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

by Vic Tyler

  Meanwhile, he probably worries about chemistry exams, college applications, getting dates to school dances, and not getting caught jacking off by his mom or something.

  Absentmindedly, I wonder if Adriana’s going to worry about those things in a few years.

  Well, not that last one but the rest of them. Doing normal things, living as a normal girl.

  She should. I hope she does. And she will. If I keep doing my part.

  Playing the perfect soldier, fulfilling my role, and keeping myself detached from her.

  I don’t know if West really will let her go. A part of me wants to believe he will because it feels like Adriana is changing West too.

  There was one time I caught Adriana visiting West in his study, and at first, I was furious. But to say I was shocked instead would be the understatement of the century.

  The bastard actually had a genuine–looking smile on his face. I never even fathomed he was capable of looking like that.

  And for a long while, I doubted his intentions. With good reason. I still do most of the time.

  But there’s a tiny speck of doubt about him faking this whole thing. His affection for her might actually be genuine.

  Shocking. But if anyone can get to West, of course it’d be Adriana. That’s just how amazing her ability to suck you into her pace and wrap you around her finger is.

  Of course, it didn’t change how he treats the rest of us. And he’s still the same cold–hearted fucker he is day in and day out. Which is why I know better than to think that people change. Even if it is Adriana sidling into their hearts.

  But regardless of whether West does care about her or not, it’s not safe for her to be here. Maybe it’s even more dangerous for her if he does.

  What if he one day decides he’s through with her?

  I don’t think Adriana could handle such cruelty.

  For now, West may be playing the part of being her guardian, caring for her, sending her to school, and buying her everything she wants and needs, but there’s no way he doesn’t have an ulterior motive.

  Right?

  Either way, she shouldn’t stay at the mansion. As long as she’s at the complex, she’s a hostage. A prisoner. And West hasn’t mentioned anything about letting her go, so unless he says otherwise, nothing’s changed.

  I need to do as he ordered until I figure out how to get her out of here. We both need to bide our time well.

  The kid hands me my cup with three spoons in it and a stack of napkins. I guess he wants us to leave as soon as possible.

  When our eyes meet for a brief moment, I pause — wondering whether in some other life, I could’ve been like him.

  And I shake my head of the thought.

  Sentimental and stupid. What’s the point in entertaining the thought when it’s an impossibility?

  That path was closed off to me the second the deviants stepped into my family home to kill my parents and torch the house.

  Maybe even before that. Maybe it was never an option to me at all.

  As we walk out of the shop, I offer the cup to Adriana as I spoon a tiny bit of the ice cream into my mouth.

  Mint and chocolate is such a weird fucking combination, and it’s no secret that I think it’s fucked up, which is why Turan was laughing. I mean, it’s like eating Hershey’s and toothpaste.

  The cold chocolate chips crunch between my teeth, and for once, I relish in the bittersweet taste. Avoiding most of the ice cream itself, I pick out the chocolate chips.

  Yeah, even with all the mintiness, it tastes good. It tastes familiar. It tastes sweet. And it almost tastes like home.

  Damn. It really is a day for sentimentality.

  “Do you not like mint chocolate chip?”

  I turn to see Adriana looking up at me with her eyebrows furrowed worriedly. From her other side, Turan smirks at me, his triple–scoop waffle cone already demolished.

  “It’s good,” I say nonchalantly as I scoop up a bigger spoonful of the ice cream and shove it in my mouth.

  Damn, does she have to watch me so intently?

  Even with my experience at keeping a straight face, I fight back the urge to grimace.

  Gross.

  “Are you sure?” she asks.

  She’s been so concerned that she made me get something I don’t like that she hasn’t been eating her own ice cream. The one she was so excited about only minutes earlier.

  “Yeah.” I’ve lied about worse things. “It’s exactly what I was going to get anyway.”

  Her face is full of doubt, and as we approach the car, I grab Adriana’s hand and yank her cone towards me, biting off some of her cookie dough.

  Thank god it gets some of the mint flavor out of my mouth.

  “Hey!” she cries out as I pull away, laughing with a mouthful of ice cream.

  Using the third spoon that kid gave us, unused since Turan didn’t want any mint chocolate chip either, I tap her nose, leaving a green blob on the tip. “Here, you can have some back.”

  She looks indignant as she chases me the rest of the way to the car.

  For a kid, she’s fast, but she’s still not nearly fast enough to be able to catch me.

  Turan shakes his head as we go back and forth, circling his Corvette. “Either of you smear ice cream in my car, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  I’m sure he’d dole out very different punishments to Adriana and me.

  We call a truce before getting in, and the mood in the car is decidedly more relaxed than when we first came out.

  Turan turns on the radio to some pop station that plays a song that everyone in the city must know except us. But we listen to it without saying a single word, sharing in the tentative peace before we return to our lives.

  When we arrive at the mansion, Turan drops Adriana and me off at the front before heading to the underground garage.

  In a surprisingly quick dash and leap, Adriana pokes my cheek, and I feel the sticky melted cream smear across it.

  It’s strangely more disturbing than the tacky consistency of drying blood. Maybe it’s because I can almost feel the diabetes seeping into my pores.

  “Payback,” she declares over her shoulder as she sprints up the circular main staircase.

  I smirk as I watch her reach the top in record time. “I’m going to get you back for that.”

  Once she’s at the landing, she spins around and shoves her fists onto her hips. “What! That was for what you did earlier.”

  “And I’ll retaliate for what you did just now,” I say, chuckling.

  “You should be the adult and end the cycle of revenge before it goes too far,” she calls down. “Or else it’ll never end.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “Alright.” I can’t help teasing her. “We’ll see if you do that the next time I strike.”

  “Fine.” She sticks her tongue out. “I can be the bigger person.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  She scowls as she pivots around. “Fine!” she shouts before bolting back to her room.

  I shake my head as I head towards the west wing. It’s only when a deviant passes me and does a double take that I realize I’m smiling.

  Fuck.

  Unhinging my jaw, I loosen my muscles and slide back under my mask.

  A careless slip. I don’t know how she makes me forget who I’m supposed to be in the very house I cultivated myself in.

  Dangerous.

  As soon as I finish knocking, the door flies open.

  Adriana’s face brightens. “Damien!” And then she looks confused. “What are you doing here?”

  I hold out the photograph in my hand, and her face slides from confusion to shock.

  When I was looking at it earlier, her words came to mind. How she wants pictures of the people important to her.

  She’s wrong to think that we’re those people, but she deserves a memento of those who really do matte
r.

  Adriana studies the photograph, and as I watch her eyes move, I know exactly where she’s looking. Each line, each curve, every color and ornament and detail are burned into my memory.

  After all, it is a picture I’ve looked at every day.

  The Wintrehall family’s Christmas greeting card.

  The entire family is adorned in red and green festive attire with the nicest ugly sweaters I’ve ever seen. Adriana and her older sister sit cross–legged in front of an ostentatiously decorated evergreen, surrounded by perfectly wrapped gifts. Their parents kneel behind them, and they’re all laughing as they hold each other like they spontaneously decided to take a picture in the midst of celebrating.

  And I have no doubt that they did. That joy and those smiles aren’t easily faked, especially for a child as young as Adriana was.

  They’re the quintessential picture–perfect family — incredibly beautiful and happy. It’s the type of picture that would make you buy a frame if it were the stock photo stuck inside, hoping some of the joy would rub off on you and that picture of your family where everyone had to stitch a smile on.

  There are a lot of other photos like this in the folder that West gave me, but this is the one where they look the happiest, and it looks to be the most recent one too.

  They’re all intimate family photos, which makes the idea that Venti has a collection of these kind of creepy, but I already know that with Richter, Kitty, and Jura working together, they’d walk out of Area 51 with all its secrets within three hours of infiltration.

  So considering how many people the Wintrehalls knew, it probably wasn’t difficult to procure mass–mailed greeting cards. They seem like the type to do that sort of shit.

  “How did you get this?” Adriana’s eyes are wide and moist.

  I stiffen.

  Oh, god.

  Trying to keep my face neutral, I say, “The recon team is top–notch. They did their research. It’s necessary for anyone who comes here.” Which isn’t untrue. All the employees and deviants have their own file. Even West probably has one, although he’s likely the only one who has access to it. “A picture you can keep of your real family. It’s yours.”

  She clutches the photo to her chest, dropping her head as she squeezes her eyes shut. “Thank you.”

  “What were they like?”

  Adriana’s eyes flash up to me, growing rounder by the second. I freeze internally, even though my expression doesn’t change.

  I don’t know why I blurted that out, but I can’t help thinking of my own mother and father, celebrating with Elena.

  Maybe I want to live vicariously through her words. Hope that joy rubs off a little on me and this desolate life of mine.

  A huge smile spreads across her face, and she points at the young woman with toffee–colored hair and hazel eyes next to her.

  Her sister was my age now when she died. Although there was a ten–year difference between them, they seemed close. Considering how tightly her sister was embracing her while wearing that broad grin, Adriana must have been truly loved.

  “This is my sister, Lottie. Her name is Charlotte, but we called her ‘Lottie’ because she always said ‘Charlotte’ sounded too stuffy. When she started college, she wanted to be called ‘Charlotte’ again though.” Her smile softens. “She always talked about boys and clothes. She was really fashionable and pretty. I think she might’ve gotten along with Kitty.”

  I snort. I can’t imagine Kitty with regular girl friends.

  “And these are my parents.” Her finger slides to the smiling blond man holding his wife in an affectionate embrace and resting his hand on his daughter’s head. “Papa worked a lot. I think he was a judge, but I never saw him in a black robe or a powdered wig. He told me judges don’t have to wear those anymore, but there was one time he brought them home and dressed up for me.”

  She giggles with a fond look in her eyes. “He liked to follow the rules, just like you. He was appalled when I tried to color a banana purple and drew polka dots on dinosaurs. Mama asked him whether he can prove that dinosaurs didn’t have polka dots, and after that, he helped me draw more polka dots on them. Mama was always teasing papa, and she was kind of silly. She made up songs and liked to dance everywhere. She loved to bake, but she was really bad at it. Our kitchen was always on fire.”

  Her small hand slides over the faces of her family, and my gaze follows her touch, even though I’ve etched the details into my memory long ago.

  With thick, dark brown hair and dark eyes in heart–shaped faces, Adriana and Liliana Wintrehall are undoubtedly mother and daughter. Charlotte Wintrehall looks like a combination of her parents with a slightly stronger resemblance to her father, Mylo Wintrehall.

  Part of the reason why I studied the picture everyday was because of the snippet of information I read in the dossier.

  The Wintrehall couple had been separated for a period of time, although it wasn’t common knowledge. And from the time the report indicated that they got back together, Adriana was born seven months later.

  Adriana is the spitting image of her mother. Even now, a few years later and slightly more grown up, she looks like a miniature version of the dark–haired woman in the photo.

  There are no traces of Mylo Wintrehall in her features, but then again, she doesn’t have any notable characteristics that differ from her mother’s.

  Judging from Adriana’s account, Judge Wiintrehall loved his wife and daughters deeply, and the couple maintained a strong, happy relationship until the end.

  Which means the separation was a curious event in their marriage.

  There wasn’t a lot of information about it, jotted down as a vague side note, but it did mark the end of Mrs. Wintrehall’s career before she retired to become a full–time mother and housewife. Although by the sounds of it, she wasn’t particularly adept at keeping house.

  Even after Adriana stops talking, we don’t move.

  She looks up at me, and her eyes are clear and deep with sorrow, making her look far older than she is. “Were they good people?”

  My brows twitch together. “What?”

  Glancing down guiltily at the picture, she says, “Maybe my family was attacked because they got involved with something bad. I always thought they were good people, but if they weren’t…” Her voice trails off doubtfully.

  I search her eyes when she looks back up at me. “Does it matter?”

  Like her, I didn’t know much about my family until they were long gone. But my father was just like me.

  No, probably even worse. West’s own right–hand man who betrayed him and became a fixer for the mafia.

  My family was nothing like the Wintrehalls, who lived by the law and enforced it.

  Mylo Wintrehall was the former Chief Justice of California, and his wife, Liliana Wintrehall, called Liana Sudario in her tenure, was the city’s most celebrated and notorious district attorney, depending on which side you asked.

  Judge Wintrehall was fair and straight, incapable of being bought, which meant the threats made his way were often of the violent nature. And before her sudden and unexpected retirement to become a housewife, Liana Sudario was the reason why most of the top dogs of the underworld have a record or why their names were blasted on international news outlets.

  She’s the reason why their bank accounts plummeted fighting the legal battles or paying off the right loosely–moraled people to escape once prosecuted or to be acquitted in an appeal with different judges looking for their own sugar daddies.

  No wonder the Wintrehalls were deeply despised.

  After a pause, Adriana says, “No.” Her voice is confident and self–assured. “Even if they did bad things, they were good people. Loving and kind, not just to me but to everyone I ever saw them interact with. I know that good people do bad things sometimes, and even though it’d make me sad, I wouldn’t love them any less for it.”

  My lips twitch into a soft smile. “They were good people. You don’t have to worr
y about that.”

  She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I don’t think you’re a bad person either. Even though you do bad things, I think you do them because you think you don’t have a choice. But really, you’re good on the inside.”

  I halt, unsure of what to make of that. Instead, I shrug dismissively. “It’d have to be pretty far down.” After ruffling her soft hair, I turn away. “Go to sleep, Adriana.”

  She watches as I make my way down the hall. “Good night, Damien.”

  When her door shuts, I’m left in the oppressive silence with my own thoughts.

  I’m not a good person. I don’t question that.

  But do I have any other choice?

  It was a path I partially chose because this is the only way I could avenge my family.

  But Adriana keeps making me question whether what I’m doing is right. Whether getting revenge for West’s own fucked–up sense of revenge is simply continuing a cycle that’ll never see an end.

  Because in his place, I’ll end up doing the same thing too.

  More people will die by my hand, and I’ll eventually kill someone who’s loved enough by another who’ll seek to avenge them, no matter the cost.

  I sympathize wholeheartedly.

  There’s no question that someone will kill me. It could be a person under my command, an enemy or an opponent in the throes of this dangerous business, or one seeking justice for the wrong that I’ll inevitably commit.

  It’s an inescapable fate.

  But does it have to be?

  Could it be possible for me to leave?

  My father did once, even though he eventually paid for his carelessness. And I’d have to be on the run forever. I don’t know what I’d do on the outside.

  But it’s possible.

  And if I did, I could take Adriana with me. Probably not forever, but at least until I can get a new identity for the both of us and find someone reliable to take her.

  Am I seriously considering this?

  What about my family? My dead parents who didn’t even receive proper funerals or my sister who was tortured and abused ‘til her last breath, buried somewhere I don’t even know. Maybe not buried at all.