't. Despite how pissed I was about the attempt she made to slander me, I wouldn't dare change anything about who she is, because who she is, is utter perfection.
I don't dare move to go make better use of my time, not wanting to take the chance of disturbing her. We worked up an appetite earlier today, and I was pleased to see her eatingwithout me asking her to. I hope, though, when she wakes, she's ready to work up another appetite. Because no matter how many times I've drained my balls into her tight little cunt, it's not enough. I failed to get her out of my system. She's a drug, and I need another fix.
I've been debating on waking her for the last hour but ultimately decided that I owed it to her to let her get some rest. I certainly haven't given her much of a reprieve lately between the jet lag and the constant orgasms— not that she's complaining about that part.
I've been studying her face in the time since; it's far more favorable than the wood planks on the ceiling. I already counted those when she screamed herself unconscious the other day tied to the bed. Now, I've taken to counting her breaths, clocking each steady rise of her chest. When she laughs, I almost think she's awake, that she's caught me watching her. I realize she's lost in a dream when I push to my elbow to get a better look at her, soft pink lips lifted in a demure smile.
