Page 14 of Vow to Protect
A blast of air leaves my nose. I raise the glass to my lips and sip the chilled liquid like it’s my final drink, because it may well be. I have no idea what this bastard beside me will do with me after this. All I know is, I’m dressed up like a high-end hooker to attract attention and to blow up his ego even more than it already is.
“A million euros for your thoughts?” Blaine quips. Fingers snake over my knee. My gut roils in revulsion. “Jake asked you a question.” I was so involved in the memory of Brett De Courcy actually agreeing to rescue me, that I blocked out the smartly dressed men around the table.
“Sorry, I was miles away.” I offer a tight smile, flicking my eyes to Blaine’s harrowing stare, ignoring his guest.
A mildly handsome man with a scalped head and small chestnut eyes speaks to me. I scratch the skin beneath the weighty bracelet strangling my wrist like a queenly shackle. My muscles ache from hours spent huddled in an unstimulating bedroom. The stiffness is not obvious to him when I force my spine to straighten.
“I was wondering if you were Spanish?” The tone of his voice slithers across the table like a dying eel. “Your hair is so black and wavy.” His lips curve to a horrid grin. “And your skin looks soft under the lighting. I bet it feels like warm satin.”
I hide the vomit rising to my throat with a slight cough and look back to Blaine. “Can I get some air, please?”
Blaine cocks a brow, holding my question in silence for a beat before answering. “Of course.”
My lashes lower, breaking away from his poker-faced expression. I’m fully aware how his calmness crests to violence. He will allow me to go outside because I always have a choice, even if the odds of survival are stacked against one more than the other. “Thank you,” I reply with a negligible hitch to my lips.
He scrapes the legs of his chair closer, dipping his mouth to the shell of my ear. “Should I remind you how to act?” he begins, keeping his voice mild and condescending.
I know the so-called options define my future and stamp my dread with his authority. Last night he offered me diamonds or drugs. Diamonds led to expensive cuffs and tasteless constraints with a suggestion of something classier than pedaling cocaine. Drugs led to the lesser alternative of becoming a trap queen. A woman who deals her master’s dope to scum drug lords.
Each choice has a fated twist. A cruel consequence. Only time will tell how bad this decision was.
“Jake and I have important business to discuss. I’d rather not have your blood on this lovely new suit.” He pauses, inhaling the sickly perfume he gifted me with earlier. The waistcoat and jacket mean nothing to him; he has a dressing room filled with tailor-made threads. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” Blaine lowers his chin, staring right through me. Those eyes don’t sparkle or dance in the light, nor do they come alive when he talks. They're bland and cold.
A hideous shiver of apprehension creeps over my shoulder blades, smothering the skin with wretched prickles. I want to drag my hair over my face and hide away from his callous threats. To grow wings and fly away. To dive into the golden champagne and break free with the bubbles.
As every cursed long day rolls into dark sleepless nights, I’ve stayed vigilant, quiet and studious. One of these days, when he’s unprotected and least expecting it, I’ll stab the bastard in a frenzied attack of rage.
“I’m lightheaded after the champagne,” I lie. “Please excuse me.” My quaking hand glides to my empty stomach.
“Go outside. Get as much fresh air as you need.” He feigns concern with a mocking tap on my knee. “Run away from me, and I’ll cut out your fucking heart while it still pumps blood around that nice body of yours.” His face is deadpan. No hesitation or reconsideration, just truth. The choice is crystal clear. Natalie’s recent death lingers in the air between us. Intimidation silently chokes my life, squeeze after squeeze.
I slide my thigh free from the almighty weight of his hand and brush down the creases in my dress when I stand. “My heart is dead, Blaine. You’re welcome to it.” And I’m burning in hell. I force courage, muttering under my breath so only he can hear.
My statement reaps a dark chuckle. “Oh, Raen, it already belongs to me. Beating or not.” His nostrils flare with scorn as he pushes up from the table. “You’re not like your sister. You have a flicker of integrity. That warped hint of malevolence. A pinch of bravado and the foolish spirit to bite back. I admire those qualities. Reminds me of myself. We’re very alike, you and I, but if you think you’re better than me, or you can outsmart me, I’ll slice the bravery right out of you.” He air kisses my temple, ensuring no part of him connects with my face.
A simple deceiving act for public show. I bristle at the prediction, holding a breath to stop myself from telling him exactly where he can stick his threat. My arms hang by my hips, and my chin dips in surrender. He lacks empathy in every sense of the word. An unpredictable man and volatile demon who believes all his cruelty warrants motive. I loathe him with every cell inside my trembling body.
Jake taps the base of his glass against the rim of Blaine’s whiskey. “She must be foreign, but the accent, I can’t quite make it out?”
“I lived in Spain before I was…” I tighten the leash on my temper, thinking better of snapping out an acidic response. “My father was French. My mother was Irish,” I reply, wishing my words were blades.
Blaine clicks his fingers, breaking the conversation up. “Now that we have the irrelevant details over with Jake, I want more Scotch.”
“Is she part of the deal?” Jake's eyes trail the length of my torso and settle on my breasts.
“No.” Blaine lifts his trousers at the knee and sits back down. “I have a job set aside for this one. If she complies, I’ll hold on to her for a while. If not, she’ll be up for grabs at the right price. I reckon she would make me a substantial profit.” Blaine motions to the server circling the nearby tables.
My knees lock. This is the first time he’s hinted at my future. Looking around me, conversations unfold, smiles signify freedom, the pianist hides in his music, and Blaine’s security detail eye me with no regard for my well-being. I fight hard to control the simmering rage inside me and swivel away. Inflamed cheeks scorch and salty tears blur the exit.
The bitter wind outside cools my flushed skin. The violent shiver reminds me of the vehemence terror I endured that day––the day my sister's tortured soul left her body. I’m transported back to the painful memory, to the exact moment in my past that sealed my present.
Natalie doesn’t respond. No matter how many times I repeat her name.
“She’s dead.” The man whose bloodied fingers wrap the knife that killed my sister grabs a cushion from my couch and cleans the blade. Her blood stains the fabric, seeping into the fibers. My mind spins. Fear. Panic. Adrenaline.
“Why? Why did you kill her? Why?” The why’s fly off my tongue in a reaction to shock. I know why he did it, because he’s evil.
I watch him meticulously slide the blade free of crimson spatters, then rise to a threatening dominant stance. The movement of his tall form blocks out the sunshine streaming in through the window to my mediocre apartment. I’m doused in shadows, drenched in tears and quaking with the trauma. There’s no effort to appease me or apologetic words to sooth my distress.
