Page 1 of Vow of Revenge
16 years ago
They say money makes the world go around, and it does. The monstrous hands of wealthy and unjust men spin the world like a giant globe on Satan’s writing desk. Such a statement of truth came from the mouths of affluent men with abundant cash and zero fibres of morality stitched into their tailored suits.
Money is the root of all evil.
Those who have the most, greedily seek out even more, lining their golden casket, indebted to the devil himself for the best seat in hell. Green stained fingers strangle and manipulate with bought authority and allegiance, tainting humanity with every disreputable touch, hidden with cruel intentions and heinous actions.
Nothing in this life is free, not even gifts. My daughter is the most precious gift I possess. The one and only treasure I have as my own. From the day I brought her strength into the world, I promised to protect her, but I’m penniless with only my body to use as I shouldn’t.
Ultimately, I’m paying for her freedom with my own. My destiny was mapped out in the stars. My choice to remain in hell, inevitable.
Perhaps it was a punishing roll of dice, cast from the gods that put me on the uneven path of Damien Kingston. I was thrown in his direction by the twisted hand of fate and landed in the fire.
My guise is a house cleaner. I struggle to survive, working for an alleged prestigious man of wealth, who harbours an impenetrable heart, armed with brutality.
The large basement under the house keeps the rest of the staff out of sight. They make use of the large kitchen, larder, wine cellar and laundry rooms, all safely tucked away like scurrying rats. With slate floors and stone walls, the tunnels and service rooms are dark and unfriendly, even in the summer. I wish my job kept me hidden, sheltering me from his lewd requests and acts of violence, but my place is upstairs, with him.
I’m only permitted to wonder through the main house with a duster, soaking up heritage acquired from a Lord who valued millions more than his ancestors. This home rightfully belonged to a family spanning through generations, yet it was handed over to a man who bought false consent to grace its corridors and live in its splendour.
He is a fraud.
A liar.
In the beginning his handsome façade was plausible, with an appealing demeanour and roguish looks. I’ll reluctantly admit, it was no hardship giving into his whims back then.
I was such a fool.
The thrill quickly faded once he caught a whiff of my financial desperation. It was at that point the evil in his soul seeped out like battery acid.
My daughter is no longer my gift.
I’m paying the debt of protection.
Damien Kingston is void of love, sanity and even humanity.
Present day
She strutted over, hope glittering in her eager eyes.
This woman was so willing to please me, with a skirt that rode up her ass cheeks as she sat down to my right. Molly was an art dealer, with big bucks. At first, she was only after me for the pretty watercolour painting that I’d bought from Sotheby’s auction house in New York, a few months ago. Even though I was at the auction in person, I placed a last-minute telephone bid and swiped it out from under everyone’s noses. Since then, I’ve been playing a game with her – charming and fuelling her lust over a period of weeks. It was pitiful how she believed my intentions were sincere, especially when she thought she was the one playing me.
I was just fucking with her for my own personal vendetta.
Me, versus women.
Catching a glimpse of her bubble-gum pink panties, I ordered her to remove them. Of course, she obeyed and quickly returned from the toilets. Her hands trembled when she set the scrunched-up offering onto my open palm. Pearly pink lips had a fresh layer of gloss and her hair spritzed with perfume, even her silky voice was aimed at the end goal. Me and her in bed, fucking. It didn’t matter that she thought we could have a future together.
I was interested in this woman – interested in fucking with her.
Her constant lower lip nibling caught my attention. I stood by her side while she perched on the tall stool, with one hand wrapping my whiskey glass and the other discreetly brushing across her thighs. Molly’s forehead tilted to my shoulder the exact second my fingers breached her composure, finding her warm and wet. Honey coloured hair clung to my shirt. Her mouth pushed into my shoulder to hide her flustered delight as I dipped inside.
“Kaleb…” The seductive rasp made my dick swell. “Can we go back to yours?”
“No.” I never bring women home.
Having already booked a hotel room around the corner, I stopped torturing her in the crowded bar and trailed her away from the watchful eyes of the barman. The chubby guy thought he knew what I was up to, but he didn’t know the truth.
This woman was atmymercy, chasingmydick for pleasure. The joke was on her. I was clued into her overly flirtatious efforts aimed at sucking me in, but she failed. They always did.
