Page 3 of Vow to Protect
Her small voice holds so much power, not in speech but in her meaning, in her understanding and in her wish.
She draws in her knees and huddles closer when I read. The words roll off my tongue without thought. I cherish this time with Tilly, but I crave a whiskey to eclipse the heartache.
After three chapters, soft breaths become shallow as she drifts off to sleep. I swing my legs off the bed and make sure her head lands softly on the pillow, taking a second to assess her small hands and long lashes fanning pastel pink cheeks. She’s remarkable. With a chaste kiss to her forehead and a ruffle of Champs ears, I leave her door open and wander to my room.
I strip off my shirt and trousers, glad for the reprieve of the working day and appreciative of my rigid routine. Track pants are followed by a roomy hoody. It fits me better than before, now that I’ve lost a few unwanted kilos. All the booze and lack of enthusiasm hadn’t been kind to my physique.
I barely looked like myself back then. Even though I talked like myself and felt my heart beating as it always does, under the surface I was evolving into somebody else. Flesh and bone caught in the balance of love and pain.
Since my intervention, I’m obsessed with a gruelling training schedule. It keeps my head in the game and channels my anger. My lips haven’t touched whiskey in months. I hid the constant drinking from Kaleb while he fell deeper in love. Then when he found out, he repeatedly kicked my ass in the boxing ring until the day I gave him a fair fight and jabbed his chest so hard he nearly vomited.
These days I’m lean and agile.
Physically strong.
Ready for my next fight.
Ready for the connection of bare knuckles.
Ready for the pain.
Ready to feel alive.
He exitedhis grand apartment and pounded the tarmac like he was punishing himself or looking for someone else to hurt. The instant I set eyes on the guy, I instinctively knew it was him. The jogger fits the description of Brett De Courcy in stature, except his features are hard to make out under the indigo sky.
Natalie wrote his address on my wall calendar, circling it multiple times in red ink. She told me if anything bad ever happened to her, I should find Brett. It was all so vague. It’s like she knew I would need him at some point, even though she wished freedom was hers. If only she had warned me how cruel Blaine Casey could really be, or how he would steal away my independence as well. Then again, nothing could have prepared me for the horror show he summoned when he finally caught up with her.
I’ve been in southern Ireland for over two weeks, since Blaine offered me two choices, three seconds after he murdered Natalie. I reluctantly chose life and left the welcoming sun of Barcelona, rather than decay beside my sister. We left behind my compact city apartment that brought in the best light for painting, and now I’m here, praying a stranger will save me.
Icy air bites my cheeks as his sprint slows. My belly knots and heaves. This man is my only hope. The raw skin at the edge of my nails burns from persistent nervous nibbling. Fight or flight instincts coil, ready to run at the slightest hint of danger. I almost scoff at the irony. I’ve stolen a few minutes from the real threat, and now I’m out on a limb, pleading this man won’t be as cruel.
Brett has been running for a while now. I'm waiting on borrowed time for him to finish the circuit. Seconds drain away at a rapid rate of doom. It won’t be a simple conversation, for either of us.
I rub my temples like it will delete the memories, but nothing will erase the flashback of my reflection in her glazed eyes, or her unresponsive hand that lay in a puddle of vital fluid staining the floor tiles with an intriguing shade of death.
The man’s fast pace reduces to a jog as he nears the entrance to his apartment block. Once his track shoes rest, he stoops over and places both palms on his knees. I take a steadying breath, in through my nose and out of circled lips. The sound of each slow exhale is all I hear against the thrumming pulse in my neck.
Please help me.
With silent steps, I skirt the lamp post and then pause. My muscles lock in panic. A squall of tingles weakens my knees, threatening to bring me down. I force a steady inhalation, quietly watching him recover from a final sprint. Drizzle glitters down from the night sky like promised jewels as they catch in the streetlights. His hood is pulled up over his head. A tangerine incandescence floods obsidian clothes, highlighting his heaving chest.
As if sensing my observation, his eyelids flick up, and he stares right at me. Our gaze tangles. I’m instantly immobile under his glower. It’s a fraction of time, a moment of assessment for us both. Every unspoken second makes me wonder if he associates me with her. This tall broody man is familiar to me, like an old lover. Yet we’ve never met in this world.
My recognition of his features comes from Natalie’s detailed description. Every time she mentioned Brett, a faint smile played on her lips. When his name rolled off her tongue, it reminisced of kindness and bittersweet regret.
Yet on the flip side of that sweet smile, a haunted dread hallowed her eyes. Blaine Casey, the beautiful devil. The epitome of pure evil. She finally escaped his mind games and wound-up dead.
Night after night, while Natalie slept, I covered large canvases with the face of a man I wanted to meet. Albeit in better circumstances. With chalky shades of black and white, I structured Brett’s face, not too dissimilar to the man eyeing me from the pavement. From this aspect, my artist’s interpretation gifted him with the exact bone structure. A mirror image of the man in real life. I’d been consumed with curiosity, bordering on fascination.
“Are you waiting for someone?” His voice is brittle and unfriendly, with an accent more refined than Blaine’s.
I’m puzzled why the baritone trickles inside me with an enticing heat, a charade of something we will never have. The temperature drops to chilling, but a fire catches alight within me, so each pant puffs out in a cloud. I blink rapidly, bringing the edge of my thumb to my teeth. My racing pulse surges, making me lightheaded. Footsteps to his left clatter over the sidewalk. A hurried passer-by darts behind him. I’m hyper alert, instantly assuming it’s Blaine or one of his madmen. The innocent man continues on his way, and I free the air from my lungs in a heavy sigh. Dread twists and snarls in my chest. I can’t go back to him. I’ll have no choice if this guy won’t help me.
“Yes… eh. I…” The words refuse to flow. Fear squeezes my throat in a relentless choke hold.
One thing I know for certain is that the suited, suave and soulless tormentor will kill me if he finds out I’ve strayed. A red-hot swell of sliced flesh on my chest reminds me of his sadistic promise. I swallow hard, recalling the last watermelon coloured sunset I witnessed in Spain, so pretty like heaven had fallen foul to Blaine’s trickery too. Those strokes of red and dashes of gold blazoned across the sky as the doors parted open to hell. I instinctively knew Blaine had arrived at my old apartment with an intention to take Natalie away from me. Whereas Blaine knew he had touched down in Barcelona to follow through on the same merciless vow that he’s now bound me with.
I close my eyes briefly, wondering if Brett knew she had a sister, if his daughter has an aunt. It won’t be easy for him to see the connection. Natalie and I look nothing alike.
