Page 46 of Vow to Protect
The leftover food from yesterday is stale and unwelcoming, but I nibble intermittently for sustenance. I seriously doubt the journey to safety will be jet planes and canapes. A few hours later and the doorbell chimes, indicating another delivery. On the doorstep I find two plastic bags and a simple note.
‘You’re travelling light. Decide what you need and leave the rest. Brett.’
I can’t help but read too much into that statement. Seemingly I’ve taken from him already, and now he’s escorting me into the night to wave farewell. Anything else would be a twisted nightmare.
I rummage through the clothes, trailing out jeans, tees and hoodies. All masculine and baggy. I guess the aim was inconspicuous. Slim fitting clothes would only draw attention to my womanly figure. I’m grateful for the thought and pained by the impersonal drop off.What the fuck did I expect from him?
Congealed frosting hardens on the walls, brittle and flaky with a semi-permanence like my existence in this apartment. The family portrait will be scraped from the paintwork, and my time here will drift into insignificant memories. Brett will forget all about me, and Tilly will undoubtedly never know I exist. The burn in my chest masses into a ball of flames, savage and territorial.
She’s my blood.
The last living relative walking this earth.
A piece of my sister.
The desire to introduce myself to her rips through me. It’s an internal warmth of belonging that only family ties can forge. And it’s missing from my life. I had it once, so long ago now that I can barely remember what it feels like to have support and unconditional love.
Tilly doesn’t need to know the terrible truth about her family’s tragedy, but she can learn the parts of her personality that belong to us. I can offer her completeness to her one-sided world.
Thin clouds floating over the city hide a slow setting sun. Fine grains of time dwindle to the afternoon, inching me closer to my secret departure. A passing memory of my time spent with Brett aches in my chest.
I’m caged in my thoughts. Pacing wildly with ideas of never meeting my niece. In a burst, I run to the front door, then turn away. My heart is thumping. I can’t place myself in her life and then disappear. How utterly selfish. I pivot back, balling my fists in frustration. My ass hits the wall, and I palm my face.
“What the fuck are we going to do now?” A booming voice growls in the hallway like the owner is next to my ear.
“Stop yapping. My phone doesn’t work in the elevator. I’ll get the penthouse code, then we’ll grab the kid,” another male replies. “I’ll send a text message now.” I hold my breath. The penthouse. The kid. “Got it,” a man says after three skipped heart beats. “Forty-seven. Sixty-two. We have to be quick. De Courcy will be back soon, and if we don’t bring back the girl, Blade will serve our dicks on a platter to the rest of the guys.” The Irish cadence flows with a gruffness I’ve heard before. Dexter.
They know about Tilly.
“Let’s go.”
The elevator pings. Silence chokes the prickles rushing over my scalp. I can’t move. I’m glued to the wall. My heart blanches while a spark simultaneously morphs to a ferocious flame, a seething fire of protection.
It takes a second or two before I yank open the door. The space is different this time—knowing I’m not safe. A familiar awareness of life beyond confines lures me to the lift lobby. The side of my fingernail stings when I chew. Metal permeates the lift when I step inside. Short hairs on the back of my neck jag, such a normal scent that incites fear inside me. I’ll never forget the metallic coldness of a butcher's blade or the void behind his eyes.
My palm creeps over the material covering my scar. The inside of my mouth dries faster than the desert when the elevator glides toward heaven. As the doors retract, I hold my breath.
I consciously slow my pace, noting the slice of light leaking from the penthouse doorway. A smash precedes a muffled sob. Shadows darken the bright light, flickering behind the door. Then in the second it happens; the light breaks free like the world is caring and kind.
Another whimper from inside sets me on guard. The men from downstairs mumble and a female cries. The idea of Tilly being in trouble outweighs the fear crushing my lungs. When I near the door, I shunt it with my palm. The door swings back, enough for me to peer into the reception hall. One step after the other, I hurry to the wall flanking the sitting room and press my back to the foiled wallpaper.
“I think you and I need to have a chat.” A male declares. “I want to know everything about that pompous prick, Brett De Courcy. And then you can tell me about the little girl. She’s worth a fortune.”
My adrenaline spikes, forcing my thoughts to scramble and search for a way to get Tilly out of here unscathed and unseen. I don’t even know where she is.
Dexter’s voice barks from beyond the wall. It propels me from my vantage point on the hunt for my niece.
I tiptoe further into Brett’s home. Navy and gold accents give the decor a masculine ambiance, but the feature wall crammed with varying sizes of gilded framed photographs reminisce of his daughter’s happy childhood. At a quick glance, I see Brett's smiling face, younger than he is now, with eyes bright and a smile so natural. There’s a carefree hitch to his lips as he cherishes the cute child holding his hand. That beat of assessment is disturbed when cruel laughter echoes around the living space. I cower down. Apprehension rockets over my scalp.
The bottom of my track shoes let out a shrill squeak when I travel from an oversized rug to wooden floorboards. I halt in the aftermath, holding my breath like I sent a gun blast into the atmosphere. Unfortunately for the woman held captive on the other side of the apartment, her pitiful sobs swallowed the high-pitched screech. They’ll toy with her for a bit, basking in the glory of power. I’ve been on the opposite end of their games, and I swear, once Tilly is safe, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Right now, my priority is my niece.
I turn a corner and dart past the table lamp glowing happily on the console table. There aren’t any windows in the corridor, only doors. The first reveals a bathroom, the second is an empty bedroom. When I reach the next door, another scream chills my blood to ice-cold. I should run back and help her. I can’t tolerate the tone of her suffering—and I can't physically bring myself to watch another person’s body being carved up and bleed out. A bead of glacial sweat trails down my spine when I visualise Natalie’s lifeless corpse for the millionth time.
A sweet voice like a lullaby whispers around my heart, bringing warmth to the somber replay of death. Beyond this doorway is my sister’s baby girl. Pressing my palms to the lacquered wood, I steady my mind. Whatever happens here today, this girl is the only thing that matters. Her safety is paramount.
I knock once and push the door open slowly. When we were kids, Natalie used to get pissed with me if I barged into her room unannounced. I guess I reenact the gesture out of respect.
Sparkly lavender carpet meets pale opalescence walls decorated with a wash of dreamy white clouds. In contrast, the ceiling is bold and dark with hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny stars swirling and blazing like the universe is above my head.
