Damien's Promise: A Dark Romantic Suspense (VENGEANCE Book 1)

by Vic Tyler

  Her drive for knowledge is really inspiring. I’m not sure that I’d want to be a doctor, but it’d be cool to be as passionate about something as she is.

  “Don’t worry,” she adds, fervently scribbling in her notes. “West said you’re a guest, so I’m not allowed to cut you open.”

  Oh.

  Confused about whether to feel uncomfortable or honored, I don’t get the chance to decide when the door slams open.

  “Islaaaa,” Kitty sings as she hops inside the room. “The hospital ward’s on fire.”

  Dr. Isla narrows her eyes at her. “Are you lying again?”

  “No,” Kitty exclaims. “How can you possibly think I’m lying?”

  Dr. Isla purses her lips before rising to her feet. “Which section?”

  “All of it.”

  Dr. Isla hurries out, muttering something about a specimen, and Kitty slams the door after her.

  “How’s it going, Adriana?” Kitty skips over to me and pounces on the bed indelicately.

  Besides Isla and Missy and a couple of maids, Kitty is the only person I’ve seen since I’ve been bedridden.

  Even though I’m thankful for her company, I’m not sure why Kitty comes by so often.

  She’s pretty and looks like a model, although sometimes, she acts more like a child than I do. But she’s nice and cute, and I can see why Damien likes her.

  “I’m good,” I chirp. “How are you?”

  Kitty’s hand flashes out to cup my cheek, and she plants her lips on them in such a fast peck that I don’t have time to react. I always feel like I’m catching up to her every move when she’s around.

  “You’re so nice,” she sighs, falling back on my bed. “No one else asks how I’m doing here.” Suddenly, the box is in her hands, and she lifts it, peering curiously at it from different angles. “Whoa, this is neat. Who’s it from?” She winks. “Boyfriend?”

  I’m not sure if she’s being serious since she was at the Windrose the night I basically told the thirteen people in the organization my life story.

  So I just laugh nervously and don’t respond, but it seems like she wasn’t expecting an answer anyway.

  “F, I, A, K? Fiak?” She cocks her head before looking back down. A moment passes before a slow smile curls onto her lips. “Too bad there isn’t one more space for an ‘R.’”

  She tosses it into the air, and alarmed, I jump forward to catch it.

  “Take good care of that,” she purrs. “Trophies are precious reminders.”

  I nod, and she immediately gets distracted with something else.

  Over the course of the next ten minutes, she knocks on my cast, signs it (again), doodles on it (some more), draws and writes obscenities on it (next to the ones she originally put), digs through all the drawers and pulls out all the pretty clothes that are somehow perfectly my size, and brushes my hair before ruffling it into a huge mess.

  Only when Dr. Isla storms back into the room, glaring at Kitty, berating her about fire safety (something about leaving a lit Bunsen burner next to a pile of torn paper with the word ‘meow’ written all over them) and threatening to ‘declaw’ her by collecting her phalanges does Kitty prance out of the room.

  Both of them are odd, but I kind of like them.

  And as strange as it might sound, I feel safe and comfortable.

  Maybe if I stay here, it wouldn’t be so bad. I think I might even like living with them.

  I just hope that I can.

  chapter ten

  Leaning back against my headboard, I scroll through the messages on my phone while Kitty lies between my legs, resting her chin on my stomach.

  After a much–needed release, I’m relaxed enough to focus on work again.

  The past few days have been irritatingly stuffy while I’ve been figuring out what the fuck to do since I’ve been banned from doing anything physical.

  As West ordered, I went to Isla to see if there was anything I could assist her with.

  But she’s a goddamn creepy pain in the ass.

  By the end of the hour, I was ready to drive a scalpel into my own skull or strap her to the hospital bed and push it down the stairs.

  What’s the fucking point of putting her in charge of the medical ward when she detriments all healing progression for her experiments?

  My other option — being cooped up in the attic with sullen, gloomy Jura — isn’t any more enticing.

  At least we don’t make pointless conversation, although my eyes burn from staring at a computer screen for so long. I don’t know how he sits in front of a wall of twenty–plus monitors the entire goddamn day.

  So far, it’s been recon, surveillance, and a shit–ton of hacking, mostly into financial institutions and several government facilities.

  White–collar crime is so fucking boring.

  And if he’s not doing that, we’re playing games.

  He tried getting me into League of Legends, talking about being Diamond Tier and God Tier and decakills or some bullshit.

  No wonder he’s so fucking depressed. He needs to get out in the field more.

  Slowly dragging her sharp, manicured nails over my abs, Kitty trails a series of white lines on my skin. “Guess who I saw today?”

  “Hmm?” I absentmindedly answer as I check the progress reports one of my lieutenants sent me.

  He’s been staking out one of our marks over the past few days. It makes me uneasy delegating such important tasks to him, but I don’t have much choice.

  It’s frustrating. It makes me look goddamn incompetent when I just became one of the Twelve and I’m already indisposed.

  A piercing pain stabs into my flesh and digs down, breaking skin and drawing blood.

  Annoyed, I glance at Kitty, giving her the attention she wants.

  “Rodion Stepanov.”

  I turn back to my phone and delete the useless messages cluttering the storage.

  That idiot. I told him to skip town if he wants to live.

  “My assignment was in Vegas,” she says as though she knows what I’m thinking. “A poker player that was selling a back–door rig to a big online system.”

  She rolls around, looking at me upside down. Her thin, blonde strands tickle my stomach. “I almost didn’t recognize Rodion. Mostly because I thought he was supposed to be dead.”

  “He slipped away.” My eyes glaze over the screen, my senses zeroed on the naked threat lounging in my lap.

  “Does West know?” When I don’t answer, her lips curl into a sly grin. “Imagine what everyone would think if they found out you let such an easy target go.”

  My jaw clenches.

  Not that I can’t handle a few deviants or even some of the Twelve, but it’d be a hassle if they picked a fight just because they think I’m incapable or going soft.

  Since I’m injured, I don’t want to risk anything that’ll keep me from doing my regular work any longer.

  I can barely stand another week of sticking around with Isla or Jura. No way am I going to do it for another few months.

  But I wouldn’t be surprised if Kitty blabs her mouth just to stir up some drama. “Are you going to tell them?”

  “No.” When I narrow my eyes at her, rightfully suspicious, she adds her piece, “For a price.”

  I scowl, locking my phone and tossing it on the bed. “What do you want?”

  She flips around again and drags her tongue along my soft dick, and I immediately start to stiffen. She takes me in her mouth, expertly licking and sucking me until I’m achingly hard.

  Popping my length out as a coy smile spreads across her lips, she climbs up to straddle me.

  Fucking cock tease.

  “I want a present,” she purrs.

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

  The only ‘gifts’ we exchange are when Kitty and I pick up random finds that we know the other would appreciate. Like the time she snatched up a custom–made Damascus steel switchblade that became a fast favorite of mine. Or when one of my targe
ts had mechanized Louboutins (pure luck that they were Kitty’s size).

  But there’s nothing sentimental or sweet about it. It’s just wasteful to let those items go, otherwise.

  Most of the time, I forget that holidays or birthdays even exist since no one celebrates them.

  “What present?” I ask, admittedly curious now.

  Rubbing herself on my cock, she watches smugly as I bite back a groan, her wet folds massaging my shaft.

  A part of me remains vigilant in case she tries slipping me in without a condom. I know she’s on birth control but going bareback with her or any other woman is a risk I’m never willing to take. Why intentionally make trouble for yourself?

  Some of the deviants have gotten themselves into that situation and dealt with it in less than admirable ways. But let’s just say that in the end, when it comes to Venti deviants and ‘accidents,’ there may be unwanted pregnancies but there are never any unwanted births.

  Kitty taps her lip thoughtfully, her emerald gaze scrutinizing.

  “I want a set of teeth.”

  The back of my head prickles, but I keep my face neutral.

  It isn’t like I meant for that trinket to be a secret, but I was hoping the little maid — Adriana Wintrehall — didn’t go around advertising it either. “Why teeth?”

  Leaning forward, she bites my bottom lip as she grabs my hand and suggestively wraps it around her neck. “Why not?”

  Fighting back a flash of irritation as I tug out of her hold, I simply shrug. “Fine.”

  She doesn’t even flinch when I suddenly flip us over.

  Kneeling above her, I drag the head of my cock over her lips.

  Fisting her silvery blonde hair, I fuck her mouth, half–relieved that she can’t say anything more about it and half–distracted with the thought about getting a set of teeth for Kitty.

  It won’t mean anything to her. She’ll probably throw it away in a week.

  Oh well.

  When I see the little maid again, she’s in a wheelchair.

  Since I’m on babysitting duty in West’s fucked–up therapy, I’m obligated to tag along whenever I get word that she — Adriana — wants to go out.

  “Don’t worry,” Adriana says when she sees me, pointing to the wheelchair. “I can’t run this time.”

  A snort escapes me, the uneasiness of seeing her again dissipating quickly.

  And when she smiles, my body relaxes with relief.

  The sullen little girl from a few months ago is telling cheeky jokes now. She looks brighter and rounder, her cheeks are rosier, and her eyes are sparkling.

  It’s good to see that she’s recovering.

  Although she wants to tour around the grounds, it’s best not to take her near the west wing, especially when she’s incapacitated. The deviants over there might get a little too excited, and watching over her would be inconvenient if I also had to worry about carrying her around and not breaking her again.

  Unfortunately, that leaves only the front lawn.

  On one hand, it’s in front of West’s office. And on the other hand, it’s in front of West’s office…

  Rolling her out to the line of trees where we last saw each other, I lie back on the grass, feeling the sun beam down on my face.

  When was the last time I lazed around doing nothing?

  It was long enough that I don’t remember.

  “Thank you.” Her voice is still soft, but now, it’s clear and smooth. Soothing to listen to. “For saving me.”

  “Thank West.” I watch a flock of birds fly overhead in a V–formation. “I was following orders.”

  And still got you in that state.

  “Did he tell you to give me the teeth too?” she asks, genuinely curious.

  I don’t respond. It was my own touch of justice, so she can rest assure that I gave the Stepanovs similar treatment to what she said her father received.

  “See? You’re a nice person.”

  I laugh incredulously, my abs stretching in the rarely used sensation. “Don’t be fooled. It wasn’t to be nice.”

  She simply smiles as though she doesn’t believe me.

  “Are you going to jump in front of cars or hang yourself once you’re healed?” My words are slightly tinged with sarcasm as they float over the sounds of the guard dogs barking in the backyard.

  Honestly, I don’t relish the idea of babysitting duty. If she keeps that suicidal shit up, I won’t hesitate to tell West to commit her to a mental facility. And if he doesn’t, I’ll wrap her up and drop her off at one myself.

  She’s quiet for a few thoughtful moments.

  “No.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her looking at me. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.”

  My jaw clenches. “You wouldn’t have broken all those bones if I took better care to move you out of the way.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to if I didn’t jump in front of the car in the first place,” she points out.

  Silently, we both watch as the Dobermans run into sight, almost looking like normal pets instead of the killing machines that can rip a man apart in five minutes flat. Which they’ve done before.

  Many times.

  Suddenly, she asks, “Do you think it’s possible for me to stay here?”

  I startle. What? “Why would you want to?”

  “I like it here.” She shyly meets my eyes like she’s afraid of saying something wrong. “Everyone’s so nice. Like Dr. Isla and Kitty and you. I’d like to get to know everyone here.”

  “None of us are worth getting to know.” I almost pity her. How naive. From the outside, we may look normal — debatably — but there’s nothing normal about this complex or the people in it. “You should leave as soon as you can. It’s not a safe place for you. For any civilian, really. The only reason you’re unharmed is because everyone is under direct orders from West to leave you alone.”

  “Oh.” She sounds forlorn. “But I don’t want to be left alone. It’s lonely.”

  It must be. She’s in the east wing, all the way on the opposite side of the manor. It’s only used for guests and events, neither of which we ever have.

  So she’s virtually got an entire mansion all to herself, and considering hardly anyone ever goes there — save for a couple of maids to dust things off — it must be a ghost town.

  The west wing contains the deviants’ rooms, the Twelve’s quarters, and everything else we need. It’s kept in good condition, but it’s nowhere near as prim, proper, and pristine as the east wing.

  But there’s a reason why no one occupies those rooms. It’s because civilians don’t belong here.

  She has no place anywhere in the complex, let alone in the west wing. She belongs on the other side. She shouldn’t even be here.

  “It might be uneventful, but it’s the best thing for you,” I continue. Not to mention, it’d keep her out of everyone’s way and out of sight. “You can always take up West’s offer to be adopted by some nice civilian family.”

  I don’t know if it’s still on the table, but if she asks, then maybe he’d —

  “No!” She vigorously shakes her head. “I don’t want to. I can’t.”

  My eyebrow lifts. “It’ll take an adjustment period, but —”

  She bursts accusingly, “If you were told to go back into society, would ‘an adjustment period’ be all you need before things felt normal again?”

  She sounds just as upset as she looks. Her face is set in determination. She’s convinced of it.

  And her question makes me pause.

  I’ve never considered being a civilian again. Not that I would’ve been for long even if my life didn’t turn out this way.

  It wasn’t until I joined Venti that I found out there was a lot about my parents that I didn’t know until they were long gone.

  I’d been vaguely familiar with the fact that my father was involved with the Mafia.

  Our family often dined with the capofamiglia and his family at their regal estate. Thei
r house was full of armed guards whose faces, necks, and knuckles were etched with scars, and I’m sure their clothes hid many more. Men who were terrifying to me at the time, their very presence serrated with the roughness of their lives.

  But my father’s involvement with the Mafia was the last thing I learned.

  The first thing I found out was that my father, Griffin Zephyrus, was one of the Twelve.

  After meeting my mother, he’d faked his death and disappeared.

  He left the state and stayed under the radar for a while, but knowing nothing else, he never delved from the underworld and quickly gained notoriety as an unidentified contract killer.

  Not long after, the capofamiglia took him under his payroll, promising protection even from Venti.

  They were loyal to each other, and if I think back on it, maybe they were even friends.

  But in the end, they were both arrogantly hopeful fools.

  The organization doesn’t tolerate traitors to its own being as a whole. And thus, my family was hunted.

  It’s no wonder that I was so readily accepted into the Blood Trials — where the children who lurk in darkness, were born of it, or were born into the families drenched with blood history belong.

  It was the greatest mockery and insult that West could’ve given my father — enslaving his son into the very place he tried to escape.

  My life was never normal. It was never meant to be.

  But for the brief time I was with my family, I felt it. The sheltered glass cage we lived in.

  No, I can’t be a civilian again.

  But Adriana isn’t like me. Her family wasn’t threaded into the darkness like mine was. Even Elena’s future was marked because of who our parents were.

  But the Wintrehalls?

  Quite the opposite.

  If Adriana’s and my lives weren’t rerouted by tragedy — if we followed our parents’ paths — we might’ve met on completely opposite sides of the tracks.

  “We’re different.” My eyes lock onto her dark ones. “You’re a victim of the people who run in the same circles as me. As everyone here.” As much as I hate to think that the Stepanovs and I share anything in common, it’s true. “You were pulled into the darkness. Not born and raised in it.”