Page 1 of Vow to Protect
Natalie Cartier
The suited mensecure her head, forcing her to watch. She screams out my name like it’s burning her throat. I loathe that torn pitch of mourning. We all know this is the end, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it. Each sharp intake of air judders through my sister’s lungs. Her voice so hoarse around a constant plea to stop torturing me. Dominant hands restrain her fight, reducing a brave flame to a tiny spark. It’s boldness almost snuffed out by their brutality.
This was my doing and my burden to carry into the stiff embrace of death. Vacant, bottomless pits of liquid steel glare at me from above, as if willing the life to drain from my veins a little bit quicker. The slight quirk of his mouth hints a smile, telling me he’s free from remorse.
I had been so naïve. An eager new employee. A foolish young woman who hoped Blaine Casey would lead to a brighter future. I was so wrong. My choices were simple. The consequences, final.
My sister slams down to her knees beside me, held in an unforgiving grip that seizes her raven long hair. I don’t cry as my eyelids droop closed, or wince as the razor-sharp blade penetrates scar tissue and scrapes over a rib. The pressure of carbon steel punctures his mark. A high dosage of sedative dulls my responses, weakens my motivation—kills my spirit to fight back.
The chaos behind my dark veil of mistakes drifts into the back of my mind where fading regrets play hide and seek with bittersweet memories.
“I had high hopes for you, Natalie.” His familiar thick Irish brogue bites my name. Mindless fingers stroke my cheek tenderly, but I know better than to believe he cares. “I gave you a very important job to do and you repaid me by running away.” His impatience doesn’t allow time to mutter a response. “You had two simple choices.” He taps my cheeks, enough to coax me back from the open arms of death. “It’s been how long now—a few weeks since you betrayed my kindness?” A heartless laugh will be the hateful sound I carry to my grave.
An unforgiving blade twists inside my gut. Heated wisps of numbness inch over my icy flesh as a soft moan of defeat escapes me. “You chose this.” My lashes flutter, witnessing his head shake from side to side, slow and purposeful. “You did this.”Lips breath heat into the shell of my ear as he reveals a distressing truth. A secret. A devastating revelation.
Blood continues to spill from my wounds. The world spins around me like I’m gliding through my past, visiting the history of my life.
My sister's captor releases her hair. Her soft hands smooth over my face, warming like sunshine after rain. “I love you, Natalie. I’ll do whatever it takes for my freedom,” she whispers close to my ear in a confession.
I sigh heavily. She can’t survive Blaine. No one can. My last breath carries a whole-hearted truth when her lips press to my temple. “I’m so sorry.” Even hope seems hopeless now.
To my sister, Raen, I’m sorry for the life you are about to live.
To my daughter, Tilly, may he never know you exist.
Forgive me for the unforgivable things I have done.
I have chosen death.
Two weeks later
“She’s waiting for you.”
I shrug out of my jacket and hook it on the stand next to the front door. “Thanks, Gretchen.” My lips curl upwards to a grateful smile.
My daughter's nanny looks at me cautiously. I’m not the same carefree man I was when I hired her. Since then, my girlfriend Syrah was murdered by her ex-boyfriend and a few months after that, my cousin Kaleb married the one woman who cracked the ice around his heart. The change in him has been nothing short of miraculous. He lives and breathes for Freya. Those serious set eyes of his have gone from troubled and restless to calm and loving.
I’m not jealous, far from it. I was the one who convinced him to listen to his heart and finally accept peace, but the last thing I want to do is to play happy fucking family with newlyweds. Yeah, Kaleb married into Syrah’s family. In a twisted turn of fate, he found love to keep, and I had it snatched away. As much as I love Freya, she’s become a constant reminder of the one thing I don’t have anymore––her sister. Pushing them away was when I truly hit the dirt, when I severed our connection and replaced it with emptiness.
I’ve been off the planet in a whirlwind of grief. That’s how my counsellor describes it––but he’s a know-it-all asshole. He claims my sudden bouts of rage, binge drinking and pill popping were all denial. I’m not stupid, Syrah’s never coming back, and no amount of alcohol and drug abuse will slot her into my life again. It numbed the reality, and that's all I needed. But, that was then. Now, I’m focused on my responsibility.
My sole purpose in this life is to be a better father.
Thankfully, Gretchen proved herself to be the dependable guardian for my daughter while I lost my way. The guilt of being too drunk to make it home for her bedtime story, or at all, eats me up with regret. Luckily for my sweet daughter, I found a life raft gifted by her heart and floated back to her.
I’m Tilly’s primary parent now, supposedly being the responsible one, even though I've been just as flakey as her mother. Natalie comes and goes like the clouds covering the sun. She shows up when it suits her, which is so rare these days that I was granted full custody.
“Are you going back out again, Sir?” Gretchen asks.
I watch her fold Tilly’s pretty pink nightgown over her forearm, noticing how she gnaws her lip. A result of my fluctuating moods, no doubt.
“Don’t worry, Gretch, I’m not going to the bar.” I wink at her. “I’ve had a long day at the office. I’ll go for a run as usual once I’ve read her a story.” Number crunching and business bullshit steers me away from the bottle by day. At night, that’s a whole other story.
She nods, blinking with a timid flutter like she knows my liver can’t afford my loneliness and pleased I’m back on track. “Don’t forget to sort out Tilly’s birthday cake. Turning seven is a big deal.” Gretchen pauses for a second. “She asked about her again today.”
My lips vibrate when I blow out air and drag my palms down prickled cheeks. “I’ll talk to her.”
“If she’s never coming back, then you need to tell her.” Gretchen inches away from me, gliding towards the kitchen in my penthouse suite. “She has hope,” she adds before disappearing.
