Page 5 of Vow to Protect
I feel myself waiver, wondering helplessly if I can survive without money or evidence of my sister’s murder. “Blaine stabbed her. Not just once. Repeatedly. His men made me watch. I lost count after ten when one guy slapped me for crying. He hit me so hard that my head hit the wall.” Without thinking my hand reaches for my chest, pressing carefully where pain lives. “They threw her out of Soul Sinners when her belly started to show. Days after her daughter was born, she found a new job working for Blaine Casey. He tempted her with money but never gave her a cent.” Rage powers through my muscles. I continue with the truth because it’s the only thing I have left. “In the beginning she was a pretty vulnerable girl who the men paid big bucks to visit until he roped her into other things.”
Brett’s short nails scrape across his jaw. Coarse hairs catch with the pressure. The scratchy noise initiates a shiver over my scalp, tingling to my nape. His very appearance breathes opulence and riches. A stalwart stance remains unaffected by the story. He doesn’t speak, so I continue.
“Natalie ran away from Blaine because he wanted her to sell drugs and do other stuff she wouldn't talk about.” My clammy palms clasp and twist together. A coping tactic that has left my hands red and raw. “I was happy selling art, living a simple life. Then Nat came to visit. I actually thought we could pick up where we left off. We hadn’t seen each other in years.”
I hate how he stares at me like he doubts every word. There’s something about him I can't quite comprehend. How I sense caution mixed with a formidable temper. I want to believe this is enough of a plea, but the skeptical hitch to his brow shows he’s more of a predator eyeing prey. I detest Blaine with every living cell in my body. He’s upfront with brutality and punishment, but this man, I’m unsure who he is.
“That bastard, Blaine, hunted her down like it was a game. She stole drug money and plucked up the courage to run. He—” I grit out, recalling her limp body giving up the fight.
Brett narrows his eyes. No words of comfort are offered or humane act of kindness shown. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asks.
“You don’t care that she was brutally murdered?” My heart drops at such a rapid rate that I swear it stopped beating.
In a gulp, he lurches forward and flicks the cap off my head, allowing a strobe of orange light to blind me. I squint, dazzled by the glare. Now he has the advantage. Adrenaline peaks. I duck down, maneuvering my face into the shadows. The brisk movement agitates my aches and knitting wounds. I wince and adjust my posture.
Brett pouts those beautiful full lips of his, and when he finally speaks, he mutters, “If what you say is the truth, then I’m sorry. I never wanted her to come to any harm. This is all so sudden. She didn’t mention a sister.” His gruff voice trails off, and he stares at my shaded face. “Do you need money?”
“No.” I shake my head, biting my lower lip to stave a whimper.
“Then what do you want from me?” His stare hardens, eyes narrowed and palms curled. “You’ve picked the wrong guy to blackmail. I don’t give a fuck that my daughter’s mother is—was a stripper,” he corrects. “She’s got my blood racing through her veins, and that’s all that matters.”
“And mine,” I point out. “She’s got my blood too.” Teeth as white as snow bare to a snarl. Instantly my face pales at his show of anger. “I need your help to get away from him,” I say in a rush. “Away from Blaine.”
He slowly steps into me. No rash movements this time, only caution and regency. “Why me?” A calculated sweep takes in every inch of my attire, every quick beat of my heart and every rise of my chest. “Tell me why you’re outside my home, asking me to help you. For all I know, you could be a con artist.”
“My sister told me to find you if anything bad happened to her,” I plead, feeling the flutter of fear whirl in my stomach like a hornet’s nest in a storm. “I guess she hoped you’d help me.”
He laughs under his breath, deep and rich. “Like I said, I don’t know who you are. You don’t even sound like her. I can’t quite place your accent, but it’s nothing like hers, and I don’t invite trouble to my doorstep, whatever your name is.” He twists away from me. “If you need help, turn yourself in at the police station or ask someone who knows you. If I see you sniffing around here again, I’ll call the police myself.”
I bristle at the sternness tightening his features. Unreadable. Unforgiving.
This is a gamble. I take a steadying breath. “My name is Raen Cartier.” I strain to keep my voice low, frantically darting my gaze from shadow to shadow, waiting for someone to snatch me away. “I lived in Spain for years. Natalie stayed in Ireland. I promise you; I’m related to your daughter. She’s my niece. You have my sister’s child up there.” I jab my forefinger to the pale light in the window at the top of the building. “He hunted her mother and murdered her for sport. Natalie stayed away from that little girl to protect her from the stupid mistake she made. To protect you too.” I raise the stakes, hoping my last-ditch attempt to pull on his heartstrings will work.
His laugh rumbles like distant thunder, saturated with a downpour of disbelief. “I don’t need protection, Raen. I tried to help Natalie every single time she visited. I offered her money and somewhere to live. So don’t stand there looking at me like I fucking killed her. My conscience is clear.” His nostrils flare, and his fists clench, telling me he’s keeping himself in check. “My daughter is my only priority, and you’re a random woman with an elaborate tale and a pretty face.”
Rejection hits me hard. It’s not only disappointment that shatters my hope for an escape, it's a recognition of my certain extinction.
A car door slams.
Wind whips around his refusal cold and harsh.
My pulse accelerates as my senses heighten to high alert. I’ve been missing for too long. I gather up the courage to challenge him with one last approach. “The affluent Brett De Courcy tried to help her, yet here we are. She’s dead, and you’re not man enough to help me get away from her killer.” I fake a snicker even though my knees are ready to buckle.
Branches sway overhead, casting shards of pale moonlight over his sturdy form.
“Do you really expect me to believe you?” My broken heart skitters with adrenaline. I’m not safe. An engine revs. A crow caws. The nightmare bubbles inside me. His deep voice adds to the hysteria. “If you want my help, show me evidence that you’re her sister. Prove to me she’s really dead.”
Bastard. My word isn’t enough.
“Don’t you understand? I havenothing.” Emphasising the last word, my voice shakes with frustration. “Not even a passport. He smuggled me out of the country. Before we left, he ordered one of his men to burn out my apartment to hide Natalie’s corpse. There’s no trace of me ever living there, or even on the fucking planet.” Thrusting my hands into my hoodie pockets, I blink wildly. “Please, Brett, will you help me?” I gulp back hard. “You need to protect Tilly. If he ever finds out Natalie had a kid, he’ll go after her too.”
“Is that a threat?” The growl coming from the depth of his chest warns me of danger.
“No,” I affirm in haste. “He was tracking Natalie for a while. He hasn’t mentioned her daughter, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know she exists.”
Brett repositions his hood and drags a hand over his scruff. “Don’t come back here,” he warns. The uncertain pitch to his tone makes me think there’s a slight chance he might believe me. “I don’t want anyone knocking on my door, including you.”
In that second, I hate him. I despise Brett De Courcy more than the cold-blooded killer who started all this. He obliterates my hope with an impassive scowl.
