Page 48 of Vow to Protect
With a quick stride, Dexter’s boots toe the bedframe, and he shoves his hand into the mass of toys like he’s plunging into my chest to rip out my heart. An elephant shoots into the air, then a rabbit, next up, a polar bear. Nothing. No hidden child.
“See.” I shrug. “She’s not here.” My diversion tactic was a success.
“At least I won’t go back empty-handed.” Dexter smirks, reaches over and thumbs my chin with a callused pad. “Blaine doesn’t like bitches who run from him.” He winks.
My heart twists, throbbing behind the threat of my scar. I could fight for my life with bare knuckles and meet slices in return. They’ll grab me before I reach the door. My only option is to go with them, leading these monsters away from Tilly.
“What are you waiting for?” I stand, wobbling in a rush of adrenaline. My pulse slams hard in my throat, dizzying and powerful. She has to survive my family's curse.
Dexter shakes his head and walks to the wardrobe doors. He yanks them open and peers inside, then enters like a stealth tiger, swiping dresses from their hangers. “Blaine wants the little girl.” He reappears.
Bile burns in my chest. “She’s with him.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” Dexter nods to the man in the hallway painted with blood. He marches towards me like a tornado, leaving a path of red footprints on the carpet.
He slides out a gun from the inside of his jacket and presses the cold steel under my chin. “Make a sound, and the last thing you’ll feel is a bullet.”
I handover my credit card to free Champ from the overpriced doggy day spa. His coat stinks of cheap perfume and talcum powder. I smirk at his lazy swagger as he plods into the street like he got laid. The lady must have given him a dose of calming pills because he’s anything but alert. He looks stoned, lucky guy.
Raen hasn’t left my thoughts all day. When I saw her new name in black ink, the world ground to a halt. Her transportation out of Dublin is guaranteed to be uncomfortable and dangerous. Unfortunately, there isn’t any way to sugar coat it for her––this next stage of her journey will be harrowing to say the least. But she’ll be free. It’s only been a matter of days since she fired up my somber mood, reminding me how powerful raw lust can be, and how much it fucks with your head.
She’s related to Tilly. They have the same DNA. Raen is family.
I wrestle with the facts during the car ride home. With my favourite band playing through the sound system, I close my eyes. I’m such an asshole. Even when I try to focus on the lyrics, all I see is Raen. I’m so screwed. There’s no point dwelling on her pending departure. It’s happening. Tonight. Full fucking stop.
Champ nudges my hand, curling up for a snooze beside me in the back seat.
Malakai’s phone rings off when I call him for the fifth time today. I haven't heard from him in a while. He usually resurfaces when his world is calm, so I’m restless under his silence. For years he’s strived to penetrate human trafficking gangs. Malakai doesn't want the small-time crooks like Blaine, he wants every single fucker who steals, transports, tags, sells and purchases a life. The guy is building a web of contacts that buries him deeper in the quest. This is his life’s work, and I’ve stuck my hand into a hornet’s nest and yanked out the queen.
A ball of golden flames peeps out from a thick cloud, casting solar beams to the earth and gathering souls that beg for a place in heaven. One solitary ray cascades over the block work fronting my apartment, highlighting the home where my heart lives. It doubles in beats when I inhale the late afternoon air. My therapist told me once to let hope shape my future, not all the hurt. Today I let a slither of hope shine through––I hope Raen finds freedom after tonight.
The elevator doors ping open. Champ goes from seated to standing, from docile to hackles raised. His leash goes from slack to taut. My scalp bristles. A subtle growl signals a warning, instantly quickening my pulse.
Tilly.
I barge in through the front door to find blood stains like claw marks streaking the walls. There, in a heap on the floor, is Gretchen, with knees drawn in and an arm cradling her belly.
“Holy fuck!” I slam down, sliding through a crimson pool. Pressing two fingers to the dip in her throat, I locate a weak pulse. She murmurs at the firm contact. “Tilly.”
“Where is she?” I ask, clutching her slippery stained hand. “TILLY!” My voice cracks when I shout. “It’s okay, Shortie. You can come out now, Daddy’s here.” The request leaves my mouth in a blur, ever hopeful.
Only the galloping thud of my heartbeat lives in the dead air. My skin crawls with panic. Every vein siphons red-hot fear. Tingles mindlessly prickle my cheeks, numb my hands and inject into my stomach with so many stimuli that I almost vomit.
Gretchen’s olive-green blouse is drenched in blood. Her smokey eyes are dull, rolling to the back of her skull. The instinct to flip the apartment upside down on a hunt for my baby girl is on hold for a millisecond.Stop the bleeding. She’ll die. Death will surround you again.
Buttons scatter when I rip open her shirt. She flinches at the movement. I suck in. A seeping puncture wound beneath her ribs hemorrhages glossy plasma like a sinking sea vessel taking in water.
Any thoughts of Raen scatter into oblivion. This is why I keep my emotions shut off. Death strips me down and takes away those I cherish. I’m glad she’s leaving tonight. I don’t deserve a second chance. This is my fault. I’m responsible for bringing danger to my home.
“TILLY!” I bark, tearing off my shirt and fishing out my wallet. I thumb out a palladium and gold credit card with the De Courcy name etched on the front and fix it over the oozing laceration. She mewls at the pressure when I press it down.
“TILLY!” I yell again.
“I tried––” Gretchen whispers. The wash of gore on the paintwork and the claret trail in her wake shows her path from the kitchen to where she lays in a heap before me. “They didn’t…”
“Hold this.” I guide her shaky hand to the credit card and work the shirt under the curve of her spine, shimmying it higher. Champ whines and scratches. The slamming in my chest intensifies.
Once I’ve tied my shirt sleeves, securing the thin plastic layer in place, I spring up and will my legs to work.
