PROMISE OF PUNISHMENT

Cruel Legacies 

 

Prologue

Stab Him to Death

 

April

Fable, 17

     I hate the rain. 

     The darkness. The thunder and lightning. And him.

     It always brings him.

     Storm clouds loom over the historic farmhouse in the distance, stirring a dread I haven’t felt in three months. But his Bentley isn’t parked out front, just Mom’s old Mercedes, so he couldn’t be home.

     “Are you sure this is close enough?” Amara, my bestie’s mom, asks from behind the wheel. “I could drop you at the house. I’m already here.

     I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be late to work because of me.” 

     She probably is. Driving me home wasn’t the plan. I was prepared to make the hour-long journey on foot, but the storm rolled in off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard earlier than the forecast predicted. 

     Last night was my first sleepover. I’d never had one before, too afraid to leave Mom alone. She wouldn’t trust me to stay with just anyone either. Amara is her best friend and co-worker. They both clean houses for wealthy families who don’t like their employees to be late. Or sick, or have a life, or any personal issues. They want robots. 

     “You better hur—” Thunder booms, swallowing Amara’s word and shaking the car.

     I flinch and stare at the angry sky as shivers race over my skin. It’s fine. Everything is fine. 

     “Thanks again for having me over and for the ride.” I hop out and run. 

     My sneakers crunch gravel, and wind lashes me with debris. I’m halfway up the long driveway when the clouds open as quickly as I could unzip my hoodie. Lightning flashes, brightening the darkened sky, followed by a violent thunderclap. A squeal tears from my throat, and my gaze catches on something silver jutting out from behind the house.

     Dad’s Bentley. No!

     I run faster, reaching the front porch and taking the stairs two at a time. My wet fingers feel clumsy as I dig the key from my backpack and unlock the bolt. When I shove open the door, my blood runs cold.  

     The vase and pedestal near the staircase lays smashed on the floor, crystal shards scattered everywhere. A Tiffany lamp hangs off the couch cushion by its cord, and Mom’s jacket trails toward the kitchen archway like she tore free of it trying to escape. 

     Mom! I drop my backpack and run. The heavy rain drowns out the thud of my shoes as I follow the trail of destruction.

     Lightning flickers, throwing white slashes across the wood-paneled walls. A squeal claws up my throat. I choke it back and skid to a halt at the archway. The air hits me first, sweat and alcohol.

     Dad is on his knees, straddling Mom’s motionless body. Purple bruises bloom across her tan skin. Angry finger marks band her neck, and her eyes are swollen into slits. 

     My heart plummets. 

     He finally did it. He killed her, and I wasn’t here to protect her.

     “I told you this would happen,” he grumbles, his voice calm and empty as he stares down at her battered face. “I warned you.”

     A broken moan slips through Mom’s cracked lips. 

     She’s alive!

     He slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, my love. Death is the only way.” His thick fingers lock around her throat. 

     Ice floods my veins, and something inside me snaps. My gaze catches on the chef’s knife lying on the counter. A second later, it’s in my hand, the blade sinking into my dad’s back. I rip it free and drive it into him again and again, wishing with all my heart he would die. 

     “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! ” The words tear out of me, ragged and choked with hot tears. 

     He roars and elbows me hard in the stomach. I stumble backward, crashing into the lower cabinets. Quicker than I expect, he lurches to his feet and grapples for the knife stuck in his shoulder blade. When he finally yanks it free, the murderous gleam in his eyes says I’m going to pay.

     Lightning flashes, illuminating the blood coating the blade. Adrenaline floods my veins, setting my limbs on fire. I bolt. Across the living room and up the stairs, with Dad on my heels. My heart hammers as I tear down the hallway toward my bedroom. I throw myself inside, slam the door, and turn the lock.

     It won't keep him out for long.

     He rams his weight against the wood, the impact rattling the frame like thunder.

     “Let me in!” The handle jiggles with force. Then he’s pounding on the door, the wood juddering against its hinges. 

     I stumble back and dive under my bed, wedging myself against the wall. No one will come to save us. This house sits deep inland, hidden on a stretch of private acreage, where no one would hear you scream. If by some miracle the police came, Dad wouldn’t get arrested. His family is too prominent and powerful. Even though his parents cut him off, he’s still a Farrington, and they’ll do whatever they must to protect the family name.

     “This is your fault,” Dad yells. “You turned her against me. You made her hate me.” More pounding. Each punch makes me shudder harder. 

     “Let me in, goddammit!”

     I don’t know how the door is holding, but I’m sure it won’t last. Any second, he’ll get in. Any second… 

     Tears stream down my face as I brace for what comes next. The banging stops suddenly. Cold silence fills the air as I hold my breath and listen. 

     Did he get in? Is this how I die?

     Rain patters against the window as my body quivers harder. Nothing stirs in the room. I don’t trust it. Lightning flashes, the thunder following seconds later, distant now. I still don’t move, straining to hear over the slowing rain. Not knowing what’s about to happen is a different kind of fear. 

     Did he leave to get something else to break down the door? Could he have crashed out? It wouldn’t be the first time he did during an assault. Sometimes he drops, like his drugged body can’t handle the adrenaline rush.

     When nothing sounds, a terrible thought takes hold of me. What if he’s finishing off Mom? What if he’s stabbing her? Oh god!

     I force myself out from under the double-sized bed. The door is still closed. He hadn’t gotten in. That doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for me to emerge.

     My heart hammers in my ears as I strain to hear any sounds on the other side of the door. After a moment of nothing, I carefully open it and creep down the dim hallway, my breathing loud and fast.

     A bloody trail leads downstairs and across the living room to the kitchen. I grab the Tiffany lamp from the couch and inch toward the archway. The rain falls as soft as a whisper now. With a tight grip on the base of the lamp, I peer into the kitchen.

     Mom’s alone, and I don’t see any more injuries or blood. Thank God! 

     Relief loosens my lungs for half a second before dread twists in my gut. If Dad isn’t here, where did he go?

     In the past, he’d sometimes hide, making us think he was gone when he was really waiting to attack.

     I edge to the dining room and glance inside. Nothing. The family room is empty too.

     I check on Mom again, then listen for any sound that might give away his hiding spot. My hands shake as I tighten my grip on the lamp. Rain falls gently. Thunder rumbles somewhere far off. Nothing else stirs.

     Holding my breath, I inch to the laundry room and the back door, peering out the window. The gravel parking spot is empty.

     He’s gone. Air bursts from my lungs, catching on a sob. Then I’m running to Mom.

     I drop to my knees beside her battered body and check for a pulse. Faint, but there. Another sob escapes me. Thank God! She needs an ambulance, but I can’t call 911. Her biggest fear is that the hospital will report the abuse, CPS will decide she’s unfit, and I’ll end up in foster care. She didn’t have a good experience in the system and has done everything possible to keep me from suffering the same fate.

     That leaves one person who I can trust. Amara. She probably just started work, but there’s no one else who can help us. She understands when it comes to the law, because of Dad’s family, we’re on our own. 

     Quickly, I find Mom’s phone on the counter and text Amara our code for an emergency. Then I check Mom’s wounds, clean and bandage her up, and wait for help to arrive. With her head resting on my lap, I brush my fingers through her hair and hum the soothing tune she used to sing to put me to sleep as a child. I tell her I love her and that I’ll make sure this never happens again as long as she lives. 

Because she has to live.

​

1

I Felt Nothing

 

Dorset, England

Wes, 21

     Hell is home.

     Mum walks out of the formal living room, where she orders me to stay. I’ve only been back a week at the countryside manor after graduating from Cambridge, and already she can’t stand the sight of me.

     I refrain from shouting, “I’m not here for you, old bag. I’m here for Tessa.” If they’d stop forcing her home during the summer, I’d never return. Katessa has to wait until she turns twenty-one, like I did, to gain full control over her trust, which means our parents can hold it over her head. 

     If only Tessa had told me she accepted an internship for the summer. I’m shocked Mum allowed it. They like to hold her hostage during breaks. I hate it when she’s here. Here is bad. Here, I can’t look after her. Here, I never know if she’s safe from the twisted games our parents play. 

     The last fatal event happened when I was twelve. Tessa was ten. 

     We were dressed up like Rococo dolls, Mummy’s preferred costumes for us. Our parents were hosting one of their infamous swinger parties. I shouldn’t have known what that meant at only twelve years old. Tessa was confused. I told her adult stuff happened at these parties, and it was better for her not to know what went on behind closed doors—or in the dining hall after we went to bed. 

     We never witnessed the debauchery. We only served the guests drinks and hors d'oeuvres before the sit-down dinner and evening festivities. My parents were sick people with sick high-society friends. The staff they hired, who turned a blind eye for the money, were just as bad. 

     I hated walking around with a tray as both women and men eye-fucked me, but mostly I hated that Tessa had been forced to join me for the first time. She was sweet and innocent and deserved better. We both did. 

     That night changed everything for my family, mostly for Tess and me. I don’t regret what I did. I’d do it again to protect my little sister. I wouldn’t say I was a calm child by nature. I acted calm, but on the inside, black rage had been building like molten pressure in a volcano.

     Ten minutes before we were allowed to go to bed—at which time we were locked in our rooms in the west wing of the manor—Tessa went missing. The party guests always stayed in the east wing. This night had been a particularly handsy bunch. I’d had my backside brushed more times than ever. I assumed the same was happening to Tessa and kept a close eye on her. I disappeared for a minute to refill my tray, and she vanished. 

     My pulse surged as I set down the tray and searched for her, checking every corner, hallway, bathroom, and alcove until I found her. An old man—in his fifties, I’d guess—had her trapped on a writing desk in a small study that no one ever went in. His body was wedged between her little legs. Her face was turned away as she cried and beat her tiny fists against the fat bastard kissing her neck. 

     The entire room turned red as that black rage took over. Adrenaline and hate mixed inside me, a potent brew. I grabbed the nearest lamp and smashed him over the head with the heavy gold base. The man fell sideways, landing on the floor with a grunt. Before he could look back at me, I smashed his head again and again and again. My muscles strained as I hit him with all my might. Blood splattered the desk, my body, and my sister. She screamed, or maybe she’d been screaming. The man curled into a ball, but I didn’t stop. I continued to bash his head until the shape was unrecognizable, and his gray hair was stained with blood.

     “Stop!” Tessa wailed. “Stop, Wes. Stop.” Her words turned into sobs.

     I let the lamp fall to the floor. It landed with a heavy thud. The lampshade was gone, the bulb too. Breathing heavily, I lifted my blood-stained hands and turned them over. Shards of glass jutted from my palms. I couldn’t feel any pain. I felt nothing, and when my gaze strayed to the rotter on the floor, I had zero remorse for what I did.

     The man wasn’t found until the next morning. My parents didn’t even know what happened to Tessa. I carried her to her bedroom. A maid saw us and helped. She bathed Tessa and told me to go clean myself. She didn’t ask for details, only if Tessa had been sexually assaulted—more words I shouldn’t have known at twelve. Her knickers were still on when I helped her down from the desk. That led me to believe she hadn’t been assaulted sexually, only her shirt had been ripped. I’d gotten there in time. 

     I slept in Tessa’s bedroom that night on the couch near the fireplace. The maid explained what happened to my Mum the next morning, and was fired. Tessa was sent to an all-girls boarding school, and I was sent to Eton. I never came home unless Tessa was here for the summer. I preferred she stayed away, but if my parents summoned Tessa to the manor, then you bet your arse I was there to watch over her. 

     My father’s deep voice rumbles from out in the hallway, drawing me from my thoughts. My hands curl into fists. I’ve been dying to punch that man in the face. Whenever I fight, I imagine my opponent is my dad and brutally win every match. Underground fighting became my solace the first year I was sent away. Fighting is how I appease the inferno of rage that came alive in me, like a demon, the night when I beat that fat fuck to death. 

     “You can leave now, Eleanor,” Dad instructs. “You did what I needed you to do. Off with you.”

     “Make him stop, Nicholas, or I’ll have him arrested for what he did to poor Lord Hamilton,” Mom whines the way she has for years about this. “No mother should have to suffer as I have. He’s a monster.”

    That’s it. I stand and stalk to the open doorway. “I’m the monster? What about you? I saved your daughter. You fed her up like a fucking dessert to your sick friends to feed your twisted desires.” I glare at her, then at my father. “Both of you should be in jail.”

     Instead of tears filling Mum’s eyes, hatred darkens the gray color. “You’ve disgusted me since the day you were born. Soon, I won’t have to worry about you anymore.” She dusts her hands and turns on her heels, walking away with her nose in the air.

     I clap. “There you have it. Lady Hale at her finest. Mother of the year.”

     Dad smacks my hands down and gets in my face. His round cheeks are ruddy with anger. “I’ve had enough of you,” he spits when he talks. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be in jail.”

     “And you with me.” If I go, they go too. I told them as much when Lord Hamilton was found dead in the study the next day. I bargained boarding school for me and Tessa too. It was the only way I’d keep quiet. I had no problem going to jail. They, however, would have died. 

     Dad mostly hates me because he can’t take away the trust fund I inherited on my twenty-first birthday. It was set up through the ancestral peerage for the firstborn son and has been passed down this way for centuries. It’s indestructible. 

     Dad stares down his nose at me. “For years, we’ve been cleaning up the mess you made that night. There were witnesses.”

     “Guests!” I state. “Your disgusting guests. That’s who saw. What can they do? I’ll take them down with me, and they know it.” In truth, I don’t know who those people were. My parents didn’t keep a record of the guests at their parties, and I never had to attend another one after that night. 

     I pray he hits me. The moment he does, I will beat him to a pulp. Age, drinking, and a poor lifestyle have made him plump and sloppy. There was a time when I feared him, but those days are long gone. 

     “It’s only because of the people I know that you’re not rotting in jail.” 

     “This conversationf is getting old, Father.” I step around him. 

     “I didn’t summon you here to let you walk out with your trust fund.”

     I swing around. “Don’t worry, Father. I have no plans to take your beloved estate. This place holds nothing but bad memories for me.”

     “For me, as well.” 

     Something is off. He’s too calm. Mum wanted me here for a reason. She made me think Tessa was coming home for the summer. She might be the reason Tessa didn’t tell me she wasn’t. My sister didn’t forget like Mum said. She wouldn’t.

     I stop and tilt my head to the side, studying the twisted man who never knew how to be a father. “What are you playing at?”

     My dad loves games. 

     His blue eyes tighten in a scheming way. “I understand you still participate in illegal fighting.”

     And here it is. “I do.”

     “How about a bet?”

     I fold my arms and raise my brows. 

     He walks slowly toward me. “If you’re as good as you believe, this should be easy. One match with a man I’ve hand-selected for you. If you win, I drop the murder topic, never bring it up again, and promise to keep all knowledge of it sealed, even what happened to your sister. You know how desperately she wants to keep that from the public.”

     The fucker. 

     “And if I lose?” It won’t happen. I haven’t lost a fight in two years. Only one person is good enough to match my strength and speed, but he could never match my rage. My best friend, Lachlan. Neither of us are dumb enough to fight each other, nor do we feel the need to unless it’s to spar. Fighting other people together in and out of the ring, however, is something we’re not against. 

     “If you lose,” my father says, drawing closer, his face smug. “You give control of your inheritance to me. I can’t keep you from getting your title when I die, but I can assure you’re left with nothing.”

     I don’t know what the man he wants me to fight looks like physically. He might be older, but I have agility and youth on my side. I have years of practice and training. I’ll also protect my sister in any way possible. I’m the only person in this family who ever has. She’s come a long way since the assault. She’s smart and has friends. If a story about her past made the news and social media, it would kill her. I don’t trust my parents not to use her to hurt me.

     “I’ll need you to sign an NDA about what happened to Tessa. You and Mum.” Lachlan’s family has a lot of connections and a family barrister they trust. I’ll have him make sure the NDA is ironclad. 

     “No problem,” Dad says as if he has nothing to worry about. 

     The man can bluff along with the best of them. He’s never seen me fight, unless he’s had spies follow me. He could have. The best he could do with that information is find me a worthy opponent. I’ve fought older men, military men, karate masters, and the scariest motherfuckers you’ve ever seen. I’ve had my ass handed to me many times, but I always win because I’m unpredictable, changing my tactics with each fight. I have a rage-demon that lives inside, and lastly, because I’m not afraid to die. I’ve gone as far as setting up protection for Tessa through Lachlan, should I ever lose a battle and my life. 

     So unless the man my father chose to fight me wants to die, I’ll walk away the victor.

​

 

2

He Needs a Hospital

 

July

Fable, 17

     I peer around the corner of the tall brick wall that surrounds the secret garden. To my relief, the plastic bins I left there two days ago are still tucked behind an overgrown bush. Everything at this part of the property is wild, even the thick forest back here conceals the place I found after three months of exploring the vast grounds of Hale Manor. I ventured farther than I ever had on that spring day, but winter had finally passed, and I was tired of being cooped up in the carriage house turned servants’ quarters. Hale Manor had eighty acres of countryside and woods I wanted to investigate.

     On the day we moved here back in February, Mom gave me three rules to follow.

     “Don’t get behind in school. Don’t draw unwanted attention to yourself. If you explore the property, don’t disrupt anyone and stay out of sight.”

     I wouldn’t dare. For the first time ever, Mom and I are at peace. We sleep through the night without worrying that Dad will come home. Mom smiles now, and her skin is free of bruises. She works more than she did in the US, but it’s worth it. Some days, I help her clean in the wing that the family doesn’t use just to be with her. There are four wings, but they only use two since their son and daughter don’t live at the manor anymore. 

     If it weren’t for Amara, we wouldn’t be here. Talk about a savior. She used her connections with another housekeeper who works at the Hale’s vacation estate on Martha’s Vineyard to secure Mom a job in West Dorset. England seemed like the safest place for Mom and me, far away from Dad and his influential family. 

     The rumble of a lawnmower draws my gaze across the field. It’s too far away for me to abandon my mission. I’ll be over this tall wall before they reach here, if they’re even planning to mow this area. By then, the only bad thing that could happen is if the gardening crew takes my bins, making it difficult for me to get down when I leave. Scaling the inside of the wall isn’t hard, but I’d have to jump down on this side, which is far for a girl my height. Still, I could do it as long as I land as softly as possible, maybe roll so I don't sprain an ankle.

     After working the smaller bin on top of the large one, I carefully climb the rickety platform and jump, grabbing the top of the brick wall. It took me several failed attempts of crashing into the prickly bush and the ground to master making this on the first try. Even if I were tall, this would be a challenge, although a bit easier. But what’s inside makes every scrape and bruise worthwhile. 

     There’s beauty in abandoned places, and this is the prettiest I’ve ever seen. I secure my foot on a brick that juts out like a small step and boost myself up enough to get my elbow onto the ledge. Once I’ve achieved that, I lay my chest on the hard surface and swing my leg up. From here, I’m able to grip the tree branch—which, according to my free plant identifier app, is a Japanese maple—and pull myself up the rest of the way. It’s much easier at this point. I use the branches to get down on the other side, feeling as if the tree were planted there for the sole purpose of helping someone sneak in.

     This garden has an iron gate, but it’s locked and impossible to climb because the bars have spikes like large thorns on a rose.

     I can’t say what this garden was built for or when it was left to ruin, only that in the month I’ve been visiting, no one else has come here, and it’s become my secret refuge. I’ve been taking pictures and videoing the enchanting place since I stumbled upon it, and I continue to find new things. I’m also getting the most views I’ve ever received on my social media account. Abandoned Beauty.

     Once I’m on the ground, I brush dirt from my hands and get my phone from my pocket. I open my camera and start recording as I maneuver through colorful wild-growing flowers and bushes. The ground crunches under my sneakers, and the earthy scents of the lush surroundings fill my nose. This is heaven.

     A moss-covered fountain sits in the center of the rectangular garden. Pools of murky water rest in the tiers. Orange and purple wildflowers tangle with grass and weeds that surround the stone base. Broken statues stand about, covered with the same moss and grime that add to the garden’s haunting beauty. 

     I wander to the left side of the enclosed space, where a brick potting shed with a shingle roof sits tucked away in a corner surrounded by overgrown shrubbery. It has a mysterious charm with its gothic-inspired arched wood door, ceramic vase sconces flanking either side, and a sculpture of the sun god hanging above. I bet it was enchanting in its prime, a hidden gem that looks even more appealing to me in its neglected state. 

     Today, I added a small hammer to the usual stash I carry in my backpack—water, a snack, hand sanitizer, bandages, and antibiotic ointment. The last three I’ve learned to keep handy after scraping my knees and palms during previous visits. But the hammer is for breaking the lock and finally uncovering whatever secrets a shed the size of a small walk-in closet might be hiding.

     Someone coughs from nearby, freezing me in my tracks. My eyes stretch wide, and I scan the area, praying I don’t get caught by someone who reports me to the owners. 

     I stand still, listening for another sound like the one I just heard. Like always, the area is quiet, apart from birds and the occasional “bah” from sheep in the distance. 

Seconds tick by without another sound. Maybe I heard something else and mistook it for a cough. I want to move. My feet are placed one in front of the other, making it harder to keep my balance, but I need to make sure no one is outside the walls. Inside them would be worse, although I would have heard the rusty gate open. That thing looks heavy and like it hasn’t been used in years. It would creak.

     When nothing other than random bird chirping fills the air, I move again with cautious steps.

     Quietly isn’t possible in the long grass.

     Another cough freezes me in place.

     “Fuck,” a man groans, sounding in pain.

     What the hell?

     Should I stay quiet, give myself up, look around? I’ve never been caught by anyone or ever crossed paths with another person out here. What are the odds now? Maybe I can talk myself out of whatever situation I find myself in—staff to staff, or to staff’s daughter. They’ll understand, right?

     I walk in the direction of the noise just beyond the shed.

     “Hello?” I whisper hesitantly. “Is anyone there?”

     “Here,” murmurs that deep voice, followed by a wet cough.

     Adrenaline floods me. I walk faster.

     Leather dress shoes with the toes pointed to the sky come into view near a cluster of dandelions and an itchy bush that I had the unpleasant experience of stumbling into once. Ripped black pants join a white, torn dress shirt that’s opened, revealing a muscular chest covered in bruises and blood. The guy’s arms and knuckles aren’t any better. One hand rests on his abdomen. His face is swollen and bruised to the point of being unrecognizable. Dark bangs cover one side of his face.

     Holy shit.

     I drop to my knees beside him and think of what to do. This is worse than anything my makeshift care kit can fix. He needs a hospital, but we’re far from anything. A thirty-minute walk up a hill to the carriage house. The manor is farther, another fifteen minutes from there. I can’t even call for emergency help; there’s no service out here. And this young man needs medical attention asap. 

     “Can you hear me?” I gently brush his damp bangs from his face. My fingers come back soaked with blood.

     Oh god!

     “Help,” he murmurs to my surprise. His eyes are too swollen to open. 

     “I’m here. I’m going to help you.” It won’t be enough, but I have to try.

     Where to start? I assess his many wounds, then set down my backpack and dig out my limited supplies. This isn’t good enough. He needs a doctor. 

     “I-I think I should go for help.” Maybe I should scream. Mom wouldn’t want me to leave this person to die just so I don’t get caught.

     “Help!” I shout, about to stand so I can yell louder.

     His hand flops from his abdomen to my knee. “No,” he says and winces like it hurts to talk. “No… one…” he struggles to get out, “can… know.”

     Could he be on the property illegally? A trespasser? A thief? The Hale family is extremely strict about visitors, but that hardly seems possible given the amount of security. He doesn’t fit the appearance of an employee either. The chauffeur doesn’t even wear a suit this nice. 

     “No… one… can know,” he murmurs again, then coughs and groans in pain. His hand slides off my knee onto the long grass.

     It kills me to see him suffering, but I know all about keeping secrets for a good reason. 

     “Okay. No one will know.” I use my bottle of water to soak a napkin and gently wipe his face and chest. A cut slices through his eyebrow, his temple, his bottom lip, and dried blood coats his nostrils. I don’t want to wipe the inside of them in case his nose is broken. I check his head for cuts. Nothing but lumps. The blood in his hair must be from all his facial wounds. Even the small cut on my eyebrow from when Dad smashed my head into the stove once produced a scary amount of blood.

     I peel his shirt open all the way. Large bruises cover his entire chest and abdomen. He might have some broken ribs. Based on the rips in his dirty pants, I’d guess his legs are banged up too. But stripping off his pants would take too long given the length of his legs, so I do a quick pat down of his pants, checking for blood. None. That’s good.

     I return my focus to his upper body, which appears to have taken the worst of the beating. Once I have him wiped down, I clean my hands again with my sanitizer and put some on another napkin to disinfect his wounds.

     “Sorry about this. It’s going to burn.” I dab the alcohol on the cuts on his face. He hisses but otherwise holds it together. 

     The whole time I clean his body, I tell him how good he’s doing and how sorry I am for hurting him more.

​

 

3

My Angel

 

Wes, 21

     An angel saved me. 

     Gentle hands cleanse my battered body as I pass in and out of consciousness. I have no idea who this person is, only that she has the sweetest voice. A nurturing voice. The kind that soothes you when you need it and can make you forget the pain—if only for a moment. The kind of voice I never got from my mother or even my nanny. 

     “I’m sorry,” she says again in her American accent as she cares for me in a way no one ever has.

     I must be dreaming or dead. No one is here with me. I can’t see or smell anything to sense where I am. I know I’m outside. I have no idea where. I have no idea how this girl found me. 

     The only thing I know for certain is my parents left me here to die.

     It could have been their plan all along. The man my father hired to fight me had two helpers who jumped in when I was a punch away from winning. I should have assumed my father wouldn’t play fair. He never has. 

     After endless kicks to my face and ribs, my body ached with such agony, I wanted to die. I welcomed it and could have died here, but fate had other plans—ones that have gentle hands and a tender voice.

     I don’t know how long this girl stays with me, only that one time when I come to, she’s gone. Maybe she was never here. I cough up blood, my ribs aching, but she’s not here to wipe my face and whisper words that I can’t recall other than her chanting, “I’m sorry.”  

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* * *

Wes

     The ground shifts beneath me like it’s moving. I jolt fully awake but can’t open my swollen eyes. The sun isn’t bright behind my closed lids, and it’s cooler. Night.

     Something shoves against my body. I groan in pain.

     “I’m sorry,” that sweet voice says. “I’m so very sorry, but I can’t leave you on the ground in all this grass and dirt.”

     Grass? Is that what is itching my ears and neck?

     “I’m trying to be gentle, but you weigh as much as a bear,” she pants.

     “Leave me,” I murmur, my throat dry. I cough. It feels like I’m being kicked in the ribs again. I wince.

     “Here, I brought more to drink.” My head is lifted, and cool, sweet, flavored liquid dribbles down my throat, easing the dryness.

     “Better?” she asks. My angel.

     I make a noise of approval. Even that hurts. All my ribs must be bruised or broken. 

     She shoves me again.

     I let out a long groan. 

     “I know. I’m sorry. I hate that this is causing you pain, but I’ll hate myself more if I leave you out here, exposed to the weather. It’s supposed to rain.”

     The air does feel a bit humid.

     “Where am I?” I mumble, unsure if she would be able to understand with the way my words roll into one.

     “A garden. In the back of the manor.”

     I tense, and pain erupts throughout my body. It’s not safe here. If my father finds me, he’ll finish me off. Maybe even hurt this sweet girl.

     Wait. How is she here? Who is she? 

     I want to ask all of this, but my strength is already gone. Blackness tugs at my mind. I give in.

 

* * *

Wes

     “Hey? Big guy? Bear? Time to wake up.” Soft hands caress my hair and cheek. 

     She’s still here? 

     “Sorry. I have to keep waking you in case you have a concussion. But don’t worry, I’m going to stay with you.”

     I try to open my eyes again. Useless.

     She gives me more juice and feeds me pudding that she explains has crushed-up pain medication.

     She moves me again, huffing and puffing with great effort. 

     I don’t want her to hurt herself because of me. 

     “Stop,” I murmur.

     She halts at once. “What’s wrong?” she asks, sounding closer to my level.

     “You’ll… hurt… yourself. Leave me.” 

     “No can do. Sorry. I can’t stop you from catching pneumonia if I leave you out in the open. I mean, maybe I could, but I’d rather not have to try when there’s a perfectly good shed nearby.”

     Shed. I must be in the abandoned garden. My grandmother’s favorite. My mum hated her with such passion that she had it locked up and left to rot. Much like my father did to me.

     I could die out here, and no one would know. My body would never be found. My remains would become one of many things lost in this garden. But someone could come to make sure I’m dead. 

     I need to be healed enough to leave before that happens. And I need this girl to be far away from here. Who knows what will happen to her if my father finds out she helped me? Nothing good. 

     I open my mouth to tell her she needs to be very careful, but my back slides over something hard, a lump or a rock. I flinch in pain, then flinch again from the pain that causes. “Fuck,” I groan.

     She stops and chants, “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Her hands caress my hair, face, and arms, soothing me and distracting me from the pain.

I drift back to sleep.

 

* * *

Wes

     “It’s that time again. I hope you had a good nap and you’re ready for more Gatorade and pudding?” She sighs. “It’s all we had, and I can’t leave you to shop for something better. Not yet.”

     This goes on for the rest of the day. Night?

     Rain patters outside when I wake. I feel slightly better than death.

     “Hello?” I murmur.

     No response.

     How am I dry? Did she manage to get me into the shed? 

     A man could barely move me, let alone a girl whose hands seemed so small. Again, I’m convinced I’m dead or unconscious and dreaming.

     The next time I wake, she’s there.

     “We’re past the critical concussion phase,” she says happily. “I’m very proud of you.”

     She’s proud of me. I haven’t done shit. She’s the one doing all the work.

     “Who are you?” I ask, trying not to breathe when I talk to avoid the pain that comes when I inhale too deeply. 

     “No one.” 

     “How did you find me?”

     She hesitates. “I come to this garden to make videos. I guess you could say I like abandoned things,” she adds sheepishly. “There’s beauty in it everywhere you look.”

     The awe in her voice makes me wish I could see if it mirrors her expression. “What color are your eyes?”

     “My eyes?” She sounds confused.

     “Trying to picture them,” I murmur.

     “They’re weird. Or so I’ve been told.”

     “Explain?”

     She rests my head on her lap and strokes my hair as she talks.

     “They’re too light to be brown, but they’re not any other color either. My mom says they’re beautiful, but they remind me of my dad’s eyes, so I… well, I don’t like them much.”

     “Why?”

     “I hate my dad,” she whispers. “He’s not a good person.” The sorrow in her voice stirs my anger, which has been dormant in me for days. It distracts me from the pain. 

     “What did he do?”

     She doesn’t answer, and her hands stop caressing me.

     “Did he hurt you?” Something tells me he did.

     She lets out a shaky breath. “We’re safe now. That’s all that matters.” 

     For the first time since this happened, I have a reason to live. So I can kill the motherfucking bastard who hurt this sweet girl.

 

* * *

Wes

     Three days pass with my angel making regular visits. She wants to get me out of here, but she’ll need help or to find a way to open the gate.

     “That key is long gone,” I explain. 

     “But someone brought you in here. They couldn’t have just thrown you over the wall. You weigh too much.”

     Three large men could toss me over. I’ve no doubt they did.

     “How tall are you anyway?” she asks.

     “Six-four.”

     She laughs. “I’m five-two. No wonder you were so hard to move.”

     That and I’m all muscle—lean but ripped. “How were you able to?” I ask, bewildered.

     She hesitates. “I tied a rope around a sleeping bag, rolled you onto it, and wrapped the rope around a nearby tree. Then I used my feet to push against the trunk and pulled the rope, sliding you to the shed. It took all day.”

     “Did you hurt your hands?”

     “They’re fine. I wore gloves.” She pauses, then blurts in agony. “I hate that I hurt you when you were sleeping.”

     “You’d rather I had been awake?”

     “I’d rather you not hurt at all, but causing you pain while you’re sleeping seems like a betrayal of your trust.”

     I almost laugh, but wouldn’t dare. “I’d rather be asleep and not feel the pain.”

     “It wasn’t too far. I had to hack down a bush first to get a straight path, but the distance was about the length of your body, so you weren’t in extra pain for too long.”

     This tiny girl is unbelievable.

     I can open my eyes enough to see her, but not clearly. I have no idea what she looks like other than a dark, fuzzy silhouette. 

     “What color is your hair?”

     “Dark brown.”

     “Long or short?”

     “Long.”

     “What color is your skin?” I want a full mental image. 

     “Purple.”

     It takes me a few seconds to catch on that she’s joking. I laugh and regret it immediately.

     “Sorry. Sorry. Oh my god. That was horrible. Please forgive me.”

     “I owe you my life.” And the death of your father.

     I sleep as much as a cat. She’s not here as often after that day, explaining her mum is getting concerned about where she’s always going. Her mum works during the day in the manor as a housekeeper. The day and night she stayed with me, she told her mum she was staying at her friend’s house.

     She’s new to the UK, hiding from her abusive dad. Definitely killing that bastard when I’m healed and have my life sorted out.

     By nightfall, I can open my eyes enough to see almost clearly. I’d been sitting up most of the day, and it’s helped with the swelling.

     Fable, whose name stole my breath when she told me, is supposed to visit me after her mum goes to sleep. I hope she doesn’t get in trouble because of me.

She’s seventeen. Older than I thought, but still too young to know how to care for my wounds and not be scared of the condition she found me in. That means she’s seen this or worse. 

     Her dad, I’d bet. Can’t wait to get my hands on that sick bastard.

     When she gets here, I’m going to ask to use her phone.

     I can’t stay in this garden, and I can’t escape without help. She can’t tell anyone about me. She doesn’t know who I am either, only that no one here can know where I am and that I’m alive.

     The only person I trust to get me is Lachlan. He’ll figure out a way to rescue me and hide me until I am fully healed and able to work out what to do about my family wanting me dead. 

     Crunching sounds outside the shed, mixing with the beat of the falling rain. The space is just big enough for the two of us. She’s made it comfortable with pillows, blankets, and even bug spray.

     I have so much to repay her for. 

     Sometimes, I worry my father will send someone to collect my body. Other times, I think he truly left me here to rot. What better place to bury a person than in a condemned garden that no one visits.

     A flashlight shines through the slats of the shed. I wish it were daytime so I could see her in the natural light. I’ll have to settle for the one on her phone. 

     The door handle jostles, and a tiny girl wearing a black raincoat enters. 

     “Hey. Can you take this?” she asks, unaware that my eyes are open and I’m watching her.

     She hands me the phone. I shine it on her as she removes her coat and hangs it on a broken tree branch that juts through a hole where once was a brick.

     When she turns, she runs her fingers through long, dark hair. The glossy strands curl at the ends. 

     “How are you feeling?” She takes off her sneakers and steps onto the blanket, lowering onto it and sitting with her legs crisscrossed. 

     Finally, her eyes meet mine. They’re citrine like my birthstone. They’re also big and beautiful with long black lashes that curl toward her eyebrows. Her skin tone is warm like honey, and her face is as storybook as her name. She could be a fairy with those features. And those lips. The bottom one is plumper than the top. This girl will bring men to their knees one day. She’s beyond what I had imagined, and I pictured all kinds of appearances based on her sweet voice, but this wasn’t one of them. I hate that the innocence of her face doesn’t match the depth in her eyes. It stirs the demon in me who wants to tear apart the source of her anguish, but I’m too weak for the beast to rise and act on the promise of retribution I made to myself earlier. 

     I redirect my focus to my savior. “Fable,” I say her name, loving how it suits her. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”

    She smiles, and it brightens the dark shed like the sun eclipsed the moon.

   “You can see!” She beams and springs forward, arms spread wide to hug me. She stops short before embracing me, her hands planted on the brick wall behind me, her face close to mine. “I could have just hurt you so bad. I wasn’t thinking.” 

     The scents of jasmine and vanilla wash over me. She even smells like a fairy tale. I breathe in and commit the scent to memory. The best thing I can do for this girl is remove myself from her presence, and quickly. I have a plan to anonymously donate a large sum of money to her mother, so they can afford to stay away from her rotter of a father and never worry about him again—at least until I remove him from their lives permanently. 

     Fable, my angel, will grow up to live a beautiful, happy life like she deserves. 

    She pushes away from me and sits on her heels as she scans my body. My back rests against the brick wall, my legs are stretched out long, feet crossed at the ankles. The size difference between us is significant. She’s slight of frame too, but her hips are more woman than teenager. 

     Even so, had I met her outside of here and been around her age, I doubt I would have noticed her, which is a shame. She deserves to have someone aware of the beauty she beholds on the inside as much as the outside. She’ll get that one day. 

     The thought of another man in her future coats my insides with thick tar. I have no business feeling this way about her.

     “I brought more to drink.” She digs in the jacket pocket and removes a bottle of water. “The Gatorade’s all gone. I’ll get more tomorrow.”

     “I won’t be here.” It kills me to say that—to never see her again. 

     She sets the water next to me and glances at the door, her eyes tightening with thought. “Even if I could help you to the garden wall, I can’t get you over it. I’ll need a ladder, but I haven’t figured out how to get one without drawing attention.”

     She’s still trying to help me. “You don’t need a ladder. I just need your phone. I have a friend who can help me.”

     “Oh.” Her features fall with the word. 

     Is she sad to see me go or sad that she couldn’t be the one to get me out of here? 

     She blinks, and her eyes widen. “There’s no service out here.”

     Is that joy in her voice? “I have a plan. I’m going to write a message in your notes with a number. I need you to text it to the person when you have service. Can you do that for me?”

     She nods, even as her features fall again. From her back pocket, she produces her phone.

     I take it and type a cryptic text.

     I’ve been left for dead in the abandoned garden at the back of Hale Manor. I’m too hurt to scale the ten-foot wall. Bring help and get me the fuck out of here. No one can know, especially the owners. 

     I add his number and give the phone back to her.

     She reads it. “You didn’t sign it.”

     “He’ll know who it’s from. He won’t text back either. Delete the message and number after you send it. No one can know.”

     She nods and pockets the phone. “When do you think he’ll come get you?”

     I rest my head against the brick wall. “If you send that when you leave here, hopefully sometime tomorrow afternoon or night.”

     Her lips curve with a frown that tugs at my heart. “Will I ever see you again?”

     I shake my head.

     She bites her bottom lip and stares at the blanket. “Can you at least tell me your name?” 

     As soon as I tell her, she’ll know who I am and who she’s been helping. It’s better for her if she knows nothing about me. “You can call me whatever you want. Bear. Big guy.”

     She laughs, but it lacks enthusiasm. “Will you be needing anything else before you go?”

     I shouldn’t say this, but the way she frowns at me, as if I were dying, has me nodding to the space beside me. “I’d like you to sit with me and tell me everything you can about yourself.”

     Her face brightens a little. She moves next to me and stretches out her lean legs. It’s hard for me to believe anyone, let alone her father, could ever hurt someone so small. 

     If she were mine, I’d protect her from everyone and everything. I’d make her smile until tears of happiness filled those citrine eyes.

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Are you wondering how Wes becomes Fable’s enemy after this? And how she ends up back in America, and then working in a Gilded Age mansion turned nightclub for elites? All will be revealed.