Page 12 of Promise of Punishment

Eventually, I fell asleep with my head against his big arm.

When I woke up, he was asleep too. It was too early in the morning for me to stay any longer, so I left with a whispered goodbye and returned to my bedroom, where I sneaked in through the window.

I had end-of-year exams the next day and couldn’t skip school anymore to be with him. By the time I got to the shed that afternoon, he was gone, as if he’d never existed. But I’ll never forget him, and maybe someday, fate be willing, we’ll meet again.

August - one week later

Wes, 21

Blue skies meet a cliff that drops to a rolling ocean outside the tall windows of my room. The sun is rare in the highlands of Scotland. Bed-bound as I am, the peaceful view does little to ease my bruised ribs or lift my sour spirits.

My father controls my trust fund like he devised when he got me to sign the agreement before the fight. I haven’t lost a match in four years. Three guys against one meant I didn’t stand a chance. I knew he was up to something, but I never suspected he intended to kill me. I’m not penniless, as was his plan, I’m sure. Past winnings have left me with a sizable bank account. The few million I have is nothing compared to the forty million my father cheated me out of, but it’s enough to do what I need until I make more.

After Lachlan rescued me from the garden at Hale Manor, he arranged private medical treatment for me and then brought me to Duhnill, his family’s castle, far from my father in Dorset.

Lachlan owed me for helping him escape a kidnapping attempt from his sadistic uncle a year ago, but he would have saved me regardless. He’s loyal in that way.

Fable did a good job healing me. The doctor said I would have died from dehydration, and the risk of infection had she not cleaned my wounds and cared for me. She’s an angel. As soon as I’m fully healed, I plan to make good on what I vowed to do for her. My angel. She might have been just seventeen, but she was mature in ways only a person who has experienced trauma could be. I hate that her dad was the person to inflict that trauma on her. I’ll enjoy killing him, and before I do, I’ll make sure he knows the reason.

5

THIS DOESN’T MAKE SENSE

August

Fable, 17

Over a month has passed since I saw Bear. Circumstances are definitely on edge with the staff at Hale Manor. For a week now, the family’s security team has been questioning employees individually.

The staff was told something horrible had happened to the earl’s son. His son! That sent my head spinning and me down an internet rabbit hole. The guy I saved has a name. Wesley Alexander Theo Hale. He has a face too. A beautiful one like I’d suspected.

Pictures of the family appear first. His hair is dark blonde. Based on his childhood family photos, he was tall from a young age. His sister, Katessa, looks a bit younger than him and more like the mom with her chestnut hair. She’s pretty and pristine. They both are. His dad seems to have aged significantly since these pictures. There aren’t any new ones of the family.

I did a Google face search on Wesley and found one social media account. The posts are of him at Eton playing polo, then at college in Cambridge and Harvard. That was surprising to me, though it shouldn’t be. His family has a summer estate on Martha’s Vineyard after all. He’s often with another handsome guy who has bright aqua eyes. His best friend? Maybe the guy who rescued him? I wish I’d kept his number so I could warn him about what’s going on. But I deleted it like Bear—er—Wesley said.

No one knows any facts or details, only that something happened on the property, and if anyone witnessed anything unusual, they need to report it or else risk their job. I didn’t breathe a word about what I did to Mom. When they questioned her, she truly knew nothing.

I pace the floor in my bedroom, biting my nails as I wait for her to come back from a second round of questioning, hating that this is happening to her. If they find out I’m involved, Mom could get in serious trouble, demoted even.

Because of me.

I can’t bring myself to regret saving Wesley though. No one should be left to that fate. But if Mom gets punished for something I did, I will regret being the cause of her suffering—our suffering.

To make matters worse, we’ve been getting letters in our mailbox for the last two weeks, claiming Mom won money from an anonymous charity donor. All she has to do is sign to accept the winnings, and the money will be transferred to her bank account. It’s super sketch, like they want access to our accounts. To drain them? Ha! Even though Mom makes more money here, we still have nothing for them to take.

She thinks it’s a big scam. The timing is suspicious. What if this is another way to weed out who helped the abandoned heir? I told her not to talk about it to anyone, but someone saw a strange man in the early morning, too early for the mailman, slip a letter into our mailbox. The metal bin is with a bunch of others in the carriage house, built into the wall at the entrance of our apartment-like complex. The next day, Mom was brought in for a second time.

This is bad, so bad. Horribly bad. Mom is the only person to get a second interrogation, which means she’s at the top of the security team’s list. Word is they’re looking to blame Wesley’s attack on anyone they think is involved. I have no idea what that means and can only pray there won’t be criminal charges. Don’t they need proof for that? Video, pictures, DNA?

I gasp. What if someone saw me? It would still be hearsay, right? Mom told me the manor has cameras everywhere. I’d seen plenty of them in corners, but none in the back of the property where no one ventures other than me.

My stomach churns with nausea for my mom, who is truly innocent. If she has no knowledge about their son or his condition or even where he was left, which she doesn’t, they’ll have to believe her. They’ll have to.

I find it interesting that the family knows something happened to their son. To me, that says someone—the family, staff, or security—either saw Wesley beaten, getting dumped over the wall, or found him when I wasn’t around.

Now, I’m worried Wesley didn’t escape with his friend’s help. What if whoever did this to him found him first and finished the job, or caught him being rescued and stopped it?

An hour later, Mom walks through the apartment door in tears. She leaves it open, and one of the security guards appears in the entrance, his expression stern.