Broken Promises (The Brianna Lane Series) (8 page)

I turned toward the cashiers, my heart beating fast as excitement washed over me. Even though it had started off embarrassing, it was worth the empowered feeling stirring within me. Walking away, I added a little sway to my hips.

“You don’t think we’re finished here, do you?” His voice called out, putting a smile on my face as I twirled around.

“Did you want to read more?” I replied, holding the book out.

He crossed the distance between us and took hold of my elbow. His fingers felt hot through my long-sleeved sweater, but I didn’t move a muscle. I could smell his cologne, the minty gum he was chewing, and I was intrigued with what he had planned. Glancing down at his hand, he appeared bashful before he released me.

“Well for starters, you can take my number and promise you’ll call me. I’d love to take you to dinner . . . talk more about books and such.” I looked at him confused. Although I hadn’t dated recently, it was pretty much a given that the guy asked for the woman’s number. “This way you don’t have to worry that some psycho stalker has your number. You call the shots,” he added.

His considerate offer touched me, and I entered his number into my phone. I told him I’d call him later that night and we parted ways—me to the checkout stations and him behind a nearby shelf. Just when I thought our encounter was over, I heard him call my name again in a voice that carried over the store.

“Here’s something for you to think about too. See those covers?” I nodded, unsure where he was heading.

“If you play your cards right and treat me nice, I might let you see how I compare to those guys with my shirt off.” Quiet laughter broke out throughout the store and a blush hotter than before crossed my face. Adding his own swagger, Quinn laughed and winked. “Hope I hear from you soon, Brianna.” He disappeared behind the stack.

The strength of the memory made what was happening even more tragic as it was just one of hundreds we’d shared together. We’d been dating for almost a year, loving each other completely, and now it was all slipping away—lost.

My fist missed his jaw completely. The ring on my hand grazed his chin leaving a slight scrape that raised a few tiny beads of blood. I’d failed, and now I was going to die.

Feeling myself fall deeper into darkness, I almost missed Quinn loosening his grip and him lowering me to the ground. The pressure on my throat lessened before disappearing completely—a signal I could breathe again.

I pulled huge, greedy gulps of cold air into my lungs, sagging against the wall. My legs were like jelly, and my head spun as my vision slowly began clearing. I fought to regain control over my body, not understanding why he’d stopped. He’d gone quiet again and wore a look of complete devastation.

Unsure what game he was playing, I held myself back from throwing myself into his arms—refusing to be fooled twice. My focus narrowed on his stare, my heart sinking with relief. His eyes were brown.

“You did it. You fought it!” I crashed into him, clinging desperately as I cried. He’d never felt as good as he did right then, and he intensified his embrace. It was a short-lived victory, however. His body stiffened and he stood back—holding me at arm’s length.

He searched me for any damage and faltered when he saw the bruising around my throat. He knew he’d been the cause, and judging by the blanched expression he wore, he was sickened.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “You’re not even safe from me.” He staggered backward, putting more distance between us. He looked frantic as he raised his hands to stop me from approaching. “Listen. I don’t know how much longer I can stay this way. It’s building again so you need to promise something.”

I opened my mouth to argue. Knowing me like he did, he quickly interrupted.

“No. You need to get as far away as possible, and no matter what happens, you don’t come looking for me. If there’s a cure, I’ll find you. Promise me.”

“But I don’t want to leave you.” I knew I sounded desperate, but I didn’t care. We rarely spent time apart—the idea appalled me.       

“Promise!” he shouted, a tremor moving through him.

“Okay, I promise!” I cried. I watched as he convulsed and his eyes began flickering again.

“Now run, Bri. Run!”

I love you,
I mouthed, and began running down the street, careful to avoid the fights that were still breaking out. Just as I reached the corner, I paused, hoping for one more glimpse of Quinn. He was standing where I’d left him, staring at me.

I couldn’t see whether he’d converted back, but as I waved goodbye, his face took on the predator appearance I’d seen earlier. With a sarcastic smirk that still seemed strange, he raised his fingers in a saluting gesture.

I received the message loud and clear—the hunt was on, and in that moment I knew the Quinn I loved was gone.

Chapter Seven

The farther I ran, the deeper the ache of separation tore through me. Step after agonizing step, reality drove home that he was gone and I had no clue what had happened—why he’d changed. The only thing I knew was I wouldn’t rest until I fixed whatever it was.

Every look he’d given me churned in my mind—every harsh word and tone echoed until all I wanted to do was scream. Nothing I did seemed to work as I frantically tried dismissing the repeated images of Quinn glaring with those hateful eyes. I couldn’t shake how he’d had no qualms in killing me.

I started crying and it infuriated me. Tears were a luxury I didn’t have time for—a weakness I couldn’t allow to take over. Now more than ever, I needed to keep strong. There was too much at stake.

The familiar streets of Penshurst became a blur as I fled down Wilmont, passing storefronts and restaurants. I didn’t stop for anyone, ignoring the shouts and protests around me, keeping a steady pace. I had no destination in mind and finally stopped when the stitch in my side threatened to cripple me. Resting alongside the large window display of Reese’s boutique, I held my stomach tightly as the fiery stab almost drove me to my knees.

Every instinct I had screeched to continue running, that no distance would ever be safe enough. An almost hysterical gurgle rose up as I realized how absurd that sounded. The only place I had ever felt protected was with Quinn and I’d been robbed of him.

A fresh shard of pain pierced my heart as the loss hit me again. Closing my eyes, I wished this were a nightmare—willing myself to wake up. My body ceased protesting, and exhaustion took control. I wanted to crawl into a tiny ball and fade away—somewhere the hurt couldn’t reach me.

His image flashed through my mind and I automatically flinched. Barely holding onto my sanity, I knew if I was reminded of those ice blue eyes one more time, I’d vomit. Willing myself to focus on the real Quinn, I pictured him whispering my name—a gentle smile on his lips that lightened his entire countenance. He had given me many similar looks over the years and the memories rekindled my determination. Nothing was ever lost forever and it helped still the rising panic.

A mantra began to take shape and grew louder and more insistent until it overshadowed the other noise in my head.

You can do this. Quinn isn’t lost. Don’t give up hope. You can do this. Quinn isn’t lost. Don’t give up hope. Each time it repeated, I felt stronger and more empowered.

I tingled with purpose now, and I looked around to see exactly where I was. Judging from my surroundings, I was blocks away from the theater and in the heart of downtown Penshurst. Maverick Street was eerily quiet—the calmness you get right before the storm, and it was strange seeing it so empty. Usually the sidewalks were teeming with commuters and tourists, now they resembled a ghost town. I assumed it meant the effects of the charm hadn’t reached this far yet, and I breathed in relief.

Seeing no immediate danger and taking advantage of the peace, I reached into my pocket for my cell phone. Too tired to figure out time differences, I scrolled through the menu until I found my grandmother’s number and pushed send. She knew what was happening and I wasn’t going to hang up until she answered my questions.

My nerves were still strung tightly as I began cursing under my breath. On and on the phone rang until I heard the device switch over to her answering machine. Tapping my foot on the sidewalk, I counted down to the beep.

“Grandma, it’s Bri. Where are you?” My voice was impatient because all my hopes rested on her knowing what was happening. “They’ve got Quinn and you know who they are. Please pick up!”

I leaned my forehead against a cool brick wall, forcing myself to calm down. It didn’t matter how hard I tried steadying my breath or reminded myself to relax, the silence on the end unraveled it.

“Okay, when you hear this message, call me.” I dropped my hand as I hung up, my grip barely holding onto my phone. I could feel my new sense of purpose weaken and the sound of my mantra grow faint.

Releasing a deep sigh, I sat on the curb, having no idea where to go next. It made sense to return home and gather a few things but my gut told me it would be the first place Quinn would go. I wasn’t ready to be alone with him—not before I had answers. I began to walk, letting my feet choose the direction. Sooner or later I’d figure it out, maybe see something that would spark a solid plan.

With things reasonably quiet in my head, I could avoid thinking about the problem directly and focus on the mundane instead. How many steps before I hit a crack in the sidewalk? How many breaths it took to cross a street? One, two, three, four, five—stop and start—over and over and over. As a fragile sense of calmness came over me, I told myself I could do this forever.

I passed by an alleyway before turning the corner and almost interrupted a fight in progress. The two men hadn’t noticed me yet and I stood there frozen, terrified any move I made would draw their attention.

It was one thing to see a fight on TV and another to see it in real life. I’d never realized how noisy it could be as flesh pounded on flesh—the grunts and growls that came from beating someone to a bloody pulp.

I knew I was in shock as I studied the scene with a detached and clinical eye. Gore trickled down their faces as noses were smashed, causing cartilage to break and blood to gush everywhere. It had no effect on me. One stranger spat, ridding his mouth of the teeth that had been knocked free. I didn’t blink an eye.

I stood there macabrely fascinated and didn’t even flinch when a gun was produced, turning the fight I’d just witnessed into something much more deadly. Without skipping a beat, the weaponless man charged as his snarl filled the air. It was complete insanity.

The trigger was pulled and the sound of the gun retort pierced the air, breaking the hold the scene had over me. Sweat moistened my palms as I realized with one wrong move, that gun could swivel around and point at me next.

The victor paused for a moment and then walked over to the lifeless body. He began firing again, shooting an endless stream of bullets until all I could hear was the clicking from an empty chamber. Quietly, I started retreating, but almost gave myself away when I watched the guy pull back his foot and strike the now dead man—kick after sickening kick. Now the only sound was his shoes pounding on flesh.

My focus never left the stranger as I continued creeping away. There was no doubt I would be next, and I had too much to live for. If something happened to me, Quinn would be lost and that was unacceptable.

 When he finally finished, he violently spat on the victim before shoving the empty gun into the back of his jeans. He turned to look around, no doubt checking to see if someone had come investigating the gunshots. Other than me, he was alone.

I was almost out of sight, reaching the corner, but at the last moment he saw me. He wore an excited expression that bordered feral possession and gave him a maniacal edge. The cruel grimace on his face said it all—he was converted and from the looks of it, completely turned on by the brutal murder he’d just committed. Terror struck me, causing my senses to explode inside my chest—all numbness completely gone. I was feeling again and for the second time tonight I knew I was going to die.

I weighed my options. I had no weapons, nothing but my fists to give me a chance at defending myself. I could flee again, but something told me if I ran, he would easily overtake me, and the thought made me shudder.

He approached and I began praying for somewhere to hide. Taking quick looks over my shoulder, I saw an alleyway and estimated the entrance was about ten steps away. I didn’t know if I could reach it in time. The fact he hadn’t spoken a word heightened my fear and my legs trembled in anticipation. Everything felt sinister—as if even the street itself held its breath, waiting to see what would happen.

He was almost to the corner when the sound of brakes screeched further up the street, breaking the silent tension. Whoever controlled the vehicle was driving too fast and the car almost spun out of control. Correcting the mistake, the driver slammed on the gas and gunned down the street toward us.

Hoping the guy was momentarily distracted, I sprinted and entered the alleyway, rapidly searching every nook and cranny to find an adequate hiding spot. Everything seemed too exposed, but going back into the street wasn’t an option—especially if an additional threat was entering the scene.

Tires squealed to a stop and seconds later, car doors slammed shut. Throwing caution to the wind, I bolted down the alley and found an empty store entrance cluttered with refuse. With no time to clear the trash, I pushed myself into the corner—making myself as small as possible.

My legs were pulled tightly to my chest, my head resting on my knees. I tried to still myself so I could hear what was happening out in the street, but between the heartbeat pounding in my ears and my rapid breathing, I could only catch murmurs and the odd comment.

It sounded like even more people were fighting—muffled grunts as bodies absorbed heavy blows, followed shortly by the noise of someone yelling obscenities. I heard faint footsteps as someone fled the scene and then everything went quiet.

I leaned forward, hoping the next sound would be car doors reopening. I waited for the loud roar of an engine revving to life, but I heard nothing. It crossed my mind maybe the vehicle’s owner was dead, sparking the internal debate whether I should check if the street was clear. Uncertainty warred within. A chill was starting to settle in and I didn’t want to be caught outside any longer than I had to. Sooner or later, I’d need shelter.