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

by Vic Tyler

  Leaning against the wall stands the giant man I saw at the ceremony. The one who was opposed to killing the Stepanovs. I think Cardinal Westlake called him ‘Turan.’

  I immediately cower at the sight of him.

  He’s almost twice my size. No, my height. I’m pretty sure if you bundle three or four of me, he’d still be bigger.

  How did I not notice or hear him approaching? He’s ginormous.

  He’s like a looming shadow towering over me. His dark eyes shine, and the whites practically glow in the mass of his black body.

  Standing in front of him feels like facing the vacuum of space. Overwhelmingly terrifying with the fear that life can end at any moment.

  “It’s dangerous.”

  My neck nearly snaps when I whip around to find Damien right behind me.

  Geez, how did he move so quickly and quietly?

  Turan bares his teeth in a wide smile, the white gleaming like rows of stars. “But it’d be fun.”

  “For who? You?” Damien snaps.

  My eyes widen at his tone. Isn’t he scared of this giant?

  “And her.” Turan dips his chin pointedly towards me. “Or should we lock her away in the highest room of the tallest tower and stone off the exit?”

  I wince, my bones shaking at the thought of being imprisoned just to be kept from wandering. “There are towers here?”

  His smile splits menacingly. “Yes, just for little girls we don’t like.”

  “Stop scaring her,” Damien says, annoyed.

  “Maybe she needs a good scare, so she knows to stay away.” Turan studies me for a few moments before jerking his head towards the double doors. “Come, little Wintrehall. I’m headed to the Spider’s lair, so we can get you the grand tour.”

  “Turan,” Damien grits warningly.

  Ignoring him, Turan waits for my response.

  But I’m scared. He didn’t care about helping me before, so I don’t know why he’s offering to help me now. Maybe there is something terrible behind those doors, and he’s trying to get rid of me.

  I glance back at Damien whose lips are curled in disapproval.

  Maybe I shouldn’t go. Although I really want to.

  Curiosity and fear thrash conflictingly inside my head. If I turn away now, I don’t think I’ll get another opportunity like this. I’ll be waved into the corner of the other wing, told I’m too young, too small, too much of a ‘civilian’ to even get a glimpse into their lives.

  But if I go with Turan, I honestly don’t know what’ll happen. It’s nothing like living on the streets or even entering a strange building where any number of torture and agony awaits me.

  From behind me, Damien sighs.

  “Fine,” he says wearily. “I’ll go with. But we’re only taking her to Jura’s.” He walks past, nodding for me to follow. “Don’t worry. If Turan tries to stuff you into a box, I’ll beat him up.” He winks.

  The uproarious laughter splits my ears as it echoes in the hallway, and the mountain in front of me shakes. “You’re decades too early for that, boy.”

  The slightest hint of a smirk touches Damien’s lips. “Don’t tell me you forgot how I knocked you off your feet a few days ago.”

  “I go easy on you while sparring so your confidence isn’t obliterated.”

  “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, old man.”

  “We’re going down to the gym after this, and I’ll show you what this old man is capable of.”

  I shuffle after them, feeling much more at ease now that Damien’s here.

  It’s an unusual feeling being comfortable around a man. I never thought I could trust one again, and in a matter of months, I have come to trust him.

  This side looks exactly like the east wing except there are a lot more people. Most of them are men, and they’ve all got a rough, hardened look to them like Turan and Damien do.

  Some of them eye me curiously or warily. Probably because I stand out in my blue and white dress while everyone else is dressed in dark colors.

  Damien’s and Turan’s strides are so long that I’m almost jogging to catch up to them.

  My footsteps are the only ones making any noise as we walk on the hardwood floors of the hall, and I try my best to step as gracefully and silently as them, but it seems impossible. Even looking at them makes me feel slow and clumsy.

  After making our way up a couple flights of stairs, I’m panting by the time we finally stop at a door at the end of this long hallway we just traipsed down.

  When Damien touches the doorknob, he yanks his hand back, cursing.

  “Language,” Turan barks.

  “Shit, sorry,” he mutters, glancing at me. “Goddammit, Jura.”

  Turan looks up at the corner while knocking on the door. “Now, now, boy. Open up. You’ve got visitors.”

  I squint, and there’s a small black dot up there but not much else. I’m not sure where or to whom Turan’s directing his message, but the door doesn’t open.

  “Maybe he’s not here,” I say nervously.

  Turan laughs, and I have a feeling that’s one of his quiet laughs even though it sounds like a crowd as it echoes down the hall.

  With a half–grin, Damien leans against the wall. “Jura never leaves unless absolutely necessary. Even if the house catches on fire, he’d probably be the last one out after wiping out our systems and packing up all his little toys.”

  A disembodied voice scratches out of nowhere. “I’m frankly a little insulted you don’t think I already have remote control over that. Why is she here?”

  Jumping in alarm, I look around us, but I can’t tell where the voice is coming from.

  “Didn’t you hear we started giving exclusive tours?” Turan chuckles.

  The voice sounds unamused. “Count me out.”

  “Come on. Entertain us for a few minutes, Spiderman.”

  “She shouldn’t be here.”

  Turan grins. “So?”

  “I don’t want her here.” The voice is moody and sullen.

  “No one cares what you want.”

  “Obviously.”

  The strongman grabs the doorknob and laughs. “That’s just a tickle. You’re going to have to try harder to get rid of me.” A staticky sound zips from the door, and he growls, “You’re only getting me excited, kid.”

  “You’re a masochistic fuck.”

  “Language,” he barks again.

  “Stop crowding my door and leave. Looking at your ugly faces bothers me.”

  Turan glances at me. “That’s not a nice thing to say about a lady.”

  I squirm uncomfortably as Damien rolls his eyes.

  There’s no response for a few moments before the voice finally says, “You’re here to see the video feeds?”

  Turan smirks. “Did you look up what we were doing until now?”

  “Voyeur,” Damien mutters.

  Leaning in, I whisper to Damien. “What’s a ‘voyeur’?”

  He stiffens, and Turan roars with laughter. He really doesn’t look like the type to be so cheerful. It’s a pleasant surprise.

  “Fine,” the voice says in exasperation. “Take a look but leave right afterwards.”

  “I don’t want to spend my time with your depressing ass either,” Turan says cheerily.

  When he turns the doorknob this time, the door opens. And I look in dread at the steep staircase awaiting us on the other side.

  My legs are aching from all the running and jumping I’ve been doing. Maybe I should’ve listened to Dr. Isla when she said to take it easy.

  The staircase is dark with no windows, and the steps are narrow. I’m pretty sure it leads to the attic, but when we cross into the other side, it’s a brightly lit room — smaller than the other rooms in this house but still spacious.

  It’s barely furnished — empty, bare, and clean except for a couch, a television, and a table with a kitchenette to the side. There’s only one door straight ahead of us, and Damien and Turan head straight for it.


  The room it opens into is swamped with blue–white light on one side but pitch black otherwise.

  A man I saw at the ceremony sits in front of a wall of computer monitors, grimacing as he eyes us.

  I stare in awe. Wow. How many screens are there?

  Each one displays something starkly different from the next with a few turned off. Lots of videos and articles and code littered throughout.

  I squint at one of the monitors in the center, and I swear it reads ‘Interpol,’ but it blacks out as soon as the man — Jura — presses something on his keyboard.

  Jura is around the same age as Damien, but he simultaneously looks older and younger, his face gaunt and pale with dark circles under his eyes.

  I can see why they call him ‘The Spider.’ His long, slender limbs are curled into his body, and whenever he moves, his motions are quick, and his arms and legs look even longer when they unfold.

  “I thought she was supposed to leave months ago.”

  “West decided to let her stay.” Stalking to the wall, Turan grabs a chair and pushes it towards me.

  I tentatively sit, but the two men I came here with continue to stand.

  Jura scowls. “Why?”

  “In case she kills herself.”

  My face flares with heat at Turan’s explanation. They certainly don’t mince words.

  Looking bored, Jura says flatly, “Why not just let her?”

  “Shut up, Jura,” Damien snaps, his eyes flashing threateningly.

  “That’s insensitive, boy.”

  The Spider’s gaze bores into me, and there’s a familiar emptiness in his eyes that’s more prominent than in the others’. “Some lives are not worth living.”

  Damien’s shoulders tense as he snarls, “Speak for yourself.”

  Without another word, Jura swivels around. “What do you want to show her first?”

  “We’ll start with the barracks and make our way down,” Turan says cheerfully, eliminating the strange mood from seconds before.

  On the screen, various images from around the mansion pop up, and Jura maximizes them one by one.

  There are suites filled with people, some of the rooms lined with multiple beds and bunks. A gym with people working out. A garage with more lines of cars than a parking lot. Another garage. The outside gate and various points at the swerving bend on the mountain leading up to the mansion. The hospital ward with Isla. The grand foyer. People changing in what looks like a dressing room backstage of a theater.

  “Voyeur,” Damien says dryly.

  Jura ignores him, continuing the video tour. An image of an armory shows up with countless guns, chains, knives, boxes of explosives, and things I’ve never even seen before.

  A familiar figure cleaning a machine gun drives a violent shiver down my spine.

  He looks much more menacing with that thing in his hands.

  “Ubo is our master–at–arms.” Turan grins. “Weapons specialist. There’s no one else like him. Fun thought, isn’t it?”

  I swallow hard, the sound deafeningly loud in the silent room.

  People like Ubo are the reason why mental health and gun control are discussed. Putting him in charge of an arsenal is unthinkable.

  Jura stares blankly at the video. “If more than three weapons were allowed in an Assassination, even West would have trouble with Ubo.”

  Damien scoffs. “If he can’t kill West with three weapons, he doesn’t deserve to.”

  “West never uses more than one,” Turan says pointedly. “And even then, it’s just for show.”

  “Like when he sliced that deviant’s tendons?” Jura monotones.

  As though he’s trying to shield me from it, Damien edges in front of me. “Shut up.”

  But it doesn’t stop me from being able to hear what he says. And it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “Before taking his sweet time to skin every inch of his —”

  Damien slams his foot into the back of Jura’s chair, shoving him against the desk.

  Jura glares over his shoulder. “You wanted to scare the damn girl, and telling her the truth is where you draw the line?”

  “No need to get gory about it,” Damien grits. “She doesn’t need the details.

  Without taking his eyes off Damien, Jura presses something on his keyboard, and one of the black monitors flashes to life.

  The pit of my stomach drops farther when I see a glimpse of the video footage before a massive hand rests gently over my face, blocking out all the light.

  “Too far, kid.” Turan’s voice is calm.

  “Then why did you bring her here?” Jura says, annoyed. “To take a virtual tour of the grounds? Show her West’s big, rich house like we’re on some episode of MTV Cribs? If you want to scare her into staying on the other side of the complex, then show her the puppies fetching dismembered limbs or Kitty’s sex dungeon or Isla’s Franken–lab. Going straight to Mach’s chambers is the quickest way to do it anyhow.”

  My voice trembles. “What does Mach do?”

  Turan lowers his hand, and the screen I just saw is black.

  Jura looks blankly at me. “What did it look like?”

  “He hurts people?” I swallow hard. “Torture?”

  “He extracts information.” Turan nods. “Yes, usually by violent means.”

  “He likes it.” My words are an unsure confirmation.

  “Immensely.”

  My voice falters into a quiet breath. “Scary.”

  “You should be scared of everyone here, little Wintrehall.” Turan laughs. “Even Jura.”

  The Spider scowls as he swiftly turns back to his computers. “Now, you’re overstaying your welcome.”

  “Did we receive a welcome?”

  He jerks his head towards the door. “You’re welcome to leave.”

  Turan chuckles. “Let’s go, little Wintrehall. Jura needs his alone time now.”

  We leave the sullen man behind as we walk out of his room.

  As Damien and Turan make their way down the stairs, I glance back, and for a brief moment, my eyes meet Jura’s.

  He stares back, his dark gaze unreadable, before he reaches out and shuts the door.

  The image of Jura lingers in my vision even as I turn and run down the stairs.

  I thought it was just me.

  I thought that being confined to the other half of the mansion meant I was the only one left out.

  Even though there are people here, even though it’s not dead silent, and even though it’s not deserted, it’s empty on this side too.

  Everyone in this entire house is so incredibly lonely.

  chapter thirteen

  Even though Turan and I are with her in the west wing, it makes me uneasy parading Adriana around the deviants.

  More than a few are on high alert when they see her. I don’t know how she’s going to live here without running into some trouble from the deviants, even if she’s on the other side.

  When we pass through the double doors, Turan stops.

  “I have to go back in and take care of some business.” He nods at me, and I arch an eyebrow, but he ignores my silent question.

  He mentioned having to go see Jura, and yet, when we were there, he didn’t breathe a word of it, choosing to escort Adriana down here instead.

  Turan’s been acting unexpectedly gentle this entire time and on his best behavior.

  I’ve never heard him berate anyone for using coarse language, and I forgot that most kids are sheltered in that way. It certainly isn’t the case with any of the children in Venti.

  When he disappears through the double doors again, I motion for Adriana to follow. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  Instead of taking her directly to the front, I take her through one of the more inconspicuous back hallways, where the staff dormitories and the kitchen is. She might find better company there when she’s bored next time.

  “Where do the maids stay?”

  I point ahead of us. “The servants’ quarters.”


  “Can we stop by?”

  “Is there something that didn’t get delivered to your room from your old one?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She shakes her head. “I’d like to see Ms. Nadia and thank her for everything she’s done for me.”

  Clenching my jaw, I fight back a grimace. I’d almost forgotten about what happened. “She’s not here.”

  Adriana looks confused. Damn. “Where is she?”

  From behind us, a dreadfully gleeful voice says, “She wasn’t any good no mo’, so she got sent to live on a farm. Would you like to join her?”

  Ubo grins maniacally, zipping up his pants as a flustered maid dips out of the open door and runs away.

  I narrow my eyes. We aren’t allowed to get involved with the staff, even though it happens by and large, especially with the lower–ranked deviants.

  But Ubo isn’t discreet, and if that maid limps around with bruises, cuts, or maybe even broken bones, it’s going to be a hassle for all of us. Unnecessary drama.

  He smirks when he catches me stepping in front of Adriana and glaring at him.

  “Lucky bitch. West personally sanctioned your protection. Curious, innit? I always knew he liked little girls.” His gaze drifts over to me with a suggestive glint.

  I grit my teeth, my fists clenching by my sides. “Keep walking if you want to keep what’s left of your balls, Ubo.”

  Grabbing his crotch, he sneers, “Has no one neutered you yet? I’ll gladly volunteer.”

  To my surprise, Adriana grabs my arm. Stepping forward, she blurts, “What happened to Ms. Nadia?”

  Ah, right.

  Ubo’s smile grows. “You killed her.”

  “Ubo!” I snarl.

  Ignoring me, he stares at Adriana, combing his hair back and adjusting his clothes. “You’re a naughty one. Pulling a stunt like that — deceiving her into hiring you and using her good will to get to West. Wily, sneaky little cunt. I knew I liked you. It’s good that the old hag is gone. Why would anyone trust a foolish woman like that? So easily manipulated and by a kid.”

  Adriana’s hands tremble on my arm, and I push her back behind me. “Get out of here, Ubo.”

  His eyes glint maliciously. “Or what? Going to throw a tantrum and get West to save you again? For someone who says he wants to kill the old bastard, you lick his feet diligently.”