Page 75 of Vow of Revenge
When I’m with her, she becomes the very thing that helps me to feel less damaged.
I cared about her body, mind and soul – without falter, without a hint of revenge.
Life is too short. Syrah will always be a constant reminder of that for all of us. Yet some things in life are worth the risk.
But I know what happens when love collides with hate.
“I was warned to stay away from her, Brett.”
His laugh was a strangled sob. “And when the fuck has Kaleb De Courcy ever listened to anyone. Fuck my father for telling you to walk away from her. Fuck the whole goddamn world.” The laugh turned to muted weeping and his shoulders shook. “You know I love you like a brother. Just promise me that you’ll open up to the possibility of something more with Freya. You’re a good guy deep down in that bastard soul of yours. You’re my daughter’s whole entire world, Kaleb, and I know how you feel about her too. I can’t stand the thought of you missing out on love and happiness, or even having your own family one day.”
I made that promise to him wrapped in a tight embrace, holding him as he wept for Syrah and quite possibly for me. He was too drunk to even hold himself up, so I took his weight and let him know he was loved. If I could love him – then maybe I could love Freya.
Even though I was told to stay away from her, I was prepared to face the consequences.
I would fight to be with Freya Beaumont.
But now I knew that fate and hate would never be forever.
Accepting her back into my life was easy.
Losing her would be the hardest thing of all.
“You’re a vindictive bitch, Ana Harte.”
“Please, Damien, I just want to leave. My daughter needs me. Surely you understand how I feel. You can see Kaleb whenever you want. I barely get to see my child.”
“You conspired against me, with him. He was going to take you away from me, the bastard. How dare you disrespect me. I put a roof over your head, feed you, paid you! I won’t be so forgiving this time, you fucking deceitful bitch. As for the boy, he looks just like my cheating whore of a wife. He’s just like her, once you’re gone, I’ll see to him.”
“No, Damien. I beg you, don’t hurt him.”
“It’s none of your business what I do to my son. You can bleed to death for all I care.”
* * *
I was already up. I’d showered earlier, padding from the room so I didn’t wake her. I missed the sound of Champ’s nails tapping the wooden floor as he followed me around the house. Tilly loved him. Her happiness was the most important thing, not mine. They would look after each other.
Last night, I’d made love to a woman, who my drunken ass of a cousin, made me realise was the biggest and most important thing in my life, but I also remembered something - the truth.
As I accepted Freya into my heart, I subconsciously unlocked the vault in my brain, the cold dank cellar that contained the atrocity I witnessed as a boy.
The man I avenged for years was a fucking monster. I felt the power of his punch when he pounded Ana Harte with so much force that I swear I witnessed the bones in her face shatter. Reliving the memory demolished my need for revenge. Recalling her blood splatter his face as I watched from the doorway felt surreal. I just stood there in stunned silence, feeling angry at his demonic laugh.
Having his fill of torture, the man whose evil I didn’t recognise, as he stood back and rubbed his dick through his trousers, spitting on her lifeless body lying in a heap on the rug. Who was that brutal man? I didn’t remember him that way. I didn’t really remember the man at all if I was truly honest with myself.
There weren’t bedtime stories or endless games of soccer.
There was only her.
The woman who I’d forgotten.
Whether he hoped she was dead, I couldn’t tell, but he didn’t help her. Damien Kingston turned his back and walked to the other side of the room.
The unarmed woman lifted her head. I willed her to get up. I sobbed and pleaded with muted prayers. I buried my face, or the rage blackened my sight, either way I couldn’t see.
Then I remembered the blood. Whatever she did, stole his last breath on earth. My father fell to his knees. A man of brutality fallen victim to the hand of justice.
She killed him.
