Page 5 of Promise and Punishment

I looked down at the quarter, terrorized by everything she said—about love, about Gemma’s dad, and my role in her life. But I refused to believe it. I went to open my mouth—

“PARKER!” Gemma slammed the front door, shrilling. I turned around as she stood in a pink turtleneck, her hands clenching a tiny bag of cookies. She was home but not excited to see me; in fact, she seemed mad, if not frantic. “You need to go!” She shook her head, lifting me up without another word.

When I stood up the stuffed giraffe fell off my lap and onto the floor. “But I brought you, Andy!” I clutched the quarter in my hand as she stared at him, then scowled at her mother. “I figured you’d want him.”

“Thank you. But leave!” She looked like she was about to cry as she twisted my arm, forcing me out.

Mrs. Harrison didn’t blink once, instead mouthed the wordpromiseas she stared into my eyes.

“Gemma, are you ok?” I asked, shoved out the door. “What’s happening? Talk to me!”

For the first time ever, Gemma didn’t look back at me, instead, focused on her mother as she slowly inched the door closer to her body. I knew it then and there, the things Mrs. Harrison said were true. Whatever happened, whatever Gemma’s father or mother did, led her here. It was a bomb, and the tears that burst from her eyes made me want to die.

“Parker…” she whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

Gemma slammed the door, locking me out with a quick click of the latch. I stood there, out from the dark and into the light of the hall.

Everything suddenly became so silent that I nearly forgot to breathe, lost in the realization of what I knew was true all along, of something I felt from the moment I first met her.

Before, I didn’t know how Gemma made me feel, because all I felt was her. That wasn’t the case anymore, and in place of that was the worst kind of truth…

I was completely in love with my best friend.

And I could never tell her.

Not on her birthday, not ever.

And as much as I wanted her to know, I knew I never wanted to see her face like that again; worried, filled with tears, and pain. Could I really do that to her? Could I be the person who ruins her life, a match to burn her finger? I wasn’t sure, but knew I never wanted to find out.

Slowly, I looked to my side, seeing that my bike was now missing, along with Mateo’s newspapers. Someone stole them.

For a moment I paused, unsure of what to do. I wanted to knock again, I wanted to get her out, but instead I walked away.

Gemma Rose Harrison was the love of my life, and I’d protect her from that, even at the cost of my own desires.

I knew now…

This was my promise.

This was my punishment.

Chapter1

Alejandro

Present day

In my lifetime, I had already broken seven different bones. Four ribs, one toe, and two in my hand from a punch to the face of a man I hardly cared to talk about. The others were earned while shooting scenes in a movie, those where I’d jump off roofs or crash through windows.

It was quite possible that I was on the brink of breaking another. Removing handcuffs wasn’t hard at Midtown Precinct South, a police station that was clearly under budgeted. They still had an old faulty brand that could be removed easily with the precise slam of its key post. Done incorrectly though, it could fracture my wrist.

The pain would probably be worth it, considering the promise of freedom was such a delectable idea. If anyone saw me do this, they’d know instantly that chaining me to the fixed steel table was just an illusion of control, a psychological tool I could use if needed. The next person to walk through that door would be prepared to ask me questions, ones I didn’t want to answer. Honestly, it wasn’t just their questions, it was their intent. They wanted to exploit my weaknesses, and it wouldn’t be difficult if they started with Gemma…

I couldn’t risk them bringing up her name, revealing the noticeable reaction my face would cause. I still wasn’t sure where they put her or if she was even here. She was my weakness, because at this moment all I could think of was her; even the handcuffs were a reminder of Gemma. I thought of when she picked up the pair she found on my coffee table the first time she came to my penthouse. If only she knew I’d been watching her the whole time from upstairs, not lurking, but admiring. She had no idea how dangerous it was to hold those, how I wanted to click them around her wrists, to condemn her to the post of my bed. I’d pull her arms right over her head, just to hear her gasp, just for the assurance that air was filling her beautiful lungs with fuel to speak my name.

If only she could say it now, over and over again, convincing me that I was someone better than I felt, just as she did eight hours ago when we kissed on the roof.

Enough… Alejandro…

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