Dark Vow (Blackwoods College)

I had control here.

“Go to hell. Stop sending me letters. Stop following me around. I’m not playing your stupid, twisted game.” I shoved past him, heart racing wildly.

He let me go. He could’ve grabbed my wrist and pinned me there on the ground and had his way with me in front of the whole campus, and I doubted anyone would’ve stopped him.

But he let me leave and didn’t say a word. I felt his gaze on my back until I disappeared into the student center. When I looked back through the windows, he was gone.

I got a coffee and found a quiet table alone in a corner. My heart wouldn’t calm down. I could barely breathe and my hands were shaking.

Calvin Solar wanted to take me to Latvia for the weekend.

For some business deal.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t know much about his family’s business, but I did know they sold arms. Weapons, guns, bombs. That sort of thing. A business trip to a small Eastern European country meant a few million dollars’ worth of guns would change hands, and Calvin wanted to drag me along to the deal.

It was insane. This whole nightmare was unhinged.

But I hadn’t said no. I’d turned down the weekend trip—but I’d never said I wouldn’t marry him.

Why didn’t I just say it?

I rubbed both my eyes and tried not to cry.

2

Robyn

For the rest of the week, I obsessed about going to Europe with Calvin.

Cora said I should do it. She figured I might decide whether I wanted to take him up on his offer or not.

That seemed insane to me. I mean, there were easier ways than letting him whisk me away to Europe.

When Thursday rolled around, I decided I needed help. Calvin wanted an answer, and he’d get one whether I liked it or not. That much had become clear since all this started—he wasn’t the sort of man that coddled indecision.

Jarrod and Cora’s trailer was a short drive off campus. I picked up Cora after her classes were finished and we headed over together. Cora chatted about her professors the whole way, and I tried my best to listen. Calvin had left me gutted and confused, and I found it hard to care about homework and reading and midterms and all that other normal stuff.

Which drove me crazy. The normal stuff was all I had anymore. The rest of my life was so completely broken and abnormal. I craved mundane things, like taking notes and meeting a friend for lunch.

I parked behind Jarrod’s truck. Cora hopped out, oblivious to my indecision. She hurried inside, and I followed behind. Their living room was cramped, with two small couches and a TV. The kitchen was next, also tight but surprisingly well stocked. Beyond that was the bedroom and the bathroom. When I slept here, which was a few times per week, they made up the couch. It wasn’t comfortable, but then neither was going home.

Cora ran into the back to see Jarrod. He had morning classes, then spent the afternoon doing repairs. I took off my boots and got some water boiling in their electric kettle. Cora came out a minute later and kissed my cheek, then held out her hand. “I need your keys.”

“What for?”

“Dinner. I’m hitting up the store.”

I handed them over. “Want some money?”

“Nah, we’re good.” She grinned and headed to the door. “Jarrod’s just getting changed.” She left after giving me a lingering look.

I sat on the couch and stretched out my legs.

Jarrod had moved in with my family when I was young. His parents had been killed in an accident, and my parents took him in. I didn’t think Jarrod had understood what he was getting into at the time—he’d probably seen the manicured lawn and nice house and figured everything was good inside those walls.

He had been very wrong.

My father had started hitting him that first week. I think there had been some anger and resentment going back decades. Not necessarily directed at Jarrod, but at Jarrod’s parents. They were both addicts and had borrowed money from my dad over and over again without ever paying it back, and Dad must’ve been pretty angry that he’d never see a dime of it.

So he’d taken it out on little Jarrod.

I could still see poor Jarrod on the first night after Dad hit him. He had sat in his room, knees pulled up to his chest, face streaked with tears, lip puffy. Dad had normally been better about hiding the bruises, but he’d gotten mad, and Jarrod hadn’t known to keep his mouth shut.

I wished I’d comforted him back then, but there had been nothing to say.

Over the years, Jarrod had gotten the worst of it. Sometimes, he’d stepped in and redirected Dad’s anger away from me and onto him. I’d always loved him for that, even if he was a total bastard to me in public. Jarrod had been a complicated animal, both protective and aggressive, and I hadn’t known which version of him I’d get at any time.