Page 52 of Promise of Destruction
I lied, of course, when she asked if it would allow me to track her. She’s my asset now, whether she’ll admit it or not. I can’t risk her running around getting herself into trouble while having no idea how to find her if she ends up in water she can’t tread.
And given that she’s already done it with me, I have no doubt she’s capable of doing it with others. After all, I’m not the only one who she called out in her article, though I may have been the only person named.
Watching her on the cameras pales in comparison to watching this shit show through the window, I’m sure, but even so, thisis the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever witnessed. This doesn’t even look like the same woman I met at the bar—even more damning, this isn’t the same woman I’ve watched for the last two weeks. Now I can’t help but wonder which of those women is the authentic version of her. I hope it’s this one—a little crazy, a lot of fun, and entirely unhinged.
I watch them go through her entire cabinet, drink the second bottle of wine and make asses of themselves dancing on her kitchen counter like a couple of teenagers at the club for the first time. Soren’s dressed in sweats with her hair swept in a pile on top of her head. Her shirt rises as she lifts the dishes and hikes her arms over her head to feel the music, and I have to fight the urge to be on that kitchen counter, pressed up against her.
It's when she nearly falls off the counter that I shift, uncomfortable. She’s got my full attention again. I watch as the guy backs up to her and she wraps herself around him, fitting her chest against his back. Jealousy stirs in my stomach; It’s absurd, particularly given that I hate her and would rather see her walk over broken glass than give her a fucking piggyback ride. But that sentiment doesn’t stop the envy from surging in me again when he cups her ass. His hand doesn’t move the whole way to the couch, where he tosses her without ceremony.
She doesn’t move.
My keys are in my hand before she bounces up, but I’ve seen enough. She kisses the guy on the cheek—a big smack of her lips with a flourish. The blonde drops a wine glass, and they all pause a beat before they erupt into laughter again. She pours them both drinks.
By the time I actually climb inside my truck, they’ve drank a lot from their glass and the bottle and are laughing about something else.
Jesus. Women are really certifiable.
The blonde holds out a piece of pizza, and Soren takes a bite from it. I swear her eyes roll back in her head, and the sound she makes is nothing short of erotic.
I punch the gas and speed the entire way to the little house.
A red crossover is parked in the drive right next to Soren’s car, and I make a mental note to reprimand her for not parking in the garage. I turn my car off behind her spot so that I don’t block the other car in.
She doesn’t live far from me, but in the twenty minutes it took for me to make it here, they’ve gone from tipsy to full-on drunk. I close out of the tracking app and make it to the front door in a few big strides.
I don’t have to knock or ring the bell. They must have seen the lights cutting through the dark outside her open windows, because as soon as I step up to the door, it opens a fraction. The man looks confused and wary. It turns to surprise and fear when recognition sparks in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Whosit?” Soren calls, the words slurring together like she’s too tired to pause between them.
I hear movement from behind the door, and then she appears behind him. She’s even more glorious in person.
The blue dress did things to me, but something about her vulnerability in sweat pants that are loose on her hips and the tank top that hugs her torso is wildly sexy. The inch of space between her hips and the hem of her shirt makes me feral.
Soren looks confused for a moment, and I wonder just how much she had to drink if she can’t remember me. I think I’ve made quite the impression, after all.
“Ofcourse you’rehere.” She shakes her head with a little laugh.
I narrow my eyes on her. “Are youdrunk?”
“Gloriously!” The blonde calls out from where she’s sitting on the living room floor, staring at the ceiling. “We’re high too!”
“I’mnothigh!” Soren slurs, waving a dismissive hand. The action knocks her off balance, and I move quickly past her friend, who does a terrible job guarding the door, to grab her arm and steady her.
“Oh,” the blonde laughs. “Oh, babe. You are too! I dissolved a couple of Xanax in the bottle of wine.” She breaks out into a fit of giggles before she looks up to find Soren gaping at her.
“Youdruggedme?”
“I druggedus!” She dissolves into another spell of laughter. This time, Soren joins in.
“Alright,” I say, looking pointedly at the only other sober person in the room. “I think that’s enough fun for tonight.”
“What are you doing here?” He asks me, ignoring my implication that it was time to leave.
“Oh!” Soren sobers a little, patting my chest and leaning into me to try and catch her balance. “Khan, this is Declan. He’s my stalkerboss.”
“Your stalker boss?” Khan asks skeptically.
