Destruction

  Destruction

  Jennifer Bene

  Contents

  Title

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  End Notes

  Sneak peek of Book 2!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Jennifer Bene

  Jennifer Bene

  Text copyright © 2017 Jennifer Bene

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN (e-book): 978-1-946722-16-4

  ISBN (paperback): 978-1-946722-19-5

  Cover design by Laura Hidalgo, Beyond DEF Lit. https://www.beyonddeflit.com/

  Created with Vellum

  This book has dark romance in its veins. I loved the characters the first time they came into my head, in an old short story, but I knew I hadn’t written their story the way I needed to. With ‘Destruction’ this story is right. You may recognize components of it if you’ve read all of my older work, but in this new book the characters come alive. They are here in all the dark and twisted glory they were meant to be, and I hope you love it, lovelies.

  Chapter One

  Lianna

  “What do you mean you’re not coming home?” Walking towards the table, Lianna dropped her laptop bag and purse onto it, squeezing the phone tighter as his sigh brushed across the line.

  “Lianna, I already explained this. I have a meeting that I cannot miss.”

  “That’s the same thing you said the last time we planned a trip and you canceled it.” Her heels echoed across the tile as she started pacing, a harried clicking that only seemed to file her nerves down even further.

  “Business comes before fun, princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before she heard someone else talking to him, muffled and indiscernible. His answer came through loud and clear, “Yes, arrange it. No, I don’t want to wait until the morning.”

  “Dad,” she tried to interrupt him, but he didn’t hear her. He’d pulled the phone away from his ear, talking to someone he valued enough to take with him, while she suffered another minute of his low muttering across the line.

  This is such bullshit.

  Raising her voice, she spoke again, “Dad, I’m hanging up.”

  “I’m here.” Another of his quiet sighs. “Look, I will make this up to you. Why don’t you go shopping with one of your friends this weekend? Or keep the reservations and take some of them skiing like we planned.”

  “Why didn’t you bring me with you?” Her question came out steady, even though his words stung. He was trying to placate her with petty distractions like he always did, when all she wanted was a little time with him, a taste of how things used to be — but instead she was alone, chewing her thumbnail and destroying her manicure.

  Her father stayed silent, not even a sigh this time.

  More useless pacing, heel to toe. Click. Click. Click. Around and around the island in the kitchen as she waited him out. A negotiation tactic that he had taught her. Never fill silence when you want an answer.

  “I’ll try to be back by Sunday. We can go to dinner, just the two of us.”

  Lianna stopped in place, laughing bitterly as she stared up at the lights in the ceiling until her eyes watered from their brightness. Of course he wouldn’t answer her. “I don’t know why you wanted me to work for you if you’re not going to trust me with anything that’s actually important.”

  “Don’t be petulant, Lianna. You’ve been involved in over half of our acquisitions in the past two years, worked on multi-million dollar mergers, and that’s more than most people will do in a lifetime. You should be grateful—”

  “Grateful?” Her fingers ached with how hard she gripped the phone, and she swallowed down the anger that swelled whenever he used his favorite phrase.

  “I do not have time for this, Lianna, we need to take off.”

  “Fine. Then enjoy your flight.” Ripping the phone away from her ear, she pressed her thumb to the end button and then tossed it onto the granite countertop. It skidded, spun, bumped into the blender and finally stopped.

  It should have felt satisfying to hang up on him. Throwing the phone should have eased some of the rage inside her, but it hadn’t done anything worthwhile. If anything, the bitter anger was fading into simple bitterness, tinged with sadness — which was worse.

  Tears stung her eyes and this time she couldn’t even blame the bright lights because she was staring at the floor, at her shiny, black Louboutins that were a stark contrast to the pale tile. She was still dressed for the office, in a form fitting skirt suit that would have worked perfectly for the dinner at Silver Den they were supposed to be having in an hour and a half.

  She’d picked it out just in case they’d both worked late, the ivory Dior top was meant for transitioning from office to evening, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  “You are not going to act like some child upset because her daddy left. You are not going to fucking cry,” she hissed the words to the air above, a promise already broken as she felt the damp on her cheeks.

  You should be grateful.

  “Damn you!” Lianna shouted, scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks as she turned to look across the quiet penthouse apartment.

  To say it was beautiful was an understatement. Two floors of custom designed perfection, and room by room, item by item, she’d slowly transformed it until it no longer resembled her childhood home. Practically every piece of furniture, every piece of art, had been chosen by her. It was still her father’s home though. He owned it, hell, he owned the entire fucking building, and she shouldn’t be staying here anyway. Shouldn’t have agreed to redesign the apartment. Shouldn’t have agreed to get the MBA, shouldn’t have agreed to work for him…

  Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

  Muttering to herself, she walked to the stairs, taunted by her heels echoing in the silence. So, she tore them off before she went upstairs. It only took a few minutes to trade the nice clothes for pajamas, and by the time she’d washed her face and put her hair up the anger had left her completely.

  Now, she just felt a heavy weight settling over her. Standing at the top of the stairs, looking out over the dim apartment, only made it worse. She was too aware of all the empty space. It was too much room for one person. Too much for even two people, and for the millionth time she questioned why she kept staying here during the week when she had her own place. Her apartment was smaller, warmer, and it wasn’t thirty-two stories up and atop her father’s company.

  But the commute was a hell of a lot easier from here.

  The not so subtle rumble of her stomach beckoned her back to the kitchen, and she rifled around in the freezer until she found one of the pre-packaged meals from the delivery service her father preferred. As the oven started to heat up she sat down at the table and plucked her laptop from her bag.

  By the time the oven beeped to tell her it was pre-heated she was already deep in email, pulling documents from the shared drive to review them before she answered one of their department heads. It was only the insistent tug of her stomach that finally made her stand up and pop the dish in the oven so it would heat up.

  Staring at the papers scattered over the rustic wooden table, she sighed in a way that reminded her of her father’s trademark exasperation. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried — at the end of the day she still wanted to make him proud.

  All of the work spread out on the table made her remember times when she’d sat in the chair in his office and played with important papers, pretended to type on his computer, legs swinging because she was too small to touch the floor. Back then she’d just wanted to be like him, that was true… but now she wanted him to respect her, to value the work she did for the company, the time she put in. Wanted to prove to every asshole in the company that gave her the side-eye when she held meetings or walked the halls that despite being the daughter of the CEO she was still earning her position.

  Which was exactly why she was working at eight o’clock on a Thursday night when she was technically supposed to be on vacation already.

  Not like the vacation was on anymore.

  She should really call Patricia and have her cancel everything. That would be the nice thing to do since they wouldn’t be arriving, and just the idea of trying to get people together to go felt exhausting. Her father had told her to hang out with friends, but if he ever paid attention he would notice she never had time for that anymore. It had been weeks
since she’d even met up for a happy hour or a spa day. Two years post-grad school and she was as much of a workaholic as her father.

  Success is never handed to you, princess, you have to reach out and take it.

  Another snippet of her father’s wisdom playing on a loop in her head, outlining the cutthroat business mind that had made him such a success. But when had he become her inner monologue? When had his ideas, his goals, overwhelmed her own?

  As she sent off the email she’d been working on, she pulled up her personal email and flipped through the various correspondence she’d had with art museums and auction houses around the world. A handful had responded to her inquiries of open positions with some interest, and her fingers itched to answer one. To pursue her own dreams instead of her father’s.

  Guilt gnawed at her as she re-read the response from Sotheby’s in Lyon, France. Her French wasn’t perfect, but it had apparently been good enough to garner a response and they seemed very interested in speaking with her — which felt like an impossible dream.

  Impossible because it would involve leaving her father. Not just leaving him, but leaving the country, and it had been just the two of them for too long.

  He would never let you do it.

  The smell of smoke jerked her out of her reveries and Lianna jumped to her feet, rushing to the oven to turn it off. Opening the door let out stinging, acrid smoke and she grabbed the potholder to rip out the ruined meal so she could slam the oven closed.

  Staring at the blackened dish of what had been chicken and vegetable couscous she tossed the offensive thing into the trash and walked to the wine fridge in defeat.

  It had been a shit day, and calories were calories, right?

  At least she couldn’t ruin wine.

  Chapter Two

  David

  Leaning forward, David stared at the monitor and wondered if she could feel his hate, his rage. At the very least her ears should be burning underneath all that blonde hair. Hell, she should burst into fucking flames.

  Everything about her was so clean. Tidy. Neat.

  But every pristine inch of that place was coated in blood, and so was she. It didn’t matter how pretty they packaged it, rebranded it, covered it up. It still reeked of death. Corruption.

  Movement on the other screen distracted him and he glanced over to see Harry walking around the cell, eyes on the ceiling like he was checking on everything one last time. As he left the room, David flicked off the first monitor and rose to meet him in the hall.

  “Everything looks good. Were you able to get the wiring finished last night?”

  “Yes, and I’ve run a few tests this morning. It’s just fine. Liam did a good job on the ceiling.” David lifted his chin towards the room. “How’s the door?”

  “It would be easier for someone to drill through the concrete than break that door down. Same as the others.” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “But as I told you before, seems a bit of overkill.”

  “I don’t leave things to chance.”

  A short, barked laugh made Harry flush under his baseball cap. “If you’re going after who I think you are, then you’re already playing with fire, or C-4, or something equally as stupid. Those doors aren’t going to matter. Whatever it is, you should let it go.”

  “Let it go?” David asked, a threatening edge tainting the question.

  “That’s my suggestion.”

  Lips pulling back from his teeth, he growled. “I’m not the only one who wants to—”

  Harry raised a hand. “Like I said before, I don’t wanna know what you’ve got planned.” Swinging the new, thick metal door on its hinges, he shook his head slowly. “And I definitely don’t wanna know why you needed this place outfitted like a fucking bunker.”

  David forced a slow, deep breath. “That’s fine. I appreciate the help.”

  “Yeah, well, this was the last favor I owed your family. But… out of respect for your father I’ve gotta tell you that the last thing he’d want you to do is get yourself locked up, or killed.” Harry brushed his nose and then braced his hands on his hips, staring into the concrete room that was finally complete.

  “This is all about respect for my father,” David answered, settling against the concrete wall in the hallway. Studying the older man’s features as they pinched for a moment and then smoothed out.

  “Hmm.” The noncommittal grunt was the only break in the silence for a few moments, and then Harry turned away from the room and shut the door. It was a heavy, satisfying sound, the hinges screeching from the weight of it.

  It was perfect for a prison.

  “Is that the key for all the doors?” he asked, looking to the small silver key sticking out of the handle.

  “Yep.” Harry tugged it free and held the key out, but as soon as he reached for it, Harry pulled it back. “I don’t wanna know what you’re doing, David, but I do wanna know when you’re gonna do it.”

  “I don’t know. It depends. Why?” Watching the man carefully, he noted the way his fingers tightened around the key, a subtle shake to his hands betraying his nerves. He didn’t want to hurt Harry McConnell, but he would if the man tried to interfere in this.

  He’d been planning for too long to have it fall apart now.

  “Soon?” Weathered blue eyes held his and he answered with a curt nod. “Then I think I’m gonna take me and the boys on a trip. Somewhere public, with surveillance cameras. Vegas, maybe.”

  “Why’s that?” The ice-cold calm was creeping through his veins as he stared the old man down, everything shutting off except for his instinct for violence, the urge to protect the only thing that mattered now — the plan.

  “Because if the cops come around asking about you, or this place, or whatever you’re planning to do in it, I’m gonna have proof me and my boys weren’t within a hundred miles of this shit.” Harry offered the key again, and this time he let David take it. “Building is in your name now, so I’m out now, understand? I’m not involved. This goes south, you don’t speak my name, and I won’t say shit about you either.”

  David nodded, tucking the key away in a pocket. “Sounds good to me, Harry.”

  “Then I’m gonna go.”

  “Alright, I’ll walk you out.” Pushing off the wall he waited for the man to start moving before he fell into step beside him. As they approached the new double doors at the end he had to admire the craftsmanship on the thick steel doors. They were braced well, and the security system he’d installed was just extra insurance now. Harry had been the right man to call for this. Even if he’d effectively burned this bridge by involving him… he’d never hated him. He’d known him his entire life. “I meant what I said, I appreciate you helping with this. You and your boys do great work.”

  “Yep.” Tugging off his baseball cap, Harry scratched at his thinning hair before replacing it and offering his hand so they could shake. “I’d say good luck, but I don’t know if I want that on my conscience.”

  “Have a good time in Vegas, Harry.” David took his hand, feeling the firm grip of a man who’d spent his life working with his hands as they finalized the handshake.

  Nodding, Harry stepped through the door and David held it open as the man turned around and met his eyes once more. “You ever heard the saying, before you go on a journey for revenge, dig two graves?”

  Something twisted in the cold inside him, but David made himself smile. “Since when did you start spouting philosophy, old man?”

  “Since I became an old man, had grandkids, left the old life behind.” Harry adjusted his baseball cap again, sniffing loudly as he looked towards the stairs. “It’s the truth though.”