Keep This Promise

by Willow Winters

  * * *

  Perfectly Adequate

  Copyright © 2019 by Jewel E. Ann

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are purely coincidental.

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  Black Tangled Heart

  Copyright © 2020 Samantha Young

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or in- troduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, re- cording or otherwise) without prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This work is registered with and protected by Copyright House.

  Edited by Jennifer Sommersby Young

  About Live A Thousand Lives

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  The Live A Thousand Lives Project has been fueled by prolific Romance writers and unabashed book lovers who appreciate that audiobooks boost mental health, improve memory and stimulate the brain in ways that mirror reading printed text.

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  A Kiss To Tell

  By Willow Winters

  Prologue

  Chloe

  * * *

  The kiss was bruising, just like his presence always was.

  On the last Tuesday before school let out for the summer, and my ninth-grade year was over forever, Sebastian Black kissed me. No. He devoured me.

  He destroyed everything I had in that moment. He took every bit and he made it his. I was his for that all-consuming kiss. My first kiss.

  I still remember it so well. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t do anything but let the heat and electricity rip through my body as Sebastian pinned me against the wall. The rough brick scraped harshly against the small of my back, but I hadn’t even noticed. I wouldn’t notice until hours later, standing under the stream of water in a scalding shower. The sting I felt proved his kiss had left more than one mark on me.

  His tongue was hot, his grip intense and his presence dominating as ever. When he followed me outside as I tried to hide around the corner behind the school, I didn’t even see him coming. The chill in the air struck against my heated face as soon as the door swung open, and I could barely manage to feel anything but the cold sensation that flowed over my skin. I needed to hide. From the other kids, from the teachers who didn’t care… from reality. I was always good at that.

  I didn’t expect anyone to follow me. No one had for the past few days. Each day proved harder than the last, although the nights were the worst.

  I was still carelessly wiping away my tears—they were an unwanted nuisance just like how everyone else saw me—when I heard his hard steps behind me.

  The sudden spike of fear I felt, paled in comparison to the effect Sebastian had on me. The sound of my startled gasp was dwarfed by the feel of my heart racing rapidly against his as he pinned me where he wanted me.

  He always took what he wanted.

  But I’d never once thought he wanted me.

  His warm breath flowed over my face, and suddenly the iciness in the air was nonexistent. Nothing existed but him. Not even the air that separated us.

  If I hadn’t been stunned, the confusion would have shown on my face. I’d always wondered what it would be like to be kissed by a boy like Sebastian. I’d assumed it would always be nothing more than a passing thought. But every time he walked by me, every time I caught him staring at me, I knew there was something between us. His piercing gaze seemed to capture me in place while also looking right through me.

  I was no one, but I wanted it that way. Not being noticed was the best thing that could happen when you lived where I did. Unless you were Sebastian, and then everyone noticed you and everyone feared you just the same.

  He pulled away from me before I could react to his lips on mine, both of us gasping for air.

  I’ll never forget that his eyes were closed, or how slowly he opened them to paralyze me with those steely blues of his. A mask of indifference slipped over his face, but I know my expression showed my awe, my shock… my lust that I had so painfully hidden since the first day I’d laid eyes on him.

  “Stop crying,” he said, and his command was harsh as if my tears were an insult to him. As if my pain had anything at all to do with him. His nostrils flared and the rage he was so well known for was evident on his handsome features.

  But just as it had never affected me before, it didn’t affect me then either. I knew he was forbidden. I knew I was supposed to be afraid of him. Maybe I was just stupid because I never felt anything but desire for him.

  “Stop fucking crying,” he gritted out between his clenched teeth, “and don’t tell anyone I did this. Not a single fucking person,” he threatened. He brought his lips even closer to mine in a gesture that should have been menacing, but I’d be damned if it didn’t make me hot for him where I’d never felt heat before. His eyes searched mine.

  “Or else I’ll make you cry those tears harder than you can imagine.” His words caused my gaze to move from his lips to his cold stare. He would never know how hard I had cried in the middle of the night. He didn’t know what had really happened and how guilty I was.

  I shook my head gently and replied, “You can’t.”

  His grin was accompanied by a huff of masculine laughter like he thought it was a challenge, but before he could say whatever was on the tip of his tongue, I cut him off.

  “You won’t make me cry. I know you won’t,” I said and shook my head, meeting his gaze with every ounce of sincerity I could muster. “And I won’t tell anyone.” The last bit broke my heart in two, but I don’t know why when there wasn’t a single soul to tell anyway. There was no one I wanted to run to. No one but the boy who had lost control, kissed me, and obviously regretted it.

  I watched as he swallowed, his throat tightening. The bit of stubble that ran up his neck tempted me to touch it. Whatever it was that had caused him to kiss me, whether it was only to silence my crying or something else, was gone. And I knew he’d never kiss me again.

  Letting out a long breath, my lips still parted, I said nothing and let him walk away.

  The masculine scent of a boy I should have feared and a boy I should have never wanted, was all that filled my lungs as I tried to steady myself. I sagged against the brick building and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

  I stopped crying that day and didn’t shed another tear. Not that week, and not at the funeral. Not when my uncle let me move in with him, so I would have a place to stay.

  I never spoke of what happened and I started to question my sanity when he never spoke of it either.

  Nothing changed in the way he acted, or in the way he looked through me.

  But I remember the way I touched my lips as he stalked away.

  I remember how it felt and how it was everything I needed in that moment.

  * * *

  He could never have known what he’d done to me that day.

  But neither of us would ever forget.

 
Chloe

  Five years after the kiss

  * * *

  Random streetlights going out is something that used to terrify me.

  I hate the feeling that comes with the sudden flicker signifying what’s about to happen. Then the light burns out, and all you’re left with is darkness. Even just remembering how it’s happened before makes me shudder.

  One night two years ago, it took place in quick succession, the bright lights flickering briefly and then suddenly there was no light at all. It happened on my way home from old man Bailey’s hardware store. I’d gone only an hour before sunset and spent longer than I thought I would. Some asshole had kicked in my front door the night before and there was no way I was going to leave the store without a new lock. I bought two just to be on the safe side.

  And so, I was walking home alone in the dark when the lights went out, one after the other. I couldn’t walk fast enough to get to the next light that hadn’t burned out; I nearly ran to it.

  I don’t like to be outside at night, not unless I’m on my porch. But even then, I’d rather stay inside, where the idea of safety used to mean something.

  Either way, I’d spent too long at the store and with the plastic bag dangling from my wrist, I quickened my pace when the first bulb died. I remember how I stared straight ahead at the next one, praying it would give me light long enough to get home. As if it was listening to my fears and wanted to mock me, the light vanished before my eyes.

  Fear of darkness is reasonable. But the kind of inevitable dread that lingers when a light goes out while you’re watching it used to follow me everywhere.

  It haunted me during the day and never hesitated to steal my sleep at night.

  I don’t know when things changed, but as I make my way down Peck Avenue, the light flickers on my right and I don’t miss a step, I don’t even dare to look at it. In my periphery, I see shadow consume everything behind me. My fingers wrap a little tighter around the strap of my purse, but it’s more instinctive than a conscious response.

  My heart races and then steadies to the sound of my heels clicking rhythmically on the pavement.

  One more block and I’ll be home. In darkness or in light, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been through both.

  I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead and think about the mundane task awaiting me at work tomorrow. I spent all day organizing Mr. Brown’s new clients, and my back is killing me from leaning down to the filing cabinet and then looking at the computer, time and time again. A few more days and the new system will be in place. At least until he decides to change it again.

  I used to think Marc Brown changed the system so frequently out of boredom, but after looking at his client list, I think the lawyer is a crook. Everyone in this city is, so it shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d work for anyone else, doing anything else, but my options aren’t exactly overflowing.

  I have my high school diploma, but after trying for the last two years since graduation to get into any college at all and being rejected, a diploma is all I have and all I’ll ever have. And that piece of paper is useless here.

  My phone pings in my purse and I’m more than eager to pull it out.

  I could use something to keep my mind from wandering back to the shit job I have. As I pull out my phone I see the old book I’d stowed in my purse earlier this week, ready to read the novel again. For the dozenth time.

  A court-mandated shrink gave it to me five years ago. She loved to draw, although I remember thinking she wasn’t really good at it. I used to have a picture from her of a duck she drew with a pencil. I don’t know where it’s gone, not that it matters much. I still have the books she gave me and, more importantly, a love of books. I wasn’t so much into the drawing, but that shrink—I think her name was Rebecca—gave me a handful of fiction. She gave me a way to get lost in someone else’s world. It wasn’t long before I started writing as well, trying to create an escape from this life. I couldn’t give two shits about her artwork, but I’ll always be grateful to her for giving me a love of reading and writing.

  Forgetting about the book and everything that happened back then, I focus on the text message.

  You’ll never guess what happened last night.

  It’s Angie, a friend from work. Well, I think she’s my friend. She’s new and doesn’t do much but read magazines and chew gum while she tells off clients who want their paperwork faster than she can print it out, but she tells me all the details of her Tinder dates. I’m the only one she talks to at the office.

  Mr. Brown exclusively hires girls in their twenties—and younger. Of the five of us, Angie likes to only talk to me. I get it, sort of. I don’t care for the other women either. For the most part, they ignore me, which I’m used to, but they also stop their hushed whispers the moment I walk into the room. At first, I thought it was all in my head, but no, they like to talk about me. About the rumors of what happened years ago. How sad it is. They can go fuck themselves.

  My family has history here, but it’s no secret. Every person in this damn city comes from circumstances of shame. Luckily, I don’t work with them much; it’s usually Angie who I get paired with, and I should really be grateful to Marc for that.

  What? I text her back, curious about the escapade of last night.

  After dinner, I took him home and he was fucking amazing in bed. I think I’d use the word… enthusiastic.

  My brow raises at the last word.

  What does that mean? I ask her.

  He did things to me I had no idea I even wanted.

  I can feel my blood heat just thinking about what she may have done. I’ve never done anything with anyone. Having sex simply isn’t on my to-do list. I’m not interested, not from anyone in this city. My phone pings again, and I look to see what else she’s said.

  He choked me.

  I stop in my tracks for a moment, staring down at the glowing screen in my hand and rereading what she wrote.

  And he told me he was going to take my ass and holy shit Chlo, anal is e v e r y t h i n g.

  If anyone could see my face, they’d see the shock. I don’t know how she can even surprise me anymore. My fingers reach up to my throat as I swallow, wondering why he’d want to do that to her and how she could enjoy it. The choking part. I watch my fair share of porn, but that’s one I don’t really understand.

  I’ll tell you more on Monday, but I had to tell SOMEONE. I read her text as if she’d spoken it to me, sprightly voice, and all.

  Can’t wait to hear all the deets. My reply can’t convey my gratitude at being informed via text about the choking, so I can hide my naivety and shock from her at the realization she’s into that.

  You almost home? she asks, and a soft smile plays at my lips. A warmth I’m not used to courses through me and slowly I find my pace again.

  One block to go, I answer her and wait for her to respond with the same thing she wrote a few nights ago. For me to tell her when I get in.

  Last week I told her I live just outside of Fallbrook, and she kept pushing to know where exactly. When I told her I’m from Crescent Hills, the same city as Mr. Brown’s office, her face paled. She’s not from around here, but she knows the reputation of this place and what it’s known for. Everyone does. If you want a taste of sin, Crescent Hills is where you’ll find more than your fill.

  I’m used to the embarrassment, but not from someone who chooses to work in this city. She doesn’t have to be here any longer than a nine-to-five, and honestly, I don’t know why she even chose to work in this run-down area when she lives in the big city. And that’s exactly what I challenged her with when she told me I shouldn’t be walking home.

  I’m grown. I’m aware. I’m also broke and on my own since my uncle died two years ago, leaving me with bills, a mortgage, and no job to pay for any of it, so I told her she could take her high horse and shove it. But maybe not in those exact words, and maybe with a choked voice of shame.

  The silence lasted only a minute or so, but it
felt like an hour. She offered to walk me home and when I declined, as politely as I could, she snatched my phone from my desk. Before I could ask her what she was doing, she texted herself before handing it back, so we would have each other’s number.

  Text me when you’re home, she told me, but I didn’t answer her. When she texted again, apologizing, and asking if I’d made it home all right, I answered only because I thought she was genuinely worried. And things have been normal again ever since.

  It’s a small act of kindness, but it means more to me than it should. I’m smart enough to know that I shouldn’t let it get to me like this. I can’t rely on anyone or trust anyone. Outsiders come and go here. Even Ang said she wasn’t planning on staying at the law firm for long. I should know better than to think of her as a friend.

  But when she sends texts like the one that just came through, I can’t help but feel a little camaraderie. I smile as I reread the text. See you Monday, prepare to be scandalized!

  My heels click on the asphalt, worn rough from years with no repairs. In the distance, I hear a siren, and farther down the block, a few kids are screaming at one another. It’s nearly ten at night, but this is normal.

  Just like the streetlights going out.

  Back when I would have childish fears about the darkness swallowing me up, I also used to dream. I used to dream of leaving here. Of going anywhere but here and never returning. I wish I could forget those memories. But they cling to me like the filth that clings to the gutters on the side of the road.

  I used to dream of running away. Mundane things like bills have a way of robbing you of your fantasies. At least I have my books and my writing. Even if I never escape this place, I can still escape into the worlds I build for myself in my stories.