Page 17 of Vow of Vengeance
Today, I show her that he was a monster.
"It started slowly. He'd stay out late, missing a dinner here and there. Then there were nights I'd fall asleep waiting on him to come home, wake up to him in the shower before he'd come to bed. Sometimes he'd shower and never even come to bed, going out to the garage until I woke up and called him for breakfast. We argued a lot over having a baby, and I know that didn't help. But I was so lonely. He didn't want me to have to work, so I just took care of the house, took care of myself until I got sick."
"Sick?" I frown, not sure what she's referencing.
"I was diagnosed with PTSD from the car accident that killed my mom, general anxiety, and depression. It took a while before I got answers, but those came with more problems. The meds made me forget things. I'd lose hours of my life at random and wake up not even remembering how I got to bed." She frowns now, too. "I know it was selfish of me to want a baby when I couldn't even take care of myself. It's why Vin didn't want one, why things got so much worse when he finally gave in and we started trying."
I've combed through her medical records, and she's never had an official diagnosis of PTSD or general anxiety. The medications that I found prescribed to her were written by a doctor who doesn’t exist anywhere online. She was hospitalized after her husband's death, when she tried to take her life, but they'd had her on a mental health hold and cited the reason as 'suicidal ideation and attempt' as a possible result of depression.
"Wanting a baby isn't selfish." I assure her.
She doesn't meet my eyes, staring blankly at the computer. "It is if you can't take care of it."
"What's selfish is not wanting one because he may have to take care of itandyou. As if it would make it any less worthwhile." I watch her blink in the reflection of the screen as she considers my words. When she turns to face me, she's never looked more vulnerable. It's impressive, given that I've had her in some very vulnerable positions. "I mean it, Soren. I hope you know, deep down, that his not wanting a baby, his cheating on you, his lack of affection... none of it had to do with you. Those arehisshortcomings."
"Easy for you to say," she rolls her eyes with a sigh. "You didn't even know him."
"I know that he's a monster. I know that he didn't deserve you. I know that he got what he deserved in the end."
I haven't told her I've seen the crime scene photos, that I've read the police report, that I know he bled out rather than dying instantly. He deserved suffering, and it seems he got it.
I see the indignation flare across her face, outrage perfectly timed as she opens her mouth to tell me I'm wrong. I turn her head back to the screen again, cutting her off before she can argue, and scroll quickly down through the results, where the photos take a darker turn. I'm not sure she notices it right away, her face going slack as she loses the resistance she's been holding so tightly to.
I watch her face as I progress from the more innocent photos of him lying atop naked women to the ones of them in bondage, ones with tears running down their face, ones where they're purple from the rope around their neck.
"Declan..." Soren whispers. I think she's trying to make me stop, because she can't look away on her own as I scroll lower, bringing up pictures of him using devices that look meant for torture on these same women.
I click on one of the stills at random, and a video begins to play of a woman screaming, tied to a bench. You can't see her face, because the camera is settled on her ass.
I don't know if I should have her watch this. I don't know how far it goes; even I don't want to see it.
On camera, the woman sobs and pleads, desperation in her voice as she tries to appeal to his humanity. But I'm sure now, more than ever, that he didn't have any as he laughs. He actually fuckinglaughsat her attempts to get him to walk away as he probes at her ass, which is centered for the camera to see. She screams louder when he lines his dick up with her and hits her hard on the back of the head with his fist closed. She shrieks before her body goes limp and he forces his way in, grunting and groaning.
I don't make her watch the whole thing. I've no desire to see him shoot his load into an unconscious and unwilling woman. I navigate to another video, where a woman with a swollen eye and bloody lip shudders in the corner, never taking her eyes off him as he advances. Neither of them speak as he drops his weight onto his knees and seizes her. Despite her struggle, he overpowers her easily, dragging her across the stone ground and flipping her so hard her head knocks against the cement. He slips a rope around her neck and pulls so hard her back arches, and she screams bloody murder as he forces his way inside her.
Making her watch her husband rape women is despicable, but I can justify it because she needs to know that he was, without a doubt, vile. I hate myself as much as Soren must hate me for watching this, for witnessing the real horrors of these women. I can see, though, that it’s working.
The last video I allow to play shows a woman spread eagle, bound to a bed. She looks half-dead, but there’s a little life in her yet, her head rolling as she tries to raise it. It’s clear she’s alreadybeen brutalized, her face covered in tears and mascara and dark streaks all over her skin… blood.
Something inside of me snaps, a realization that what we’re witnessing isn’t just kink or BDSM or even filmed assaults. The knife in Vin’s hand is a confirmation of that as he stalks toward her with it raised.
Soren must realize what’s about to happen too, because she gasps in horror as she watches it play out before us. There’s barely any life in the woman, but she tries to plead with the last of it anyway, right up until Vin snuffs it out a moment later.
Soren turns to me, burying her head in my chest as on the screen, a completely nude Vin stabs his victim in the stomach. My arms close her in, but I watch in horror a second longer as he digs his fingers inside of her like he believes himself to be a surgeon. The woman screams, choking on her own blood while more of it floods out onto the bed, which appears to have been covered with a sheet of plastic.
The blood pools on it, collecting like a river.
I slam the laptop shut as Vin mounts her body, unable to watch another second of what I now realize is this woman’s murder. I don’t want to think about what he’s doing, climbing on top of her after all that.
I drag my hands through my hair, raking my nails into my scalp.
I feel sick and angry...so fucking angry.
When my best friend in college sold me out to the fucking devil, I knew the guilt would eat me alive one day. I was so focused on saving my mother that I didn't even let myself feel it until after she died. It all came crashing on me every time Wes would reach out to me, testing to see whether I still fucking hated him. That's never changed, of course. But the guilt did.
It got so much worse when he decided to torment me further, sending me occasional videos thanking me for my service. I hadto crawl out of the grave I dug for myself, so I created Evergreen Industries with the hope of doing some good in the world, no matter how miniscule. I reinvented myself as the heir to an old fortune, buried my past life, and tried to move on.
Fucking random women who are enthusiastic about their desire to sleep with a millionaire has largely kept the guilt from consuming me, but when I lay down at night, screams echo in my head.
