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

by Vic Tyler

  But by then, I’m already tackling him to the ground, my sweat hopelessly contaminating him.

  He groans, continuing his little charade of my well–earned victory.

  I’ve sparred with Jura before, and even though he looks frail and thin, his muscles are packed dense and tight, and he’s deceptively strong. Weaker in brute force than the other Twelve members I’ve sparred with but incomparably faster. Just chasing him around the mat has improved my reaction times tenfold.

  “You’re doing my laundry,” he grumbles, trying to peel me off with his fingertips.

  “You don’t do your own laundry,” I remind him, latching on tight. “Do you even know how to use a washing machine?”

  “That’s what YouTube is for.” He sniffs me and makes a face, snickering when I smack him.

  The little break in my arm lock is all he needs to slip out of my grasp, and he assesses the damage of my sweaty imprint on his long–sleeved shirt.

  “Ugh, can’t you wear actual clothes?” he complains as he shoots me a glare in mock exasperation. “Now, I smell like you. Bet everyone’s going to sniff me a mile away, and I’ll be the first to die like I’m in some C–rated horror flick.”

  “I got you zeroed in,” I tease. “Maybe I should join the organization as a master assassin.”

  As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Jura’s gaze flashes up, and the slightest tension in his shoulders tells me whom I should expect to find coming down the stairs.

  West watches our exchange, and his face gives nothing away, but I know he’s displeased about what he just heard.

  My stomach flutters when I see Damien next to him.

  His expression is impassive as his icy blue eyes meet mine. His gaze slides to Jura, and my insides curl when something dangerous flashes through them.

  “Turan said you’re expected in the rehabilitation room,” West says icily as he and a few of the other Twelve who accompany him stop in front of us.

  He normally doesn’t talk much to me in front of the others, which means Turan’s ratted me out hard about how active I’ve been in the gym and avoiding proper aftercare.

  I force my eyes to stay on West even though my periphery is burning with the image of Damien staring at me. “I’ll go after I train with some of the deviants.”

  If they don’t run away first.

  My skin prickles self–consciously, and Jura’s words about me smelling return to my mind.

  Ugh, I should’ve freshened up with a shower right after my run.

  “Is Jura warming you up?” Kitty purrs suggestively as she gazes at him under hooded eyes. My lips purse as I glare at her. Does she really have to say it like that in front of West and Damien? “How come you never tangle with me, Jura?”

  “I wouldn’t want to pop your saline bags,” he says boredly.

  Her eyes widen innocently as she cups her big boobs, squeezing and pushing them up with suggestive indelicacy.

  It looks more lewd than usual because of her recent disguise. Her newly dyed mahogany–colored hair gives her a slightly warmer aura, and her makeup is styled to make her look younger, fresh, and innocent.

  She almost looks like an entirely different person.

  “Oh, they’re one hundred percent real,” she husks with a coy smile. “You’d know that if we took a tumble on the mats.”

  The two women in the Twelve fight very differently. Isla uses her tall, sturdy body mechanically, along with her intimate knowledge of the human body to efficiently weaken her opponent.

  While I’ve learned from her how to maximize damage to certain body parts with the least amount of force, I also learned firsthand that it’s not fun having your pressure points bruised.

  Kitty is the complete opposite. She’s small, lithe, sensual, and not afraid to use her assets to play dirty.

  Actually, is it playing dirty if she’s not intentionally doing it?

  I don’t know if she’s capable of not making a fight look like raunchy, angry hate sex.

  But either way, it’s an inherently effective distraction technique because she’s a lethal fighter.

  She easily subdues a lot of the Twelve, and she’s unapologetically more ruthless than most of them.

  Kitty and Ubo are the two people in the Twelve that I’m terrified of sparring with.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Jura responds dryly.

  I’m more than a little surprised to find out Jura and Kitty have never sparred, but it’s hard to imagine spidery, long–limbed Jura and sex kitten Kitty duking it out.

  Already checked out of the conversation, West heads towards the front entrance, and everyone immediately follows suit.

  “Where are you going?” The alarmed question shoots out of me before I can stop it.

  It’s not often that West leaves with so many of the Twelve.

  I swallow back my hurt when West doesn’t respond or look back, still unused to the coldness he displays when we’re around other people.

  Damien has been staring at me the whole time. It’s only when he lingers — his turn a little slower than everyone else’s — that I lock eyes with him.

  A fiery rush roars through my body, and I swear the air between us gets heavier with heated tension.

  Only a second is passing, but I’m trapped in time under his icy blue scrutiny.

  He doesn’t look at me with the cold indifference he passed me over with when I first saw him in the gym.

  But it’s not that bright, heated gaze after an adrenaline–pumping fight either.

  I still don’t know where we stand. Or if there’s anything left for us to stand on.

  I break eye contact when Jura pats my head and murmurs that they’re going on an assignment before briskly following the others.

  When I turn, Damien is already walking away.

  I watch their backs as they all leave, feeling left behind once again. The outsider. The civilian. The child.

  I know they’ll never let me join Venti, and I was half–joking earlier.

  Only half.

  It’s a terrible reason to want to be a criminal, just to fit in with your criminal makeshift family, but I’m not satisfied with being protected and sheltered anymore. I hate feeling weak and powerless.

  I head straight for the gym, amped for another fight.

  It’s not like I enjoy senseless violence, but it’s how these people communicate.

  And every time they baby me, treating me like I’m made of glass, I can feel the distance between us.

  Even if I don’t join Venti, I’ll show them that I can at least take care of myself.

  chapter twenty-nine

  The process of scoping out the domed hall is mundane but necessary.

  Much like most of our assignments, believe it or not.

  As exciting as constant shoot–outs and covert missions would be, there aren’t enough to go around, although I see more than my share of them compared to the others.

  There will be four Cardinals in the Windrose in two days’ time, so West himself came to ensure that everything is spic, span, and secure.

  Infrared sensors, metal detectors, cameras, wires to trip the alarm in case of a breach. And that’s all the shit just installed into the walls.

  Can’t let a rogue deviant tamper with the place, although the entire building is always tightly secured and locked down when it’s not in use, which is most of the time. It’d take someone real fucking determined to break in here.

  The last time I stood within these walls was for my Twelve induction ceremony.

  When Adriana first came into our lives.

  I can almost see the little maid kneeling on the floor with that clutter of cash scattered around her.

  It’s hard to reconcile that image with the fully–grown woman now.

  Hell, even two years ago, she still looked like a kid. She definitely did a lot of growing in the past two years.

  A lot.

  “You wanted to talk?”

  Jura stands in the
doorway of the dark oak double doors.

  In a moment of hot–tempered weakness, I told Jura to meet me once West left.

  And as I look at him now, our duties out of the way and my blood cooled, my words escape me.

  In my silence of debating what to say, Jura leisurely walks towards me with his hands in his pockets.

  My mind races in light years. He’s too lax. Has too many openings. Doesn’t he know that the precious second it’ll take to pull his hands out could be the determinant of life or death? Or does he think he trusts me not to attack him? Because he thinks we’re allies?

  There’s no such thing.

  The people next to you are the ones who have the easiest access to you. The ones who are capable of cutting you down without you knowing.

  He should never trust me.

  He should never trust anyone.

  I squeeze my fists until the welcome pain in my palms calms me down. I have to remind myself to take deep breaths.

  No one deserves to be condemned to two years in East’s faction, but then again, he didn’t train any of the other deviants or even his Twelve like he did me.

  Jura smirks as he stops well beyond my reach, which relieves me.

  Good. He should be careful.

  “Feisty little rascal, isn’t she? That kid never seems to grow up,” he remarks, and his words bounce off the walls of the vast dome. “That is what this is about, isn’t it?” His gaze sharply pierces through me. “In all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve never wanted to just talk.”

  He slowly takes a step, starting to circle me from a distance.

  When I don’t respond — my jaw clenching so hard my ears hurt — Jura clucks his tongue.

  “Didn’t West send you away so you could get over your attachment to the girl?” His smile turns wicked. “Or does distance really make the heart grow fonder?”

  “What are you doing, Jura?” My voice is cold and harsh. “Letting a civilian woman touch you when you can’t even fight Kitty without your dick raging in your pants?”

  The one time Jura and Kitty fought was the only time I saw Kitty so agitated.

  Rightfully so, considering they wasted nearly an hour with Jura simply ducking and dodging every single one of Kitty’s attacks, never retaliating on the offensive.

  When Turan finally threatened to turn him inside out unless he fought, Jura wiped her out in one hit, fracturing his hand just to avoid dealing with her overly intimate fighting style.

  He sputters an incredulous snort, his expression completely dumbfounded.

  “Is that why you think I won’t fight her?” He starts to laugh, shaking his head. “Well, of course you would. Do you ever think beyond your own dick?”

  Even through all the indignant fury searing through my veins, there’s a part of me that feels ashamed and terrified that maybe he’s right.

  All these newfound confusions about Adriana — the one person I swore I’d protect, the one I’m trying to free from all this madness — can’t be normal.

  Just because she’s grown up a little in the past couple of years doesn’t mean she’s not the same girl she was when I left.

  It makes me nauseous and pisses me off that I might be no better than all those fuckers I killed who had desecrated Adriana and countless other innocents.

  Jura studies the ceiling thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw. “Yevo liked Kitty. He was crazy about her.”

  “So you’re respecting the bro code for your dead brother?” I snarl sarcastically, the words spilling out of me. My self–control has been unraveling since I came back. “That was years ago. He’s gone.”

  I know I’m lashing out at Jura for doing what I wanted most. To be there for Adriana all this time.

  I want to say it isn’t fair, but this is the path I chose.

  This is the only thing I can do for her, and it’s only me who can accomplish that.

  He scratches his head. “Yeah, but you’re still hellbent on killing West for your family. Time doesn’t heal all things, does it?” My molars grind as he smiles. “I’m not deigning to forget anytime soon. And neither are you. It’s how we survive each day.”

  He’s so fucking infuriating.

  The bastard hardly talks, but when he does, it’s like he has no regard for what comes out of his mouth.

  If anyone else heard the things he’s saying, he’d be in more trouble than he already is.

  Unlike anyone else in the Twelve, Jura goes through at least one Assassination every year. And because he usually doesn’t bother to kill anyone — finding the whole thing unclean — the others think him weak.

  Imagine if they heard the sentimental bullshit he’s spouting now.

  “So what bothered you about what happened earlier?” Jura’s lips slide into a smirk as he thoughtfully rubs his jaw. “Ah, right. That I let a ‘civilian woman’ ‘touch’ me?”

  The image of her sweaty body clinging to him, her breasts pushed into his back and arm, and her tight clothes stretched around a much–too–adult ass flashes through my mind.

  And all my irritation ramps up tenfold.

  So careless. How can she jump on Jura like she doesn’t realize she’s grown into a woman and that he’s a man?

  Jura shrugs, chuckling lightly. “Well, I never thought about her like that, so thanks for putting those images in my head.”

  “Don’t be disgusting,” I snarl.

  “You brought it up.” He pauses, and a smirk slowly slides onto his face. “Is that what you’re confused about? Seeing Adriana as a woman?” He laughs aloud, his tone teasing. “Seriously? Come on, Damien. What are you thinking? It’s Adriana.”

  “Exactly,” I snap. “It’s Adriana. She’s not a child anymore. And she’s a civilian. You shouldn’t wrestle with her like she’s one of us.”

  He scratches his head. “Why not? I like her.”

  My fists clench, and they’re starting to go numb from how hard I’m squeezing them.

  Does he think he can take advantage of Adriana’s innocence like that?

  I would’ve never expected virgin Jura to be so goddamn predatory, but even if it’s him, I’ll make sure he can never hurt her.

  It’s no secret that he’s a virgin. As far as I know, he’s never snuck anyone back to the property like most of the other deviants have, and he never goes outside unless it’s for an assignment. And when he does, he stays within the designated locations.

  He’s always been celibate as shit, and it’s not like he’s into guys or even asexual, of which I’m absolutely positive for reasons I’d rather not get into.

  And I doubt he’s changed in the two years I was gone, especially since he seems exactly the same.

  Glancing at me, Jura suddenly starts laughing like it’s the fucking joke of the century.

  My teeth grind together as I try to restrain the strange feelings of panic, distress, and anger rolling through me.

  “Jesus, not like that, you fucking weirdo,” Jura says, still laughing. “She’s more like a puppy than an actual woman to me.” He pinches his shirt as he scrunches his nose. “Just as energetic and dirty as one, too.”

  He cocks his head with a grin.

  “And just as innocent and unassuming as one, as well. I can see why Ubo wants to break her.”

  I slide a threatening step forward, bristling. “If you do anything to her —”

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it too.” His smile widens. “Seeing Adriana when all that trust and naivete is shattered. When she’s broken and helpless and at your mercy.” His voice is teasing like he’s joking around, not talking about someone’s fucking life.

  But my mind fights to push down the images that are fighting to surface.

  Of everything I could do to her that’d destroy her innocence.

  “But I don’t know how I’d feel about ruining her like that.” Jura shrugs. “It’s kind of like breaking your favorite toy. It’s only fun for a few moments before you realize it’ll never be the sam
e.”

  This wrenching feeling in my chest is suffocating.

  Pretending like we’re all fucking normal in front of her is suffocating.

  It’s a miracle that we’ve all made it this far without showing her a glimpse of the monsters we really are.

  It’s a miracle that she’s made it out unscathed thus far.

  “Makes you wonder if this desire to destroy everything we love will ever go away.” Jura’s tone turns heavy, and he stares at his hand, flexing and furling it. “Sometimes it feels impossible to hold onto the things that make us feel human.”

  “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” My voice is tinged with resignation.

  “Does it have to?” Jura looks up at the ceiling, but he’s not seeing it. “Maybe we could change if we weren’t here.”

  A sinking feeling in my gut dries my mouth. “What are you talking about?”

  He slowly lowers his head, but he doesn’t look at me, absently sliding his gaze around the room. “Maybe there’s more to life than our duty to Venti. There’s a whole damn world out there, and there are people like Adriana living in it. People who bring out the good in us as opposed to the bad.”

  “Stop,” I growl harshly.

  The pit of my stomach curls in discomfort.

  This fucking idiot. What does he think he’s saying? And to whom?

  Jura simply stares at me without continuing his verbal death wish, standing there casually with his hands in his pocket.

  His stance is relaxed. He’s not on guard. He’s not wary.

  He’s confiding in me.

  He trusts me.

  Goddammit, Jura.

  “Nothing good can come out of you leaving,” I say sharply. “Even if you manage to escape, look at us. At what we do. Just being around other people will mark them as targets. Carelessly bringing them into the equation is condemning them to our fate.”

  Look at my parents.

  “So you’re content with going on every day like this?” He arches an eyebrow. “Pretending you can detach yourself from everything that matters to you?”

  “The only thing that matters is the Cardinalship,” I grit.

  It’s everything to me.

  My revenge, my redemption, my promise to protect Adriana.