Page 56 of Vow of Vengeance
My timeline for finding Marissa just got tighter.
twenty-five
Soren
I'mcurledagainstDeclanon the couch, nearly asleep, when the doorbell rings. Roxy jumps, clearly pulled from sleep too, and cocks her head to one side as she looks at me, confused.
"Were you expecting someone?"
"I wasn't." Declan shakes his head, moving out from beneath me. "Stay here."
He doesn't have to ask me twice. Or Roxy, apparently. She lays her head back down on her paws but watches as Declan strides to the door. He stops at the entryway table, opens the drawer, and grabs something from inside. I realize what it is when he opens the chamber to check that it's loaded and then clicks it in place.
"Declan!" I hiss.
The fact that he has a fucking gun right in his entryway table is new to me. I knew he was entwined in a dangerous world, but I didn't think he owned a gun, let alone kept it so close by.
Has he ever used it? I wonder.
I also wonder if I'm about to witness a murder.
He looks through the peephole, chuckles, and then rests his head against the door for just a second. I mean to ask him what the hell he's doing, but he takes a step back and opens the door before I can bother asking.
The man standing there grins like he's looking at an old friend. His dark hair hangs in his face, but what I can see of it is objectively good-looking. But my attention slips right past him to the girl at his side.
If he's objectively good-looking, she's gorgeous. And I assume she knows it, because that isn't the sort of outfit you wear if you're not confident enough to pull it off. Her red leather skirt stops a few inches above her knees, and a slit in it teases her powerful-looking thighs.
"The fuck are you doing here?" Declan asks, moving to stand in the door. I don't know if he's trying to block me from seeing them or them from seeing me.
"You needed my help. Here I am." The man shrugs. "This is my wife. Violet, this is the one you've heard so much about."
"Declan, right?" She smiles. "You were going to help find my sister for us last year. Thank you for that."
I blink, wondering who her sister is and why Declan never mentioned it.
"And he foundyoulast month when you tried to go on a suicide mission withmystupid ass sister." The man rolls his eyes, but I see the way he glances at her affectionately.
"No thank you for that one." Violet says.
"You have a sister?" Declan asks, surprised. It seems to take him another moment to put two and two together.
"Half-sister. She's a nightmare, honestly. Always getting up to something and dragging my wife into it."
"Rhea Boudreaux?”
The name is familiar, but it takes me a moment to recall hearing it on our trip to Costa Rica. Rhea was the one Declanhad to search for, the one who Declan had to write back into the system. He'd been able to do it so quickly when we were there. Why has it taken so long to do the same thing for Marissa?
“That's your half-sister?"
"Yep. I'm surrounded by psychotic women." He winks at his wife, whose lip quirks into a little smirk. She doesn't bother denying his accusation. She seems mild to me, but if she's crazy, she puts the hot in psychotic. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so inferior as I do in Violet’s presence.
It isn't lost on me that I'm sitting on the couch in pajama shorts and one of Declan's shirts. Just because I have my own clothes again doesn't mean I want to wear them rather than his stuff. Maybe it's because it's pricey or maybe it's because it's his, but his clothes feel like being wrapped in silk. It's luxurious but compared to Wes' wife with her perfect blond curls streaked with purple highlights dressed like a rockstar, I feel like a bum.
"Invite your friends in, Declan." I chide, standing. Roxy jumps from the couch and looks up at me expectantly, so I stoop to pick her up. "I'm just going to go change."
I make quick work of dressing in something more suitable for guests, even though it means putting on a bra.
My whole body still hurts a bit from falling through a fucking wall, but I escaped mostly unscathed. Normally I bruise like a damn peach and can never remember where a specific mark came from. I'm grateful that I have one less reminder of my gracelessness.
