Broken Dreams (Broken Promises Book 1)

  Broken Promises Book 1

  Broken Dreams

  Charlotte Brice

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  Copyright © 2019 Charlotte Brice Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To my good friend and inspirational author

  Adriann Johnson

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Editing by

  Stoirm Publications

  Cover Art by

  Pixie Covers

  Broken Promises Book 1

  Broken Dreams

  CHAPTER ONE

  S he came to an abrupt halt as a strange feeling washed across her. For a moment she did nothing. Her mind was blank, like she had gone into a room and forgotten why she was there. Only she wasn’t in a room. She was in a narrow corridor, with flaky yellow paint and a strange smell suggesting it wasn’t used very often. There was a door at either end of the corridor, music blasting through the one ahead of her, and behind her, a push bar suggested a fire door exit to the outside world. She had just entered through the fire door, but now she couldn’t remember why.

  Her heart was racing in her chest, her lungs drew in deep, ragged breaths that demanded she inhale through her mouth. Had she been running? Running toward the club music beyond the door maybe. Or running from something, but what? Her hand pressed against the wall, a little paint flaking off under her touch, as a momentary dizziness accompanied the realisation she didn’t know anything. No. It couldn’t be. Her hands rubbed across her thighs in search of a pocket, but there was nothing but satin, and she frowned. The thought of wearing a dress puzzled her, like it was out of character for her, and it certainly didn’t go with the boots she had on.

  She had two options. Option one, she could continue into the room with the loud music and hope and pray someone was waiting for her, someone who would recognise her and hopefully know her name. Or option two, she could turn and leave the way she had entered and hope and pray she hadn’t been running away from anyone who could be right on the other side of that exit looking for her. She was still weighing her options when the click of the fire door starting to open made the decision for her, and she hurried towards the music.

  She rushed through the door into a large room packed full of sweaty men and women bouncing to a beat that vibrated through the nightclub floor. Disco lights lit up the room like brightly coloured searchlights hunting for anyone who knew her, but no one even glanced in her direction. She walked forward, drawn to the lights as if they called her into the fray. She didn’t recognise the music playing, but it had a rhythmic beat which put a bit of a bounce in her step as she walked.

  The door behind her swung open, and a man’s voice called out, “There!” She glanced back and saw four men wearing smart, black suits hurrying through the internal door she had just come through. But were they pointing to her? Did they know her? She had a million questions and no answers, but something told her not to stay around to find out. Her stomach fluttered nervously as panic built, and she picked up her pace as she weaved through the dancers.

  The club was full of party-revellers. So many people on the dance floor made cutting through the crowd difficult, but that was just what she needed right now. She felt so out of place in her poufy, blue dress, more like a meringue than a clubber, but if the dancers closed in around her, she wouldn't stand out so obviously. Her boots were big and heavy, and she trod on at least three toes as she entered the dance floor, shouting frantic apologies as she hurried on. People were starting to look at her. She was gaining unwanted attention, hopes of a familiar face plucking her from the chaos were fading as the men closed the gap.

  She glanced behind her. The men were still coming, albeit slowed by the dancers in their path. A shout, “There she is!” barely heard over the music, made her blood run cold. The men were following her. To them she wasn’t a girl with no name or memory. They knew her, knew who she was and whatever it was she'd done to make them chase after her. It was something she might have known before she entered the nightclub, but all she knew now was she had to get out of this club.

  She turned away from the men chasing her, she slammed into a man's chest. Sweet, sticky beer slopped out of his cup and soaked his top and her dress.

  She stopped and looked up into his eyes, drawn into his dark pupils for a moment which she didn’t have to spare. She knew the men were catching up, but there was something in his gaze that kept her there. Could he be the man she was hoping for, the one face in a thousand who might actually know who she was. He had a youthful look to him, maybe mid-twenties at the most with a soft, striking face, though his frown hooded his dark eyes. His age was irrelevant to a girl who couldn’t remember her own face, but he looked muscular beneath his wet top, so maybe he could protect her from her pursuers. Maybe, if he’d brought some friends. All he needed to do was speak one word: her name.

  “Watch it!” he grumbled.

  No! He didn’t know her! She had been so sure, something in his eyes had been so reassuring, so familiar. Had it been wishful thinking? Was she losing her mind? Probably, but she didn’t have time to deal with the cold sweat of panic that was building. The suited men were still chasing her, regaining any distance she had built while crossing the dance floor. She had to get out. She gave the guy a shove to the side and ran past, then glanced back, still clinging to the hope he would call out her unknown name.

  What she saw came as a surprise. However annoyed the young man had been with his spilt beer, he was now standing between her and the four men. Guilt gripped her and she instinctively turned back to him. He couldn’t stop them all alone. Her guilt changed to relief as three new men joined him, standing as a wall of muscle between her and the strangers who pursued her.

  “Get out of the way,” one of the suited men ordered. Then he swung a punch at her wet hero. She gasped, her hand instinctively jumping to her mouth, her heart in her throat. Maybe he did know her? Who else would risk getting hurt for someone who ruined their clothes?

  The punch must have hurt, she saw his head move with the blow, but he shook the punch off quickly enough. He was either tougher than he looked, or he had already drunk a lot more beer than he was currently wearing. As much as her eyes longed to remain with the first guy, she couldn’t ignore his three friends. They stood taller than the first, broad and muscular. It wasn’t the dreamy guy she wanted to return to who punched back, but one of the others, and the suited man went down like a stone.

  As the men handled her pursuers, she turned away. She needed to get out into the fresh air, a chance to clear her mind away from the blinding lights and the thumping music. As she finally reached the door and rushed out into the night, the chill in the air was a welcome relief from the stuffy club, but it didn’t help her head.

  So, what now? Where should she go? Who could she trust? She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on breathing. Relax. One step at a time. First step... What was the first step? The first thing she needed to do? Stay safe. Get out of sight. Those suited men were going to leave the club sooner or later.

  She looked around at the empty street and across at an alley. It was quiet and dark, the only light coming from a couple of streetlamps along the road. She could see part of a large blue wheelie bin sticking out. It would do. She would be hidden there, and she would have time to think through her options. She checked the road for cars before running across the wet street. Her boots splashing in the puddles, muddy drips splat
tering her legs. As she reached the alley, tall buildings loomed up on either side of her, casting dark shadows into the already gloomy alleyway and giving the illusion of safety. It was a bad choice trapping herself in an alley, but what else could she do? She needed somewhere out of the open where she could catch her breath and think through her options. Although, the smell didn’t help with either.

  Who am I? she wondered.

  That question was a slightly more terrifying thought than her current predicament. The more she thought about her name, the more her head hurt, but nothing became any clearer. She was wearing a long blue dress. It looked like it had been nice once, but she obviously hadn’t changed in a while, because now it felt grimy. She had thick, heavy boots on her feet that were as worn as her clothes, and very odd with the dress. Why were basic things so familiar but everything else about her life was gone? She paused at the sound of multiple footsteps in the road outside of the alley.

  Was it the men in suits? Clubbers ending their night? Should she run and beg them for help or hide in the filth and gloom until they passed her by? She slunk back deeper into the shadows as she hid amongst the rubbish in the alley.

  The four men stopped on the path under the lamppost, one taking a leak against the wall. They all sounded drunk, with loud, lairy voices. She knew that. How did she know the men were drunk and yet she didn’t know her own name?

  As long as they didn’t see her, she should be fine. The rubbish around her was warm, and for what it was, quite comfortable. If she could stay hidden until morning, she could find help, someone who could tell her who she was and why she found herself pursued by men who probably knew more about her than she did.

  “There’s someone in the alley,” one of the men said, peering into the darkness towards her. She pressed herself back against the wall, subconsciously drawing the rubbish up around her as her breath stalling in her throat.

  “I can’t see anyone,” commented a second voice. She could only see their dark shapes, but she felt them looking. Their unseen eyes burned into her, daring her to reveal herself, but she didn’t.

  “Smells like the girl who shoved you,” the third called from behind the others. “She smells scared.”

  Smells scared? she thought. That wasn’t normal for drunk men to observe and it confused her. She didn’t know much, right now, but she knew not to trust four drunk men who thought they could smell her over the piss dripping down the wall.

  “Ok, back off guys. You’re pissed.” The fourth voice didn’t really sound any less drunk, but she prayed the others would listen. They didn’t. Footsteps approached her through the alley and then a body crouched down right in front of her.

  “Don’t be frightened,” the man said gently. “We just want to check you’re alright.”

  She peered up at the man she wasn’t supposed to be frightened of. He was beautiful. His pale skin highlighted the shadows that fell across his chiselled features, and somehow his hazel eyes sparkled in the darkness. And then he smiled.

  “My name is Arlo. Do you need help?” He unzipped his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. It seemed to radiate warmth instantly into her cold body, and she nuzzled into its folds. It smelt of cologne and beer, of him.

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t remember who I am, or how I got here.” He wasn't the man she spilt beer down, but there was something warm and appealing about him. There was something calm and peaceful in his brown puppy dog eyes, something trustworthy.

  “Arlo?” A deeper voice slurred further up the alley.

  “She says she’s lost her memory,” Arlo called back.

  She noticed the second man was slightly smaller as he came and crouched by her side. “I’m Oscar,” he greeted, and she smiled in response. These men, though physically large, were unimposing, their voices soft and gentle. There was a feeling she somehow should know these strangers, a familiarity, but also something more. She could feel a hidden darkness in them, but she felt like she’d need that show of strength if the suited men came back.

  “We have a spare bedroom at our house, you are welcome to borrow it. It will be warmer and safer than here,” Oscar offered.

  “You guys gonna be long?” another voice rang out, one she recognised. It was the man she'd run into in the club. Still wearing his drink, his toned body showed through his tight, damp top, and his blond hair was a tatty mess on the top of his head, but his dark eyes mirrored the kindness in his smile.

  “I'm sorry about your drink,” she said, sighing and dropping her head.

  “It wasn't your fault. Why were they after you?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “We got off on the wrong foot before.” He gave her a warm smile that helped to relieve her guilt. “I’m Roken.”

  “I’m... uh...” With no name to give him, she didn’t know how to reply, but she wanted to. If she didn’t know this guy already, she wanted to, him more so than the others.

  “Guys?” Yet another huge man walked over and stopped beside Roken, his eyes boring into her in a way that made her feel guilty for stealing their time.

  “Relax, Seb. She has no memory, and Oscar has offered her the spare room,” Arlo explained, standing up from his crouched position with a drunken wobble. She could sense the tension between the first two and this new man who dwarfed them, but the invitation stood, and her bottom was getting numb.

  “Fine,” the tall man said, then walked away.

  She sat watching them, four strangers willing to help her, to protect her. Did they feel the same connection she felt? Despite having no memory, she felt like she knew these four men.

  “Come on, we’ll look after you.” Arlo offered her his hand, and though she took it, she still didn’t budge from her spot. This wasn't a decision to be rushed. She had to be careful without a memory. She didn’t know what she didn’t know, but Arlo smiled patiently, seeming to know she couldn't be rushed. His kind face, warm coat and gentle grip on her hand were giving her all the right feelings. He made her feel warm and slushy on the inside. There was nothing menacing about his large, muscular body, and if she listened to her instincts, she would let herself fall into his protection.

  Oscar just waited, keeping his eyes on her, a hint of suspicion in those baby blues. The shadows seemed to hug him tightly, like he would disappear completely if he stepped back into their folds. But his face was relaxed, and alcohol hunched his shoulders, the drink rendering his tall, dark and handsome form into one that perhaps needed the wall for support.

  Roken deserved her trust after what he had done for her in the club. He was smaller and leaner than his companions, he also looked younger than his friends. He had a naive, mischievous look, and a guilty smile played across his face as he watched Seb’s guarding presence at the mouth of the alley.

  Seb was the biggest, the oldest. He held his feelings in check, so nothing in his dark eyes had told her anything about him. He faced outwards, watching the streets, ready to protect them if he caught sight of her pursuers, ready to fight them if he had to. He would fight the suited men for her, just as he had before.

  Seb walked beside her, eyeing her cautiously. He was used to being bigger than his three companions, yet even they towered over the woman they had found. She looked like she had been through a rough time, but he found it hard to understand what would make a pretty, young lady trust four strangers enough to take their offer of a bed for the night? Was she drunk? Concussed?

  Seb knew Oscar’s offer was genuine, the daft bugger always had a soft spot for waifs and strays, but nothing bigger than a puppy or cat before. He usually couldn't care less, but this was no puppy. This woman's presence was stirring feelings Seb had long since buried, and it was putting him on edge.

  “So, you remember nothing about who you are?” Roken asked, ambling beside her as best as he could, but his drunken feet seemed to have a mind of their own.

  “I know things, like my shoes don’t match my dress, but nothing personal, nothing important.
”

  “They don’t?” Roken asked, stumbling forward as he attempted to look at her shoes.

  Seb rolled his eyes. Idiot! Seb thought. He will probably be surprised to find her in our house when he finally comes to in the morning. Still, the other two seemed to have enough sense about them to manage to at least walk in a straight line. The girl just giggled. Despite her situation, she was amused by his antics.

  “Well, we’ll have to call you something,” Arlo said, suggesting, “Juliet?”

  “Heather,” Roken said, shrugging as if it were decided. “Your shoes smell of heather.”

  The comment didn’t sit well with Seb. Roken’s nose was better than Arlo’s, but he trusted both of them, and Roken saw the world differently. He saw it through smells. How did her shoes smell of heather? There was no heather growing wild in the city. There was something off about this woman. She was no ordinary human, she was something different, and not shifter like Arlo and Roken, or a vampire like him and Oscar but something altogether different. Seb glanced at Roken. Different had caused him a lot of trouble in the past, but different might be just what they needed to break the monotony of their lives at present.

  The woman, now dubbed Heather, certainly caused his dark side to stir. Decades of suppressing the part of him he considered to be a monster were so easily undone by this woman’s mere presence. He wanted to understand her better. He wanted to pull her close and peel away the layers of mystery surrounding her like peeling an onion, an onion that would sting all the way until he reached the soft heart at the centre.

  Oscar opened the gate to the huge, dark building they called home. A grand hotel in its day, time had worn away at it until just its shell remained. By day it looked tatty and abandoned, but by night it was an imposing tower of darkness, so Oscar wasn’t surprised when Heather hesitated. She didn’t just pause, she stopped dead, neither venturing forward, nor retreating from the gateway.