Page 23 of The Worst Kind of Promise
Kit drops his phone when he snares my wrist, and he yanks me from out in the open, pulling me into his hard, warm body as we hover in the shadows. My hand is glued to his chest, where I can feel his own heart scrambling for safe passage.
“There’s someone in the house,” he whispers, and upon seeing my eyes widen, his hand comes down over my mouth, trapping my gasp.
Even though I always feel safe in Kit’s presence, whether he’s holding me or not, right now, I’m seconds away from pissing my pants. There’s an intruder. In the house. Oh my God. Do they have a gun? Are we about to die? Will anyone find our bodies?!
Fear twists my stomach as bile threatens to eject from my mouth. Kit’s strong arm cradles me, gripping so tight that I can feel his nails imprint my flesh. My spotty vision tunnels, my breath lapses, and my teeth click-clack together from the violent shakes convulsing through my body.
“Stay here.”
My brain—already under immense stress—boots up a few seconds too late before realizing what “stay here” means. Kit’s halfway to the stairs by the time my fingers claw at his arm, wrenching him backwards with a surprising amount of strength.
“Please don’t go up there,” I plead.
“I’ll be fine,” he promises, resting his calloused palm over my knuckles. His hand is rough, like sandblasted concrete, and I don’t know how to describe it, but it justfeelslike home. I grieve when his touch leaves me, when that familiar safety and security is stripped away.
I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Kit.
He cautiously, meticulously climbs the stairs, so quietly that I’m not even sure he’s breathing. Tendons protruding, shoulders reared back in a ready swing, I watch him walk his way to potential death.
I don’t know why I don’t just dial 911—like any sane person would do in an emergency—but instead, I plod after him, taking advantage of my brief adrenaline rush. It’s not until I overestimate the distance and bump into him that he whirls around, realizing I’ve defied his one and only order.
We’re right outside the room that’s the source of the noise. Any hint that we’re on the other side of the door, and it could ruin our leverage over the intruder. I can tell just how enraged Kit is, though—no verbalization needed.
More rustling reverberates from the room, less deafening than before, but still concerning enough to have Kit reaching for the handle. Treading uncharted waters, my guts tighten and squeeze in response. His other arm blocks me, and then, on the next crashing sound, he bursts through the door like the Kool-Aid Man.
I wasn’t sure what to expect. I was ready to encounter a psycho with a chainsaw or a crazed Reapers fan, but what we find instead is a thousand times more terrifying.
A lamp on the floor amongst sloven debris, the main culprit of the noise most likely the toppled chair on the ground. It looks like the place has been ransacked. And I would think that if it wasn’t for the two perpetrators at the scene.
My brother, Hayes, and his girlfriend, Aeris. One of whom is completely naked—thatwhomunfortunately being the person I’m related to.
My gaze pirouettes around the room, taking in the traumatizing sight of Hayes’ wrists tied to the headboard and a blindfold over his eyes. Aeris, who I’ve grown to love like a sister, stands in a black corset, thong, thigh garter, and heels, wielding a shoe in her hand and huffing like she just ran a mile.
Oh my God.
I can’t decide whether I’m about to scream or puke. Scruke? Pream?
My haunted shriek permeates the air, and I fall to my knees, rubbing my fists so deeply into my eye sockets that I’m determined to scrub away everything I just saw. I shouldn’t have complained so much. A welcome party would’ve been fine. A murderer would’ve been fine. Anything would’ve been better than witnessing my brother with his…thing…out like it’s fucking Nude-A-Palooza.
Beside me—I think, I’m still vision impaired—Kit cackles maniacally, and I hear the shutter of his iPhone camera go off.
“Faye!” I hear Aeris squeal.
“Faye?!” Hayes bellows at the same pitch.
Still refusing to open my eyes, I lengthen to a wobbly stance, slurping in centering breaths.Please be clothed. Please be clothed. Please be clothed.
This is my worst nightmare, and that’s surpassing the nightmare I had about my Furby becoming sentient and hunting me down to make a fashionable scarf out of my intestines. At least I was asleep for that.
I send one last prayer to the man upstairs, and then I peel my eyes open, even though every cell in my body is warning me not to. Aeris hasn’t bothered to change, but Hayes has at least been given a pillow to cover his privates.
She runs toward me and envelops me in a bear hug, unfazed by the fact that she’s missing a few crucial elements to her outfit. The sharp skeleton of her corset digs into all my fleshy parts, and she’s got some surprisingly strong arms. Arms that are giving my spine a chiropractor treatment.
“Aeris,” I wheeze, feeling my face turn blue and my brain lose oxygen.
“Sorry!” she rushes out, immediately letting me go, her enormous breasts swaying from the movement. They’re big.A lotbigger than mine. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t checking my brother’s girlfriend out. She’s gorgeous, sue me.
Aeris and my brother have been dating since September. Ironically, just like with Kit and me, it started with a secret. Or I guess a lie is a more appropriate word. Hayes made a questionable, alcohol-fueled decision one night, and he believed the only way he could better his image was to get into a relationship to show Reapers’ fans that he wasn’t the sleazeball everyone thought he was. Except his dumb ass didn’t tell Aeris their relationship was fake. But then, after a bunch of groveling and some pricey purchases, he earned her forgiveness. Now they’re living happily ever after together on the road to marriage. I think. I hope. I’d love to have Aeris as a sister-in-law.
