Page 21 of Promise of Punishment

I wasn’t raised to be caring. My parents had no love to give, so I had none to offer anyone other than my sister. Tessa became mine to protect the moment I realized our parents were sick, selfish souls. Then Fable saved me, and I felt the same fierce need to protect her. Something isn’t right. If my father had her relocated somewhere on the other side of the pond, how is she here? Why is she working as a housekeeper or working at all? Had they pissed through the reward money he gave them?

My heart drums in a way I’m not used to. I don’t like it. Even more, I don’t like not knowing what really happened to Fable. I don’t like that I gave up searching after three years and trusted William to do most of the work. I couldn’t continue looking with how she made me feel. Few people can hurt me physically, even less can hurt me emotionally. Fable is like a wound that won’t heal. Pursuing her whereabouts meant ripping the scab off again and again. Had that weakness left me blind to a truth I didn’t want to see? Could William have known more than he told me? Could my father have gotten to him? When I revealed I was alive and thriving to the rotter who seeded me, it was through a note I had William deliver that I signed with blood.

Father was a big fan of blood signatures. He used them as a scare tactic to intimidate. I signed several as a child.

“The blood binds you to the deed or promise,” he’d say.

My note was clear.

Father, I will take the only things you valued in life and burn them to ashes upon your death so the memory is erased from existence. This I swear. Your devoted son.

One of my best qualities is my devotion to certain people or promises I make. A therapist would say the trait borders on obsession. After seeing Fable again, she is back on my priority list. At the very top. I will work out the mystery of her past and learn every detail about her present.

Wes

The place where Fable lives is a dump and not listed as a rental, which means she’s paying under the table. She’s using an alias for everything, too, including her employment at Lachlan’s. Fable Fisher. Close enough to her legal last name, Farrington, but not nearly as enchanting.

My anxiety got the better of me and sent me on a deep dive to find all I could on her using the proprietary search engine I developed two years ago, called Vantage. With it, I have access to secure databases, thanks to the help I hired—two former SIS officers, one from the CIA and one from MI6. If only I’d developed this six years ago, I could have found her.

Lachlan knew something was up when I dashed off this afternoon after gathering enough to get started on Fable. I drove to her studio first, knowing she wouldn’t get off her shift for a few hours.

Gravel and dirt don’t go with my Zegna suit, but it doesn’t stop me from getting out of my car and walking toward her house. I stand out as much as my McLaren P1 in this area. With many of the houses owned by service workers, I don’t have to worry about them being home to see me walk by.

Having parked at the end of the block on the corner, it’s not a far jaunt to her studio. I slip between the dumpster and fence as I continue to the garage in the back, where it’s much less exposed. Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the top and scan the area. The overgrown shrubbery isn’t high enough to hide me, but I don’t see anyone around, so I pick the lock and let myself in. The place is tiny enough to make me feel claustrophobic. My head almost touches the ceiling. It looks like she just moved in, based on the cardboard boxes and plastic bins. I know from her background she did, but I also know she moves around a lot, and this is probably how she lives. Before moving here, she worked for the Winthrop family in Vermont for seven months. Before that, she was with a family for ten months in Maine, and a different family prior to that job for a year. Something is forcing her to switch jobs. And where is her mum?

I take my phone from my pocket and search the database for anything on Lola Farrington or Lola Fisher. Her dad comes up to my utter shock. He's in a psychiatric hospital for murdering his wife.

“Bloody hell.”

I was told her dad was dead. Promised Fable I'd kill the fiend so she'd be safe. I assumed she was when my father hid her and her mum away after she betrayed me for money—which I could forgive given her circumstances. Had I known her dad was alive, I would have followed through on my promise. Instead, I took William's word on the matter. Big fucking mistake.

I grit my teeth so hard my jawbone cracks and shoot William a text.

Me: Call me ASAP

My fists clamp tightly. I raise my hand to punch the wall but stop myself and let out an angry groan. Something moves on the bed covers.

A tiny cat with cream, fluffy fur stares at me, its ears back as if I’ve annoyed it.

“Well, hello, there.”

I slowly walk to the twin bed and bend to pet the cat’s head. It lets me, seeming not afraid at all. The tag on the collar has a name. Bear.

I stiffen and straighten. Is it possible she named her pet after me? Or is it because this cat is fluffy enough to be a cub?

After the unwarranted sneer she sent me earlier, I’d guess it’s the latter. She has no reason to hate me unless she blames me for something. Could it be that I didn’t kill her dad?

This would be much easier if I could just ask her, but I don’t see that happening. I give the cat a last pet and scan the room. She likes things to be neat and clean. After a hard day of work, she comes home and does the same in her own place. The kitchenette doesn’t have much food, nor does the mini fridge.

The small wardrobe holds a jacket, a few shirts, and pants. No dresses. One pair of shoes. The bathroom is airplane-sized with an incredibly small shower. It pisses me off that she’s living like this. What happened to all the money she and her mum got from my dad? Because this looks like she never had any.

I crack my neck and text William again.

Me: You owe me answers.

For a man who’s never had a problem replying in the past, this doesn’t sit well with me. Could my father have done something to him before he died?

My teeth are mashed together again, and my breath blows hot. “What the hell happened to you, Fable?”