I Promise You: A Dark Military Romance (Scarred Executioners Book 2)
I Promise You: Chapter 19

Life is a lovely lie.

Those words come back full force with a demonic presence.

“You fucking slut! I can’t believe you fucked him.”

I can feel a sharp, dull pain in my back. Smiling like a maniac, Nora twirls a thick blade in her hands like it’s a game. I’m trapped, and no one is here to save me.

All the memories come back, flashing one after the other repeatedly. It’s one of those nightmares where you try to open your mouth to scream, only for eerie silence to follow. That nightmare where you try hard to run but feel like your feet sink lower to the ground in slow motion.

I can see Shane hovering over me again, trying to rape me. Watching his possessed eyes send dread curling through my chest like an explosion of fear.

I wake up from my nightmare, springing my body up, so I sit on my bed and scream into my dark, empty bedroom. I grip my bed sheets, curling them into my hands, searching for Danny, only to remember he’s not home yet.

“No!” I shout. I blink fast, trying to escape the horrid fog desperately, trying to end the suffering I endured while I was asleep. I swallow as heavy breaths leave my lungs.

I palm my stomach and close my eyes tight, and that’s when I notice my body is coated with sweat all over. As I try to steady my breathing, I pull the covers off to cool down. The adrenaline pokes at my chest, so unforgiving that I cry harder.

When will these terrors end?

Danny isn’t home yet. It’s been weeks now since my birthday party.

I look at my nightstand and check the time. Please don’t let it be three in the morning.

I tap it with one of my fingers, lifting it so it’s visible. The white light radiates off my phone, beaconing my face and bed.

Fear cripples my skin, and the hairs on my neck rise when I read the time.

3:33 a.m.

Why am I constantly waking up around 3 in the morning?

When will I stop dreaming of Danny’s tattoo?

Then I see his name on my phone. It’s a missed text message.

My chest fills with gratitude upon reading it.

Danny: I miss you.

He’s okay…he’s alive. I can fall back asleep knowing he’s safe.

Clutching my phone tight, in the middle of the night, with both my hands…I feel less alone knowing he’s thinking of me. I respond to his text and shut it off, placing it beside me on the bed. I lie back down on my pillow, rubbing my belly gently in circles.

I hope wherever he is, it’s not too far away, and he manages to avoid getting blown up or shot.

The amount of change Danny has made to make sure I know that I’m the number one priority now in his life has me more in love with him.

I look at the background of my screen, and I stare at my sinfully handsome man, who’s trouble and magnetic all into one unbreakable soul.

It’s a picture of us when he took me on my first helicopter ride. That night was one of the wildest adventures I’ve ever had in my entire life. I’m unable to look at a helicopter the same anymore. It was the first night I discovered the darkness that lives inside me. He broke my shell, and the ways he did weren’t fluffy. He did warn me beforehand and I’m glad he didn’t ease me into his world. He didn’t change that part of himself for me…and I don’t want him to. Instead, I let his emotions claim me in a way that was greedy and impatient.

He was unpredictable, always leaving me wanting more.

He’s sadistic, but I wouldn’t change that about him. If it weren’t for him, I would still be playing pretend with my mother and myself.

Danny has been through so fucking much and I peeled back the secrecy surrounding his trauma, one layer at a time. One by one this past year, it wasn’t easy; it was even a bit toxic, but I accepted him. It explains why he is the way he is and I’ll do it over and over again.

I head toward my kitchen to fetch water. My throat is dry and since I can’t sleep, I might as well hydrate. I walk through my hallway and it doesn’t take long before I’m opening my pantry. My living room is dark—the only origin of light is the microwave light. I always leave it on at night.

My mom customarily left a kitchen light on, and I followed in her footsteps when I moved into my home.

Then I hear something hit my door, and it takes all of my concentration to distinguish if it was a tree branch falling from the strong winds outside or…a person knocking on my door. I close the pantry door slowly, trying not to make any noise. As soon as a click follows, I place the bottled water on the counter and I walk out of the kitchen.

Every step toward my front door has my body crippled with fear; watching the shadows of trees sway in the wind through my curtains has me questioning my need to investigate.

The only people that would stalk or hurt me can’t hurt me anymore.

Shane is dead.

Shane is dead.

He can’t hurt me.

Nora is in jail.

I tip-toe, looking through the peephole. I keep myself balanced on my toes, giving myself a boost. Looking through the tiny circular window, I see…nothing.

Then a ghastly cold brush of air cradles the side of my face, demanding my attention.

How did the wind blow into me if I’m inside my house?

I look to my left to investigate the source of the foreign element.

Then I see my curtains flow like they’re being blown.

A window is open.

What the hell? I don’t remember lifting it, and Danny would never leave the house unlocked.

Before making sudden movements, I clutch my phone tight before I check my security cameras. My fingers shake as I scroll from side to side on my phone screen, searching for my app. My breathing is enhanced with panic, but my eyebrows narrow when I don’t see any notifications.

No alerts, no sign of break-in attempts, nothing.

My rigid body goes relaxed with solace. If there’s no sign of an intruder, I’m okay…right?

My bones creak in my feet with each step I take, getting closer to my window.

The crisp air is still flowing like a fan against me, and my whole body shivers the more I get closer to the window. The temperature causes goosebumps to explode upright, and I hug myself.

I quickly pull down my window, locking it, as one last gush of ice wind freezes my skin.

The screen is still there, untouched.

Screw this. I’m going back to bed. This is the last thing I need right now.

I go back to the kitchen, finally grabbing what I came for. I swallow the room-temperature water until the water bottle is halfway empty.

I need to rest more before I go into today’s constantly busy shift.

Today was going to be another day of work. A twelve-hour shift in the ER awaited me in just four hours and…I was excited.

I wondered what types of cases awaited me today in a few hours and I’m hoping I avoid sex injury cases, and I silently prayed no Special Operator would be in a bed, barely hanging onto life. Honestly, I hope no one dies today or is struggling to hang on.

I stop by my mother’s house after work because today is not just another day.

Today was the day my brother was killed in action from a mission gone wrong. It was a day that changed my path in life. I was going to be a pediatric nurse. After he passed, it was a decision I made without any hesitation.

I will honor my brother for the rest of my life, helping men and women like him. If I can prevent a mother or a sister from losing their son or brother, I’ll do it forever, as long as my body will let me.

Grief is a pain that won’t ever let up. A pain that will follow Mother, Danny, and me no matter what, but the amount of detrimental sorrow would vary.

Grief comes in waves and storms that crash into us whenever something pushes it.

It could be a memory, it could be a holiday…or it could be a song.

After giving it three knocks, I walk into my mother’s house, and she responds swiftly.

“Come in!” she shouts from the inside, but her voice is far away.

She knows it’s me. She still has the security system set up. Danny ensures they’re always charged and running because my mom asked him to help her keep up with those things since she’s alone. I also help out, but I think it makes me fall even more in love with Danny, knowing he makes an incredible effort to keep his promise to my brother.

I walk into the living room, and the air is warm, contrasting the freezing weather outside. A peppermint Christmas-scented candle fills the room, and my mom has decorated the Christmas tree…without me?

Every year since I was old enough to speak and walk, I would help put up her tree and decorate each branch with sparkling red and golden ornaments.

I stare at the tree, finished from top to bottom with nostalgia. I remove my jacket, admiring it like a little girl again. I always thought a Christmas tree held magic as a child.

I smile at the twinkling golden lights as I recount every time Paul would help us, although it was more of a mom-and-daughter thing. Most of the time, he would be in his room getting lost in virtual worlds on his computer, practicing his guitar or even skateboarding outside.

I let my jacket fall onto the couch cushion, folded in half. I pull the sleeves of my white sweater over my thumbs as I walk deeper into the house, looking for her.

I walk into her bedroom first, thinking I’d replace her there since she’s not in the living room. This was about the same time she’d watch her routine novellas. It’s empty and I knit my brows together, perplexed.

Where could she be at this time of day?

Then it dawns on me, and my chest tightens with melancholy. I take a deep breath and prepare for what I will walk into.

I close the door to her bedroom, gripping the doorknob tightly but closing it softly.

I turn around and my breathing quickens with each careful step as I coat myself with strength before opening the door to Paul’s bedroom.

Light shines from the cracks underneath the door, and I softly bite the insides of my cheek.

I push it open. My feet feel heavy purposefully because I don’t want to see my mom upset. I can’t bear to hear her cry.

Paul’s sublime poster is the first thing I see. Sublime was one of his favorite bands and the first song he learned to play the guitar was “Santeria”.

Mom’s clutching his uniform while sitting at the edge of his bed.

She’s not crying, she’s…okay.

The rest of the bed is littered with photographs. Pictures of my brother as a baby until he reached his thirties are scattered everywhere, but my mom has herself intact.

“Ma, you put up the Christmas tree without me?” I act appalled, joking with her to lighten the mood even more. I put my hands on my hips, further dramatizing my comments.

She returns my gaze with a smile.

I walk over and drop next to her, grabbing a photo.

“Sorry, mija, you’re just always busy. I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to bother you because you work a lot, and I just wanted to give you space while you recover. I’m trying something new.” She sighs, putting Paul’s uniform top in a hanger. She stands, walking to his closet.

“I appreciate that, Mom, but Danny left a while ago. He left for work and I’m alone at my house, so you’ll see more of me around. I’ll be the one invading your space this time,” I jest, slapping my hands on my thighs and shrugging my shoulders.

“You’re always welcome.” She hangs his uniform up and turns around.

I place the picture of Paul playing his guitar on the bed and return her stare.

“Mi hijo…” She sighs. Her face says she’s all right but her eyes are stressed. “I don’t want to believe it’s already been one year.”

“I know, Mom.”

“He had so much to live for.”

“I know, Mom,” I repeat, looking back at other photos on the bed, looking for any with Danny and sure enough, there’s one with his entire team and Danny’s. My eyes light up when I see the man that infuriates me. A smile spreads across my face like an instant reaction. They’re all on a deployment, covered in face paint and holding their rifles. I never recognized him before. The man was always there but not there, if that makes sense. I search for more pictures of Danny with my brother but don’t see anymore, then something catches my eye.

It’s a photo I’ve never seen before. I study the unknown woman in the picture.

She’s beautiful.

Of course, Paul doesn’t let us into his private world. Of course, I had to replace out he had a ton of friends I didn’t know about that cared about him after he passed.

“Ma, who’s this?” I ask, lifting the picture so she can see it.

She walks over to me, grabbing her reading glasses. After adjusting it onto her nose, she skims it.

“I have no idea, but she’s pretty.” She collects the other photos from the bed, ideally placing them together. “I was going through his nightstand, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I feel like I have to clean his room and organize his things…even though I know he’s not alive. A part of me doesn’t want to believe it still. I clean it because it still feels like a bad dream. Like he’s going to come home any day, walking through that door in his uniform, and—” She inhales a sorrowful breath. “I just want him to come home to a clean room. To know I’m still here, still waiting for him to return…no matter what. I won’t give up on him.”

I stand, tears threatening to escape as I rub her shoulders, hoping it’ll prevent us both from breaking down.

“Mom, we will see him again, I promise you. We haven’t given up on him…but when it’s our time, we’re going to see him again, and when that time comes, we’re all going to have dinner together, catching up on our past adventures or whatever it is that people do in heaven. But right now, we have to live for him. No matter what, because that’s exactly what he would want.”

This makes my mom finally cry, but she’s still okay. She smiles as she wipes away one escaped tear.

“You have a lot of explaining to do when he replaces out you’ve been driving his car,” she teases through stressed laughs.

I roll my eyes, smirking.

“I know.”

“Did you stop by his grave today? I went early this morning. Left him his favorite candies, pulparindos.” She tells me, putting the photos back into the drawer neatly on his nightstand.

“I did.”

She looks at me for a few seconds, hoping I’d open up to her more about my visitation, but I want to keep it short.

“Good.”