Page 2 of My Solemn Vow

“Yes?” I answer, trying to exaggerate my steadily growing annoyance. It’s not difficult. He knows what I’m doing today and interrupted anyway.

“I need your skills. I can put him in your basement if you’d like to finish the day with your daughter. But we need information. Italy and Russia are making plans, and this guy apparently knows what both of them are up to, but he’s less than enthusiastic about sharing,” Dad informs me.

Information extraction. It’s what I do, and I’m good at it, but in order to spend as much time as possible with Kerrianne, I built a secured section of the house, not on the official blueprints, so I can work while Kerrianne is at school or sleeping at night.

“Yes, I understand. I can accept the delivery, but it won’t be processed until later. Be sure to secure it properly before you depart.” I smile at Kerrianne and give her a thumbs-up.

She pumps her fist excitedly and tippy-taps on her feet.

“I’ll see to it.” Dad hangs up.

“Yay!” Kerrianne runs straight into me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Can we get ice cream before lunch?”

“What’s the rule for ice cream?” I tap my finger against my lips, pretending I’ve forgotten.

The groan she pushes out is accompanied by a pouty lip. “Green things before ice cream.”

“So, what does that say about ice cream before lunch?” I move the cart forward as the person in front of us finishes paying their bill.

“Fiiiine,” she huffs and stays close to my side while I unload the items from the cart.

My house is built like a fortress, equipped with state-of-the-art security. It’s a sanctuary away from the world and a place to raise my daughter.

The unfortunate people who are dragged here, against their will, don’t get to see all the amenities it has to offer. Instead, they only see what’s sealed up behind the walls of my home gym, none the wiser that it’s underneath my family home. They come, they talk, and then, when they’re no longer useful, they leave dead as a doornail through a very long, secret tunnel.

This man is no exception. He’s stuck in a custom chair I had crafted for maximum discomfort. Long nail-like spikes protrude into his body uncomfortably, between ribs and against shoulder blades.

Because my father called me before lunch, this human has been sitting in my basement for eight hours while I had a father-daughter date with my pup.

We ate lunch at an expensive restaurant, went to a handcrafted ice cream store, played with Captain, watched a movie, ate steak macaroni and cheese laced with hidden vegetables for dinner, and read no less than three bedtime stories before she finally went to sleep.

That’s a long time to sit in an uncomfortable chair screaming for your life. The acrid smells of fear and piss have me flicking on the ventilation hood before I ensure the last of the room’s soundproofing.

I compartmentalize my life much like I compartmentalize my house. An electronic tablet rests on the table closest to the door, and I use it while ignoring my unfortunate visitor.

In a few quick clicks, I open the security feed to Kerrianne’s room.

“Who the fuck are you?!” The asshole strapped to the chair coughs while I click away on the tablet. He screams for help as if someone will hear him.

I set the alerts to go off if there’s sizable movement in Kerrianne’s bedroom, if something crosses the threshold to her room, or if someone approaches the front door. The last one is in the unlikely event that someone gets past the property’s roaming security guards, gatehouse, and massive fence.

The feed flicks back to her bedroom, and I steal one last look. She’s curled up, fast asleep in her jungle-themed room.Too precious.

The asshole screams again, pulling my attention off my little raptor, and I finally deal with the problem delivery my father left for me.

As I walk around the worktable and lean against it, I answer his question from three or four screams ago. “I’m the last person who will see you alive.”

It’s a bit dramatic, but it keeps the fear response high. Self-preservation can be a good tool to wield against someone.

“No.” He shakes, and the color drains from his face while I smile and cross my arms over my chest.

I cock my head and examine him. I’ve never known how to respond when they argue with me about their inevitable death. Just because they don’t want it to be true doesn’t mean it isn’t.

Though I’ve found that offering them one last choice is amusing. “We can make this quick. You tell me everything you know, and the worst of your suffering will be the hours of sitting in that chair in your own piss.”

“Let me go!” He struggles, even though it’s no use.

No one escapes the chair. Far tougher humans and other shifters have tried.