Page 13 of Promise Maker

Regret sinks his shoulders, and he drags his handthrough his graying hair, anger in his expression as he veers into the office.

I climb the stairs to the guest room, place Solarion the bed, and turn on the lamp to look at her.

Her jet-black curls are sweaty from the summerheat. Some strands have fallen into her forehead. I brush them aside, feeling apunch to the gut at the immense sorrow in her appearance.

She lifts her eyes to meet mine as she starts totwitch and makes gagging sounds.

I know that reaction.

Poor thing is in shock, repulsed from all theblood she saw and her father’s tragic murder.

Quickly, I usher her from the bed into thebathroom. Solari falls to her knees, emptying the contents of her stomach intothe toilet.

I move my hand to rub her back but reconsider.

Perhaps she doesn’t want that.

Grabbing a towel instead, I wet it at the sink andhelp her clean up when she’s finished puking. I make sure to erase her father’sblood from her cheek, afraid she’ll glimpse it in the mirror and freak out.

“I’ll have Gaia bring you a change of clothes,” Isay.

Solari looks at me, cuts to my hand on hershoulder, and shrugs away.

She seems to have snapped back to reality and isupset with me again. “You know who did this, don’t you?” Her voice is harsh,biting. “You were at my house earlier.”

“It couldn’t have been Rossi,” I tell her. “Hewants control of your father’s shipping yard, but only through buying it. Hewouldn’t go so far.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” she grunts, freshtears pooling down her cheeks.

“Solari.” I reach for her hand.

She backs away and lowers to the bed.

“I’ll keep you safe,” I assure. “I’ll find who didit. I promise.”

She presses her eyes shut, quivering as the tearsflow. “Please…just leave me alone.” She chokes up, lying down with her back tome.

Leaving her alone is the last thing I want.

I have a burning desire to crawl into the bed andhold her fragile body, comfort her as best as I can.

But I’m sure she’d push me away if I tried.

Though I hate it, I step out of the room and closethe door, pressing my forehead against the wood.

Anger boils in my veins at the sounds of hercries.

Squaring my shoulders, I back up and head for thestairs.

Father finishes on the phone as I enter theoffice.

“Who gave the hit?” I ask. “Was it Rossi?”

He shakes his head. “Rossi is a blubbering mess.It wasn’t him. How was it at Bishop’s house? Anything suspicious?”

My brain scours the details at rapid speed.“Everyone’s dead, except that man. The one who’s always with him whenever wesaw Bishop.” I learned from a young age to notice everything. It’s how we staysafe.

Father considers for a second. “You mean Mathew?He wasn’t there?”

---