Page 77 of Sacred Vow

For cash.

He fucking died for a million dollars. If he’d just listened, if he’d stayed the course with me, he’d be making that hand over fist. And he’d be here.

And Isolde wouldn’t have witnessed such horror.

I down the rest of my whiskey.

She didn’t deserve what happened. Being sent away, forced to start over in a small town with none of her friends around to help her through her grief.

And then she comes back to Chicago, and I force her back into my life, into my home, into my bed.

I’m just as much of a thief as Craig.

He stole cash.

I stole her.

I grab the bottle of whiskey and sit on the couch with it. Two days of no sleep have caught up with me. I take a long swig of the drink.

She wouldn’t have chosen me if I hadn’t made her.

She would have kept on living her life in her little apartment with her little job and she’d be happy. She wouldn’t be up all night with nightmares. She wouldn’t have that bruise on her cheek.

I drag my hand through my hair, wincing at the pain shooting through my shoulder.

She deserves better than a life in the darkness. And that’s where I live.

It’s where I’ll always live.

I made a promise to him; to protect her if anything happened to him. At the time I made it, I didn’t understand why he was so hard pressed to have my word. But looking back, it becomes clear.

I made a vow to protect her from this darkness.

Instead, I’ve dragged her into it with me.

I failed.

It’s already noon when I finally descend from the bedroom. I’ve showered, I’ve dressed, and I’ve paced the room a hundred times, unsure of what to do or where to go.

Andrei is in the kitchen, looking out the windows, holding a cup of coffee.

“Hi,” I say after a moment goes by and he doesn’t turn toward me.

“Hi.” He puts the mug down on the table. “Did you sleep all right?” His attention is still aimed outside the window.

“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “Whatever your doctor slipped into that tea last night worked. I didn’t wake up once.”

He turns his head slightly, giving me access to only his profile. His beard is thicker; he hasn’t touched it in days. “You knew?”

“Not when I was drinking it, but when I started to get groggy, I figured it out.” I fold my arms over my stomach. “How’s your shoulder?”

He rolls it back then forward again. “Stiff, but I’ll live.”

“Andrei.” I stop there because I have no idea what to say. “Thank you.” The words fall out, but it’s not enough. He’s done so much for me, and at every turn I fought him.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” He turns around, still not toward me, and brings his mug to the sink.

“I do.” I take a small step forward. “And I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have jumped out of the car like that.” I sigh. “I shouldn’t have done a lot of things.”

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