Page 23 of Promise of Punishment

I arrange little cracker sandwiches neatly on the plate and fill a cup with water. It looks funny on the McKenzie-Childs dinnerware. Mom ordered multiple sets during the brief time Dad still had money to burn. It was the last nice thing she bought for herself. It isn’t valuable, but the beautiful set has a garden with butterflies. The pastel color palette matched Mom’s gentle demeanor. I love them because the broken tiles remind me of the beauty I find in abandoned gardens and ruins. I kept two from the set and sold the rest with the other stuff we once owned.

For the next hour, I snack while I work on my phone, editing pictures I took of abandoned gardens. It’s hard to find historical remains in the US like they have in the UK, so I keep reinventing old pics to make them look different for new posts. I’d love to photograph many places in Europe one day, but that’s just a dream.

My alarm goes off. I lift the sleeping cat from my lap and set him on the floor. He had meowed for me to hold him after he finished eating. “Sorry, buddy. Mama has to go to work again.” I pet his head, then clean up my mess.

He watches me move about in a flurry. I feel bad leaving him alone so much, but I can’t afford another cat to keep him company right now.

“Love you, bear,” I say from the door and blow him a kiss. “I’ll be back later. Be good.” I smile and slip outside. Rain drizzles as I scurry down the wooden steps to the long driveway. I get in my car, and the gas light comes on as I’m backing out.

“Great,” I huff. At least I have enough gas to get to the pub, then I can fill up on the way home.

It’s not until I’m halfway to work that I realize I forgot my jacket, and I’m still in my uniform—a knee-length black dress with a white apron and collar. If I were waiting tables, Oliver, the manager and my landlord, would make me change. But I’m working in the back for the next few weeks while the regular scheduler is on maternity leave, so he shouldn’t mind.

The rain falls heavier by the time I reach the pub. I can’t be sure, but a black sports car with unique headlights seems to be following me. It’s more likely it’s not, and I’m just being paranoid, but with the way Dad seems to find me, it’s better to be on guard. A sense of relief hits me when I pull into the lot of Ray’s Tavern, and the sports car doesn’t turn with me. Anyone who can afford a car like that doesn’t hang out at this pub.

I grab my umbrella and run to the back door, unable to keep from getting soaked thanks to the wind. Barreling inside, I almost plow into Oliver’s round belly as he leaves.

“Whoa.” He jumps back.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

He tilts his head to glance outside through the window in the door. “It’s coming down hard now, huh?”

“Yeah.” I step aside, careful not to get him wet. My shoes are drenched from running through a puddle.

He gives my soggy appearance a once-over. “You should dry off before you sit in the office.”

In his office, in his chair. “I won’t get anything wet, I promise.”

“Well, I’m off.” He nods. “Have a good night.”

I wave and head down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom while he runs out into the rain, a huge umbrella sheltering him.

Wes

I drive past the pub called Ray’s Tavern and swing around at the light ahead. By the time I pull into the parking lot, Fable is nowhere in sight.

I don’t know what she’s doing here, but I will damn sure find out. If I hadn’t spent the last two hours in the car on a conference call, I would have done more research on her right after I snooped around in her studio.

I park and open Vantage on my phone, then enter Fable and this pub into the search bar. Handing this off to the team I use for research would be the smart move, but my controlling, private nature—toward friends, family, and apparently Fable—won’t let me. It’s one of my biggest weaknesses and leaves me little time for much outside of work—like fucking and fighting.

When was the last time I fought in a ring? Three months ago? The move to America a year ago and the takeover of Spencer Securities have monopolized my time. I haven’t been balls deep in a warm body in almost two months, when I attended a party at Hellfire.

I need to go back. If I can’t fight, I need to fuck away the rage inside or else my demon will surface and want to feed justice to someone deserving.

I haven’t felt this out of control in years. Seeing Fable is messing with me in ways I didn’t expect.

I reach out to William again, my jaw tightening at the string of unanswered texts. As furious as I am with him for his silence, it doesn’t match the anger I feel toward myself for ending my business with him regarding Fable and Lola and moving on. Not that I ever forgot them, especially Fable.

The search engine is slow to give me anything. The internet signal in this area is shite.

As much as I want to keep everything about Fable close to me and me alone, I want this information now. There is only one person whose precision rivals my own. I originally hired him to run IT in the London office Lachlan and I own, despite him being vastly overqualified—but money talks, and I offered him a small fortune. He now oversees the other two businesses I’ve recently invested in, separate from my joint expenditures with Lachlan. If anyone can get me what I need and neither question it nor speak a word of it to anyone else, it’s Felix.

I try the search engine again, but no data returns.

A quick glance around shows Fable is still inside. With her car parked around back, I have to assume she works here or knows someone who does. A boyfriend?

My jaw tightens with an unwarranted sense of possession.