Dawn's Promise

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msnomer68
msnomer68
297 Followers

"Why didn't you do that to me? Tie me up and leave me abandoned in a dark room." Chris stomped her foot to get her point across. Who did John Mark think he was tying people up and locking them in the storerooms? "Was I much different than them? I was a rogue too." She rested a hand on Dane's shoulder, pleading with her eyes. "Please Dane."

Dane sighed and scrubbed his hand through the short bristles of his black hair. The honeymoon was over. He'd been married a grand total of ten hours before life was pulling him back in the game. "Ok, I'll move the r...the vampires into better accommodations. And I'll release their bindings. But, I won't put them together in the same room. Not until I'm certain of the situation."

"Fair enough," Chris said, nodding in approval with his plan. She turned her head toward John Mark and smiled triumphantly. "Let's go."

"Oh no you don't." Dane protested. "I don't want you anywhere near them."

"But.." Chris protested, quickly clamping her lips tightly as she saw the look in Dane's eyes. She'd won one battle tonight It was best not to push her luck. Not yet anyway.

Chapter 4

Candace shifted position on the floor, twisting around toward the sound of the lock sliding back and the soft groan of hinges swinging open. They were coming for her. She scrabbled back, pressing her body as far into the corner as it would go. Curling her knees into her chest to make herself as small as possible. A man walked in with John Mark tight on his heels. 'This is it,' she thought, her turn to die. Had they already killed Marcus and Neil? "Please," she pled weakly, cowering in the corner. Trembling at the thought of what might come next.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Dane said. The woman cowered in the corner, protectively shielding her body by curling up into a tight ball. Her clothes were filthy, tattered and torn. Dirt smudged her tear stained cheeks. And he could see the shadows of fading bruises on her jaw. The cabled steel bindings had cut deeply into her wrists and ankles. Blood from the wounds, where they'd healed and torn open again and again flaked in a dried mess on the steel.

Gently and slowly, he reached down and cupped her chin with his fingers, lifting her face. Fresh tears filled with terror flooded the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over in a deluge down her cheeks. Reflexively, she tried to jerk her chin out of his grasp. "Easy there," he said softly. He studied her face and her eyes and saw no hint of menace on her expression or in their mossy green depths, only terror. He released her chin and stood. She reminded him of a mouse cornered by a cat. Quivering and huddling in the corner the way she was. "My name is Dane." He extended a hand, patiently waiting for her to place her bound hands in his.

Candace bit her bottom lip in doubt. Should she trust him? He was big, taller and broader shouldered than John Mark, if that were possible. With his short spiked black military haircut and stern expression. His appearance was threat enough. He didn't need words to terrify her. Clad only in jeans and thick-soled combat boots, his upper torso and limbs bulged with tightly honed muscle. He could easily hurt her. Kill her with his bare hands, if he wanted to. She was bound and defenseless. What choice did she have, but to trust him? "Candace," she shakily replied. Taking a leap of faith, which was the only thing she had left, she placed her bound wrists into his hands. Gently, he hoisted her into a wobbly standing position.

Without a word, John Mark bent and released the bindings at her ankles. Cutting through the thick metal cable with a pair of bolt cutters. Candace winced as he pried the cut cabling free from the dried blood and healing flesh on her ankles. He looked up at her menacingly, his expression filled with unspoken warning. His fangs were extended and a short sword was strapped across his hip. Even fully fanged and armed, his unspoken warnings might have wall as been a cheerfully worded greeting card in comparison to the danger promised in Dane's expression if she dared to take one step out of line.

"Come with me," Dane said, wrapping his fingers around her bicep and leading her from the storeroom. He saw the fear and trepidation in Candace's eyes. Meek and demure, so much like the mouse, he didn't see her as a threat. He didn't need words to intimidate her into obediently following him out of the storeroom. Her fear was enough to keep her in check.

"I thought you said you wouldn't hurt me?" Candace said in a small trembling voice as she walked beside Dane. She blinked back a shower of fresh hot tears. Her captors wouldn't see her cry. No matter what they did to her, she wouldn't cry. John Mark hovered a few feet behind her. His boot falls in step with Dane's. The hallways were barren and gray. Smoothed concrete stretched on for what seemed like miles. Without a landmark, Candace wasn't sure she could have found her way back to the storeroom on her own.

The hallways twisted and turned and then changed from the hard utilitarian concrete to something lush and inviting. A warm umber color decorated the walls. And the flat stretch under her feet changed to terra cotta tiles. Lights recessed into the ceiling bathed the room in a soothing yellow glow, certainly easier on the eyes than the fluorescent fixtures in the adjoining hallway. Richly carved oak doors, spaced far apart lined either side of the long aisle. And here and there pictures and murals of serene scenes dotted the walls. Candace didn't know where Dane was leading her. But, the décor certainly didn't lend to the death chamber scenario she'd pictured in her mind. It might be premature, but she relaxed, just a little.

"I won't, unless you give me reason to," Dane replied. His voice was firm and honest. Automatically, she believed him. This was a man who didn't lie, because he didn't need to. He was used to everyone doing what he wanted and had no use for threats to get people to do exactly as he said. She wasn't about to challenge his authority. He navigated her through a series of twisting, winding hallways and stopped at a heavy oak door. He turned the knob, guiding her inside.

Candace hesitantly stepped inside the room and around Dane's massive shoulder at what might be waiting for her. She gasped as she took in the room's attributes. The nautical theme was so prevalent in the room's furnishings. She could practically smell the sea in the air. Thick, lush, navy blue carpet cushioned her footsteps as she walked deeper into the room. She kind of felt bad for walking on such a nice carpet in her battered Keds.

A massive king sized bed was the main focal point of the room. Tastefully decorated in shades of blue and plenty of fluffy pillows covered in bright, cheerful primary colors, the bed practically begged for her to come and try it out. A plasma screen TV rested against the pale sand colored walls. And in the corner a loveseat sized sofa upholstered in red and decorated with blue, yellow, and white throw pillows promised comfort on its springy cushions. Through another open door she could see the light gray marble floors and countertops. Fresh clothes were neatly folded, resting on top of a creamy off white distressed dresser. "What is this place?"

"Our home," Dane replied simply. He slid the bolt cutters through the binding on her wrists, snapping them, cutting her free. "I'll give you time to clean up and then I'll need to ask you and the others some questions."

"They're ok?" Candace gasped. She didn't doubt that Neil was. He was so laid back and adaptable to any situation. An air of charisma and charm surrounded him and made it hard to dislike him for any amount of time. There was almost nothing he couldn't talk his way out of. He wouldn't fight against the men. He'd do exactly what they told him. It was what had kept him alive this long.

Marcus though, he was a hot head with a hair trigger. And if he thought she was in any danger, he'd fight to try to save her. He knew how to read people. Knew exactly what they wanted to hear. And he'd use that to his advantage. But, somehow Candace doubted that these were the kind of people who would fall for bullshit. Marcus was going to have to be careful. They'd know if he lied.

"Of course. Please make yourself at home. There's a shower through there," he said, pointing to the bathroom. "And clean clothes laid out for you." He gestured to the clothes on the dresser. Before he left, he turned and pinned her with a hard glare. "I strongly recommend that you not try anything. Don't make me regret my decision." He closed the door bolting it behind him. Turning to John Mark, he said, "I want this room guarded at all times."

Candace sank to the floor in relief. Neil and Marcus were still alive. She was still alive. She let loose the torrent of tears that she had restrained. Once she cried it all out, she ventured into the bathroom. The bath was simple but elegant. Eager for a hot shower, her first one in she couldn't remember how long. She turned on the tap and stripped down.

The hot water soothed her frazzled nerves. As she lathered up, she thought about how normal such a simple action as bathing felt. She rinsed off running her fingers through her wet hair. She didn't want to ever get out. Reluctantly, she slid the glass shower door back and reached for one of the fluffy towels that hanging on a heated rack beside the shower.

The outfit was uncomplicated. New. A white cotton bra and panties, a pair of soft indigo denim jeans, and a long sleeved blue t-shirt, new fluffy white socks and a pair of tennis shoes, stiff and new, completed the ensemble. She almost started crying when she thought about how long it had been since she had anything new. Since she had a change of clothes at all.

Neil was always offering her money, trying to buy her things. Trying to buy her contentment with possessions. She'd never felt right taking a dime from him and she did so only out of necessity and then only purchased what she absolutely needed. He played the tables. The money he used for the bets was stolen. Robbed from his victims. And he had not batted an eye while doing it. He said it was survival plain and simple. She hadn't agreed. Accepting money from him made her feel dirty and tainted.

Marcus was more subtle in the ways he took care of her and did his best to see to her happiness in the small ways that she'd allow. He never tried to push his winnings from the table on her. He did things, simple things, meant to make her feel at ease. They went sight seeing. Mulled in the crowds along the strip. And they talked, about life, about death, and mostly about her son.

After her shower, she curled up onto the center of the bed and allowed herself a few moments to bask in luxury. How long had it been since she'd been alone? Truly alone? The suites Neil booked for them were luxurious, far more luxurious than this room with its nautical theme. But, they'd always felt borrowed and cheap beneath their glitzy surfaces. This felt like home. She intended to do her best to enjoy the simple comfort of a soft bed and a few moments to herself in her own head. They might be her last.

Chapter 5

"Are you sure this will work?" Dane eyed Toby suspiciously as he fingered the gadget in his palm. He understood the idea. But unlike Toby, he didn't put all his faith in technology. How could a tiny box fastened around someone's ankle submit a radio signal powerful enough to allow the wearer to be found anywhere?

"Boss," Toby grinned, "trust me." Toby slid the band around his ankle and secured it in place. "Let's try it. I'm getting ready to take Anna back to the city. I'll wear it the entire time. See for yourself." He punched a few keys on the keyboard and started the program. A red blip appeared on a map of the United States. Narrowing down on the signal, he pulled up a map of the state, and then the county, honing in on his position.

Dane grunted and stared down at the monitor. If the gadget worked, one problem would be temporarily solved. He could allow the rogues to go out to hunt with an escort, without fear of them escaping. That was only one small piece of the puzzle though. What was he going to do with them long term? He'd have to deal with that later. If Toby's solution passed Dane's scrutiny and if the rogues passed their first trial, all kinds of solutions might be possible.

"Ok then, I'm out of here." Toby pressed a series of keys on the keyboard. "Here you can track me on the monitor or the hand held device." He sighed in longing at his new toy. He would have loved to strap it on someone else and stayed behind to play with his new gadget. But, Anna was waiting on him. Probably pacing somewhere impatiently tapping her nails on her watch. He snatched up a set of keys and walked out the door. The drive to the city usually took about two hours, but he was going to try to stretch it out to three. Give him a little one on one time with the ice princess he was just beginning to thaw out.

Will frowned as he entered the control room. The place was crammed full, packed with his brothers studying the blip on the computer monitor. One of Toby's new toys obviously. The man went after technology the way an alcoholic went after a cheap bottle of wine. Will was anxious to get access to a terminal and find out everything that he could about Candace and her son. "Damn," he muttered softly to himself. He needed privacy for this. There were other PCs, other terminals. But, only this one, only Toby's had the kind of access he wanted.

Since when had the tech room become such a popular place? He walked over to the monitor and stared over Dane's shoulder. "Dane, I'd be happy to take over. It's your honeymoon. Wouldn't you rather be with Chris than watching a blip on the screen for hours?"

Dane stretched and grinned. Yeah, he would love a few more hours of alone time with his new wife, if for nothing else than to smooth things over with her. She wasn't happy about having their honeymoon interrupted. And she wasn't happy with the way John Mark had handled the rogues. "I think I'll take you up on that." He turned to John Mark. The kid was making progress. Taking his job as Second very seriously. But, it never hurt to make sure he knew who was still in command. The kid could be cocky and arrogant and needed to be reminded of where his place was now and again in the order of things. "Make sure the rogues don't cause any trouble."

"I'll make sure John Mark doesn't cause any trouble either." Patrick grinned elbowing John Mark in the ribs. He stared at the monitors, watching the quiet woods through the surveillance system. "We'll let you know if anyone comes knocking." His team had found nothing in the forest, not so much as a footprint besides those of the three that had shown up earlier.

Will sighed in relief, as the brothers filtered out of the room, leaving him alone with Toby's PC. Cracking his knuckles, he bent over the keyboard, typing at a furious pace. He scanned over the information flickering across the screen.

Chance Anderson was the kid every parent wished for. An honor student in high school. Full scholarship to State University. Top of his class both freshman and sophomore years of college. A volunteer at the local youth league. Spent both Thanksgiving and Christmas serving dinner at the homeless shelter. Hell, he even donated blood every forty-five days like clockwork. He had received several trophies and twice as many ribbons for placing first in MMA amateur kickboxing meets. And he worked part time at the gym in his neighborhood for peanuts when he could have been charging far more for his time.

Chance was a good-looking kid. Sleek dark brown, almost black hair, cut in a shaggy skater style, long in the bangs and shorter in the back. With high, broad cheekbones and an angular square jaw, wide deep-set hazel eyes and expressive brows, and well-defined muscles, the kid had the looks to be on the cover of GQ. Chance had his mother's mouth and definitely her smile, as well as her gently sloping nose. No wonder Candace had risked her life to come back to him. Even Will couldn't help bursting with pride at what the kid had accomplished so early in life.

Will's eyes widened as he skimmed through the kid's vital statistics. On the birth certificate, Candace hadn't listed the father's name. Chance was twenty, with a birthday in early September. Doing the math in his head, a frown formed at the corners of Will's mouth. My God, they were so young and impulsive at the time. Candace and he had fallen into bed as easily as they'd fallen in love. Hadn't they used precautions? Had they even talked about it?

At the time between classes, working at the hardware shop, and being so head over heels in love with her, had he given that little detail any consideration at all? They'd only been dating two months. And one cold night in November, the day before Thanksgiving break, they'd spent the night together. It was just one time, just one night. And damned, if he, at the age of nineteen, horny as hell and eager to prove his manhood, deep in the thrall of first love and the heat of the moment had thought to slip on a condom, or to ask if she was on the pill. She was only nineteen.

He remembered waving at her, glancing back in his rearview mirror at her as he pulled away from the curb the morning after. She stood on the front stoop of his shared apartment building, smiling and waving goodbye at him. Bundled in an old pair of his sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed with the cold, she'd never looked more beautiful than she had that morning.

He had every intention of coming back to class that Monday and picking up right where he left off. Only life didn't go as he'd planned and had taken him in a completely different direction, one he could have never anticipated. He'd never returned to complete the semester. Never gone back. Never called her. Never checked up on her. And worst of all, he'd left her alone and pregnant with his son. And he'd never known.

Will enlarged the BMV photo on the monitor's screen, scanning the image intently. His eyes tracked every detail of Chance's face. He saw it now. The same tanned skin tone, the same shape and thrust to the jaw, and the same high cheekbones. The boy didn't have his mother's eyes. Chance had his father's eyes and heavy dark brows. His son. Duty forgotten, Will stomped through the dimly lit halls. He needed to know. To hear it from her lips, why hadn't she tried to find him? Why hadn't she told him he had a son?

*******

Toby rested his right hand casually on the gearshift. His fingers gently brushed across the soft denim covering Anna's knee, accidentally on purpose, as he tapped his fingers on the plastic knob. She kept her gaze pinned on the scenery whipping past and pretended, probably very much on purpose, not to notice the subtle contact. He knew better though. He sensed the layer of permafrost she hid beneath was slowly warming.

Anna glanced at the speedometer; it danced around sixty miles per hour. Toby certainly was a careful driver. Either that, or he was stalling for time. She for once didn't mind the miles of interstate that stretched out ahead of them. Playing cat and mouse with him was fun. Flirting shamelessly and then retreating behind a cloud of pretend disinterest. Idly, she stretched and dragged her fingers across the top of his hand and then dropped them into her lap. Who knew how long it'd be before they got to play the game again?

"You have to work tomorrow?" Toby asked, smiling lightly at the warmth of her fingers brushing over the top of his hand. He sucked at small talk. He wished for something profound to say. But, he came up blank.

msnomer68
msnomer68
297 Followers