Page 123 of Shattered Promise

Lisa turns, raking her hands through her hair—my hair, or as close as she can get it. “You know, you didn’t make it easy,” she says, almost wistful. “All those years of being the golden child, the favorite, the one everyone remembered and no one could ever quite replace. Until now.” Her voice lilts upward, bright as a knife. “I tried to be you once, a long time ago. Did you know that? I bought a dress just like the ones you wore when youvisited during the summer. I did my hair like yours, wore your color palette. I even got Mason to look at me, for a minute, but he was always looking over my shoulder.” Her mouth twists, half triumphant, half broken. “He only ever looked at you. Even when I was in his lap. But that was before, when I was Analisa. Before I transformed into who I was meant to be. Now, I’ve taken my craft seriously. I stayed in your apartment in Seattle, I spent time in your cabin in the woods. I’ve walked life in your shoes, Abigail Cater. And now, I’m going tobeyou.”

I swallow back bile.

She drops her hair and saunters over to me. She grips my chin between her thumb and index finger, tilting my face toward her. “Don’t feel bad about Mason. I gave him the one thing you never will:Theo.” Her attention slides to my hair, and her free hand smooths over it. “Though, I suppose we could make sure the tide stays in my favor and change a few things. Maybe we should cut off all this pretty hair, hm?”

Beth stands suddenly. “You said you wouldn’t hurt her.”

Lisa doesn’t release her hold on me. “I haven’t touched her, Bethy.”

“You’re touching her right now,” Beth says.

Lisa’s grip tightens, her nails pinching the soft skin under my jaw. She leans in, so close I can taste her perfume—myperfume—and says, “Don’t be dramatic. I’m only teasing her.” Then she lets go, wiping imaginary residue on the hem of my sundress.

Beth’s lower lip trembles. She sets the mug down and wipes her palms on her dress, like she’s trying to rid herself of something sticky. “Can we just—can we go? Please? You got what you needed. You have everything set up. Let me take Abby back home to Seattle.” Beth turns toward me with a smile. “I leased your apartment for us. I stocked the fridge with all your favorite things, and I even?—”

“Stop,” I say, barely above a whisper.

Beth blinks. “What?”

“Just, stop, Beth. Whatever this is, whatever you’re trying to do, juststop. Let me go.Please.”

A sound breaks through the hush. A real sound—muffled, but sharp. The slam of a door, shouts echoing up a stairwell. For a split second, all three of us freeze. Then it happens again, closer this time. A voice, low and unmistakable, roaring my name.

“Abby! I’m coming!”

The world lurches sideways. Lisa recoils, eyes wide in sudden panic. Beth claps both hands over her mouth and stares at the door, wild and wet-eyed. I hear boots pounding up the hall. The thump of something heavy. My pulse spikes so hard I nearly black out.

Beth moves first, hands trembling as she scrambles for the window. Lisa rushes to the mirror, smoothing her hair and yanking the part to the exact angle I wear it. It’s uncanny, sickening. She doesn’t even flinch when the outer door bursts open and Mason’s voice ricochets down the corridor.

“Abby? Abby!” It’s desperate and raw and so loud it hurts. The sound of him, so close, nearly buckles my knees even though I can’t move. My body is still lashed to the chair, wrists hot with pain, but I lean as far toward the door as the zipties will let me, every cell on fire with the need to get to him.

The next few seconds are a tornado. Lisa whirls to the door as Mason fills the doorway, my brothers close behind him. Beth wails, just once, before she collapses onto the arm of the couch.

Mason’s face twists with panic, his eyes lasering in on mine like he knew exactly where I was.

“Mason,” I sob out his name.

His boots barely hit the floor. He’s at my side in three strides, hands smoothing over me everywhere. “Baby, look at me. You okay? Are you hurt? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I love you, and I’m sorry.” He doesn’tpause, doesn’t even look at the other women, just kneels before me and tries to work the knot of scarves at my wrists, his words tumbling out like he can’t stop the flow of them. His hands are shaking, but his grip is steady—knuckles blanched, jaw set hard.

And behind him, everything goes to hell.

Beau grabs Lisa by the wrist as she tries to bolt, but she twists and slaps him, hard, across the face. He reels, more shocked than hurt, and she uses the opening to dart around the coffee table. Graham blocks her exit, arms folded, and face stern.

“Mase, the ziptie—there’s a zip—” I can’t finish. It’s all I can do to keep from sobbing. The pain, the fear, the relief of him here, his smell and the heat of his body so close, and the relentless, furious urgency in his touch. My vision is a smear of tears.

Mason’s thumb brushes my cheek. “Hey, hey, look at me. I’ve got you.” He digs into his pocket, produces a folding knife, and with a single flick, saws through the ziptie. The plastic snaps. My arms collapse forward, useless and tingling. He catches them in his, pressing my palms to his chest. The thump of his heart is violent, frantic.

I can’t stop crying. Not even when I taste the salt of it.

He lifts me out of the chair—no warning, just slides his arms around me and gathers me into his arms. “It’s alright, baby. I’ve got you. Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?”

His voice is ragged, equal parts terror and rage. He sets me on his lap, like I weigh nothing, and tucks my head to his shoulder, shielding me from the room. My whole body shakes, but he just holds me tighter, one hand stroking my hair while the other wraps around my wrists, thumbs careful over the angry grooves left by the zipties. He whispers, “I’ve got you, baby. And I’m never letting you go,” over and over, until the world starts to come back together.

Behind us, the chaos blurs.

Police officers, voices screeching through radios, blue and red flashing lights, my brothers shouting, Lisa screaming, Beth crying.

And through it all, Mason doesn’t move. He sits with me tucked into his lap, as far away from the chaos as physically possible, his body a shield between me and everything else.

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