Page 2 of Unbroken Promises

“For you, il mio passerotto? Anything.”

“Promise me that it will always be like this. I know things are going to be crazy for a while. With me starting a new school, and hopefully training for the Olympics. And you, with your first season with the Sabretooths. But no matter what, I want us to always be able to come back to this. When life gets hard, when our jobs keep us apart for weeks at a time, or when our kids drive us crazy someday, I want us to always be able to find our peace in the quiet, together. Okay?”

With that, she smiles brightly, kissing me softly once more as we dance to our own rhythm, completely oblivious to the music now that is still playing in the background.

I want that. I want to dream with her, and have it all. The house, the kids, the happily ever after. First, I just have to figure out how to deal with whoever is trying to shatter those dreams before they ruin everything that is precious to me.

Chapter Two

Theo

Ten Years Earlier

Blood drips slowly, sliding into my eyes and blurring my vision as a puddle of crimson spreads lazily across the hardwood, pooling around my bare feet. Chest heaving, I fight to relax my clenched fists, barely registering the dull throb of my split knuckles. Cold, lifeless eyes stare up at me; an empty reflection of the cruelty that once imbedded in every heavy line wrinkling his tired features. Sobbing pierces sharply through the fogginess clouding my brain, jolting me back to the blaring reality lying at my feet. He finally got what he wanted from me. Glancing down in a detached manner, I observe the red that will forever stain my soul, as the darkness starts to slither inside and settle deep in my heart.

Present Day

“An eye for an eye” . . . the words on the paper echo in my mind, tattooed under my skin, like the crimson blood staining my black soul. “An eye for an eye. . .” My punch lands, and I feel the satisfying crunch as bone and cartilage gives under the force of my fist as my hand connects with his face.

“Tell me what you know.”

A harsh laugh escapes the dying man’s lips, blood pouring down his battered face as he spits at my feet.

“Tell. Me. What. You. Fucking. Know.” My breathing is labored, not from the exertion of beating him to a bloody pulp, but from the rage howling within me like a hurricane, bringing destruction to everyone, and everything that dares step in its path. If left unchecked, I know my inner fury will become all-consuming. I take a deep breath, forcing a calm that I do not feel.

“Why should I fucking tell you? You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

There is a weariness in his eyes, despite the defiant tilt of his head. He knows he is already a dead man, there’s no point in denying him the truth.

My lips purse as I tilt my head in response, as if considering his words. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I might just kill you anyway. . .” voice trailing off, a heavy silence fills the space between us. “Then again, there are many different ways a man can die. For instance, I can rip off his fucking fingernails.”

Using my pocket knife, I dig the tip beneath the nail of his pinky finger, and with one quick motion, rip the nail from its bed. Screams fill the air, and I wait patiently for him to quiet, jagged breaths heaving from his chest. “One at a fucking time, then shove splinters under the nails of your toes. Let them slowly fester until your body is ravaged by infection and you beg me to kill you. . .

Or, I could shove a fucking wrench down your throat and watch you drown on it.” Flashbacks fill my head, another body, another life taken brutally in retaliation for what was taken fromher. From me. I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, trying to focus on the present. The bleeding, sobbing wretch tied down before me. “Or, I could give you a clean death. Let you die with dignity, with less suffering. All you have to do is tell me what you know about the letters.” Another flick of the knife, another nail ripped out of its bed.

More screams fill the air. “Alright. Alright. Just stop. Please, man. Just stop. I- I’ll tell you what I know!”

I pause, the sharp point of my knife just kissing the nail of his next finger. “Well? Go on, then.”

Chapter Three

Danica

Present Day

Beep. Beep. Beep. Groaning, I roll over in my bed, fumbling through the darkness as I slap the nightstand behind me in a groggy attempt to shut off the fucking obnoxious ring tone. Bringing the phone to my ear, I pry my bleary eyes open even as I grumble, answering. “Bitch, I fucking hate you.”

“Good morning sunshine! Nice to talk to you too.” Her overly peppy tone only grates on my nerves as I pull the phone away from my eyes, squinting through the darkness at the bright screen.

“Oh my god. Seriously? It is two in the fucking morning, Sierra. Why do you do this to me?” Groaning, I push past the sleepy fog to think about all the ways I could slowly murder my best friend.

“Oh, come on now! It’s five a.m. over here. Dawn is about to break through the cloudless sky and the early bird catches the worm, you know.” I can hear the wink in her voice, the tinkling laughter in her words. She knows damn well what she is doing. I’m not a morning person by any means, but waking me up in the middle of the night is just cruel and unusual punishment.

“Why, exactly, are you calling me at such an ungodly hour?” I fight the urge to pull the pillow back over my head and force myself to focus.

She responds in her usual upbeat manner, laughing. “I’m just finishing up my shift and I feel like we haven’t talked in ages. I don’t know, I just missyou I guess.”

Her flippant tone belies a slight edge that she is trying to conceal. But she can’t hide from me. After close to seven years of friendship, Sierra is more like a sister to me than anything at this point. Sitting up with a sigh, I run a hand through my tangled curls, which always manage to look more like a rat’s nest after laying down for any decent amount of time.

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