Every Promise You Made

by J. E. Parker

  But I didn’t have to see the gate. I heard it being opened.

  Chest heaving, I took a step forward.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end a split second before a blinding flash of lightning cracked above me. A clap of thunder shook the ground beneath my feet. “Hope!” Maddie screamed from behind me. “Get back in here!” Her voice was laced with panic. “You’re gonna get killed!”

  I shook my head, ignoring her plea for me to turn around.

  “I need to see him,” I whispered to myself. “I need to see Evan.”

  Hail began to fall.

  Heart pounding in the base of my throat, I took another shaky step.

  Just keep moving.

  Before I could move another inch, a primal bellow ripped through the charged air, drowning out the storm that raged and rioted above me. The sound of the tormented yell broke my heart and I could no longer hold back my tears.

  A dark form emerged from the storm induced darkness and appeared before me. I couldn’t see the person’s face through the downpour of rain, but I knew without a doubt it was Evan. I’d know him anywhere. How could I not? He was the other half to my broken heart, and the mate to my damaged soul.

  Evan extended his arm, reaching his hand toward me. “Hope, baby…” His voice sent a surge of electricity rushing through my veins. For a moment, the pain and grief that consumed me, vanished. But the relief didn’t last. “Little bit…”

  My head grew light. Standing in place, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Evan took another step forward.

  I blinked to clear the mixture of cold rain and hot tears that clogged my eyes.

  When I finally got a clear look at his beautiful face, I almost collapsed.

  His grief-stricken gaze locked with mine and every ounce of pain and loss that I’d experienced over the last four months rushed to the surface, crippling me. Reality slammed into me and for what felt like the millionth time in the last week, my heart shattered into hundreds of irreparable little pieces.

  “Evan…”

  I froze as Ryker’s smiling face flashed in the forefront of my mind. The warm memory was immediately replaced with the image of his casket being lowered into the ground.

  He’s gone, the voice in my head whispered. He’s never coming back.

  I clenched my eyes shut.

  “Ryker…” Barely able to breathe, I felt like I was suffocating. “He was supposed to come back.” Despair flashed in Evan’s eyes. Seeing him hurting increased my pain ten-fold. “He’s… he’s… gone.”

  Despite the freezing rain coating every inch of me, my skin heated.

  A new emotion, one I rarely experienced, bubbled in the pit of my belly.

  That emotion? Anger.

  Digging my fingertips into my biceps, I screamed, “You said you’d bring him back!” Vision tunneling, my chest tightened. I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out. “You looked me in the eye and you said you’d bring him back!” My voice rose and cracked with each word I spoke. “You PROMISED. ME!”

  Evan flinched. At the sight, I instantly deflated; my anger dissipated like vapor.

  It’s not his fault, I reminded myself. Don’t take it out on him. He lost Ryker too.

  Drowning in a mixture of regret and misery, I stumbled. My legs gave way, and I began to fall. Evan lunged forward. His strong arms wrapped around my middle, catching me before my knees slammed into the gravel beneath my feet. My entire body went limp as he lifted me into the air and cradled my shaking body against his hard chest.

  I gasped, fighting for breath.

  My head lolled to the side, and I rested my cheek against his chest. Evan’s familiar scent brought both comfort and pain.

  Arching my back, I used what was left of my dwindling strength to scream as loud, as hard, and as long as I could. My ears rang, and my throat ached from the force, but I didn’t care. I wanted the world to know the pain that welled inside of me like an endless spring of water.I wanted them to understand the soul shattering agony that raced through my veins, consuming every inch of me.

  Right or wrong, I wanted everyone to hurt just as much as I was hurting.

  My numb fingers clutched Evan’s dog tags as I looked up, meeting his eyes.

  The light in his eyes was gone.

  Like me, his spark had been extinguished.

  “He was supposed to come b-back…” I smacked Evan’s hard chest with the palm of my hand. “He left m-me.” Like he had so many months before, Evan rocked me in his arms. He was doing his best to comfort me, to soothe the indescribable anguish in my soul.“N-now I’m b-broken.”

  It was the truth.

  Evan pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry, Hope.” His tears spilled onto my cheeks and mingled with my own. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

  And he was. I knew that. Still, it did little to ease the pain.

  So. Much. Pain.

  It’s what my life had consisted of.

  Pain. Grief. Loss.

  You see, I was only twelve-years-old when I lost my daddy.

  Then, at twenty-two, I lost Ryker.

  And at twenty-three, I looked at Evan Morgan and I knew—I fricken knew—that I’d lost a huge part of him too.

  Six

  Evan

  Three Years Later

  I was in the heart of an abandoned warehouse.

  The stench of rancid body odor mixed with stale cigarette smoke and cheap liquor wafted through the air, making it hard to breathe. People, at least a hundred, lined the walls and open space outside the makeshift ring where I stood, my bare chest covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Various women wearing revealing clothes and sporting faces caked with unnatural make-up, prowled around the ring, their gazes locked on me. More than one tried to get my attention by shouting my name and flashing their tits in my direction, but I paid none of them any mind. I wasn't there for them.

  I was there for another reason entirely.

  That reason? To fight.

  I cracked my neck and blinked before focusing my gaze on the man standing across the ring from me, his fisted hands raised in the air. I wore a malicious smile on my face as I circled him, keeping my eyes on his hands and feet. If he moved the slightest bit, I needed to be ready.

  "Come on, pretty boy," I taunted over the roar of the crowd. "I thought you were supposed to be a fighter, not a ballet dancer." My adrenaline spiked as I shifted my weight from one foot to the next. "All I've seen you do is spin and twirl. Where's your tutu and tiara, princess? Leave them at home?"

  For the life of me, I couldn't remember the guy's name.

  Clay... Cason... Carl? Hell, I don't know.

  The only thing I knew about him was that he was young. Around twenty, twenty-one maybe, and from the looks of him and the groupies standing in his corner, I would've bet money he was a frat boy.

  None of that mattered though because standing in that ring, the only thing that carried any weight was how good of a fighter he was. My first impression of him? He was decent, but he wasn't on my level.

  He never would be either.

  He hadn’t experienced combat, hadn’t been trained by life experiences like I had.

  Undefeated in the ring, my anger, my guilt, my fucking self-hatred were the driving forces that made me unbeatable. Unlike most of the men who took part in underground fights, I wasn't there for the money, women, or notoriety. I had enough money, I wasn't into groupies, and fame wasn't on my radar.

  The only thing I cared about was the physical punishment that came from each match. I craved it like a drug. Call me sick, call me crazy, but I was addicted to the pain that coursed through my body every time my opponent landed a strike.

  Make me hurt. Make me bleed.

  After everything I'd done and all the hurt I'd caused, I deserved nothing less.

  I kept moving, reveling in the beads of sweat that dripped down my spine as I waited for my opponent to make the first move.

  After almost a mi
nute, the move never came.

  This is complete bullshit! The voice in my head shouted.

  Pissed off at his lack of engagement, I continued to taunt him. "Come on, man. Quit pussyfooting around!" The vein in his temple throbbed. It was clear his anger was increasing, yet he wouldn't make a move to take me down. "If you want to dance around like a little girl, there's a studio down on Main street. Maybe you should go check it—"

  He threw a quick jab aimed at my face.

  I easily side-stepped the punch. The kid's speed was slow, his technique sloppy.

  "That the best you've got? I know a seventy-year-old Grandmama who moves faster than you."

  Another quick jab, another swing and a miss.

  This is pathetic.

  The temperature of the warehouse increased as the crowd surrounding us grew louder, thirsty for bloodshed. They'd paid their fees upon entry, and now they wanted their dues.

  They want to see one—or both—of us bleed.

  Eyes filled with hate, my opponent sneered. "Fuck you, Crusher!"

  Crusher... I hated my fight name, however fitting it may have been. It served as a constant reminder of the damage I'd done, of the lives I'd broken.

  I crush everything I touch, destroying it beyond repair.

  A little girl with brown eyes, my best friend, the only girl I'd ever loved.

  I'd destroyed all three...

  "No, thanks," I replied, my face now devoid of any emotion. My voice remained steady and calm, despite the war raging inside of me. "I'm not into pretty boys." I nodded toward the row of guys lined up behind him and turned up the heat of my shit-talking. "Though, the way your boys are drooling over you, I'm sure one of them will rock your world tonight if you wink at them just right."

  At my words, he charged forward in a rage.

  It's about time.

  A primal bellow erupted from his throat as he threw a flurry of quick punches, most of them aimed at my face. Unfortunately for me and him both, not a single one made contact.

  Even at six-foot-four and almost two hundred and fifty pounds, I was fast. Too fast for the little maggot bouncing around in front of me like a junkie jonesing for a fix. He didn't stand a chance at winning a match against me.

  I knew it.

  He knew it.

  Everybody in the building knew it.

  Why he'd accepted a fight against me to begin with, I didn't know.

  An anger-filled laugh escaped my throat as I moved from side to side, evading every sloppy punch he threw. His execution was so lousy, I wondered who'd trained him or if he'd been trained at all. "Rule number one, asshole. Never let your emotions drive your reactions. If you do, you'll end up making a mistake."

  Trust me, I should know.

  At my words, memories from the past resurfaced.

  Haunting images I wished I could banish from my head rushed forward.

  I saw a little girl with chocolate-stained lips.

  I saw the light fade from Ryker's eyes as he took his last breath.

  I saw Hope's contorted face as she screamed in agony over the loss of her brother.

  Each flash was worse than the last, hitting me in the gut with the force of a hundred-pound sledgehammer. "Fuck!" I yelled, clutching the sides of my head with my hands. "Stop!"

  Needing to feel pain, needing to be punished for the mistakes I'd made and for the lives I'd destroyed, I dropped my hands and stretched my arms in front of me. "Come on, you pussy," I bellowed, curling my fingers and urging him to charge me. "Hit me! I won't block you!"

  For a moment, he hesitated.

  But his hesitation didn't last long.

  Like a pissed off bull, he charged. I kept my word and didn't block the slew of punches he threw. My teeth rattled when he nailed me with an uppercut, hitting me underneath my chin. A smile spread across his face and in return, I smirked. "That really the best you've got?"

  With that, he became unhinged.

  The stupid kid won't listen about letting his emotion take charge.

  He rushed forward throwing another punch and hitting me on the side of my jaw. My head snapped to the right and pain ricocheted down my neck and over my shoulders.

  That's more like it.

  My eyes met his. "Might as well take another shot while you've got the chance." The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth. It was obvious he'd knocked one of my back teeth loose. "Come on, pretty boy," I goaded, appearing unaffected despite the damage he'd done, "show me what you can do."

  As he panted and fought for breath, he threw yet another uppercut. The hit bounced off my chin with less force than the previous one. Winded and running out of energy, he looked like he was seconds away from falling to the floor in a heap of useless flesh and bones.

  Fighter my ass. The kid is nothing but a pussy who has watched too much UFC.

  Mad as hell and frustrated beyond belief, I screamed, "You know what? Fuck this!" I raised my fists in the air. "I'm tired of messing around with you. It's obvious you can't give me what I need, and I'm sick of wasting my damn time." His brows furrowed and a look of confusion swept across his face.

  It's time to end this.

  Guilt washed through me as I moved forward, closing the space between us. Fighter or not, I didn't like to hurt people. I didn't get off on it like a lot of others did. In fact, the only reason I ever stepped inside of a ring was so that my opponent could hurt me. The cuts, the bruises, the pain, they were my punishment, my penance if you will, for all the horrific shit I'd done.

  "Sorry, man," I said, my tone remorseful. "I hoped this would end differently."

  The man's eyes flared with fear as my right hand moved toward him like a rocket. My scarred knuckles met his mouth and nose simultaneously. Teeth cracked, bone crunched, and his head snapped back. His eyes lost focus before he stumbled backward. His upper body swayed as he dropped to his knees. It wasn't long before his body collapsed to the ground.

  The roar of the crowd became deafening, and the only sound I could hear was the pounding of my heart. A man in a bright yellow shirt rushed into the ring. He snapped his fingers in front of the guy's face he waited for him to react; waited for him to get back up and continue the fight.

  But he didn't get back up.

  Instead, his body went limp before falling to the side.

  Coldness crept through me as I watched him slip into the abyss.

  He wasn't the first person I'd sent into the blackness.

  Hopefully, he'd be the last.

  After the fight was over, I pulled on my faded hoodie and slipped on my worn boots. I ignored the screams from the various women trying to get my attention and headed to the corner where Johnny, the fight promoter, was standing. Dressed in an expensive suit and wearing a sly smile on his face, his eyes gleamed with satisfaction at my approach.

  "Good fight, Crusher," he said, leaning back against the exposed brick wall. Reaching into his suit jacket, he pulled out a thick white envelope filled with cash. "Money is all there."

  I nodded, not bothering to count it.

  I didn't care how much I'd won because I wasn't keeping it.

  Instead, it would go to people who needed it.

  Another sacrifice, another penance.

  Shoving the envelope into the waistband of my jeans, I asked, "When's the next fight?"

  Johnny didn't bother to look at me. "You know the drill. I'll call you when I know." His eyes heated as his gaze moved up and down. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was checking out some chick in the crowd. I looked over my shoulder and followed the trajectory of his gaze. His eyes were locked on a tall brunette wearing a skimpy black dress and scarlet colored lipstick. She wasn't looking at him though. No, she was staring at me, a hungry expression etched across her heavily made-up face.

  Not happening, sweetheart.

  Wearing a disgusted look on my face, I turned to walk away.

  Johnny wasn't done with me yet though. "Why don't you stick around? It's about time you enjoy some o
f the perks that being a winner brings."

  I scowled. "Not interested."

  "Not even a little?" He asked in disbelief.

  I started to walk away. "No."

  He chuckled to himself. "I forgot you have a girlfriend." I froze mid-stride, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. "Pretty little thing. Has that whole Snow White look about her. Hope, right?" Sucking on his teeth, he continued, "I wouldn't mind spending the night between--"

  My body moved on autopilot.

  Spinning around, I closed the space between us. I shoved him against the wall and wrapped my right hand around his throat before he could say another word. Heart pounding, I used my fingers to apply just enough force to cut off his air, causing him to panic. Eyes bulging, he fought against me. My hold on his throat tightened. At that moment, I was capable of murder. "If you ever mention her name again, I'll kill you." Johnny's lips took on a blue hue. "Swear to Christ, Johnny, I don't give the slightest shit who you nor your daddy are. You say one more thing about her, and I will gut you like a pig before throwing your carcass in the swamps out on Highway 9." Squeezing harder, I gave him a shake. "My girl is Off. Fucking. Limits. Understand?"

  She isn't your girl, the voice in my head taunted. You blew your chance.

  Johnny's nails clawed at my fingers, but I didn't release him. "I mean it, dipshit. Far as you should be concerned, Hope doesn't exist."

  I dropped my hand allowing him to suck in a lungful of oxygen.

  Bending over at the waist, he placed his hands on his knees. "What the fuck is the matter with you?" He gasped. "I wouldn't try to touch her. I was just--"

  "I don't care." My tone was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Leaning down, I crowded him against the wall and hissed into his ear, "This is the only warning you get."

  I didn't wait for him to reply.

  Without saying another word, I turned around and walked away.