Free Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel) by Amber Bardan Page A

empty, still-made bed.
    Adrenaline kept my pulse racing. Even in sleep my dreams were wired, more vivid, colorful and excruciating.
    No point lying down.
    The moment I set my head on the pillow I’d be met with bloody scenes, or awoken by a jolt like when you dream of falling.
    I’d see her face in my mind before my eyes opened again. My heart wouldn’t slow until I proved to myself she was okay. That I hadn’t left her unsafe.
    I sat in the chair beside the bed, and unlocked my phone. Flicked through saved images. None of her face—I wouldn’t risk carrying around something like that. Her hip while she lay on her side. The back of her neck while she brushed her hair. Pictures I’d dared keep.
    My thumb paused over an image.
    In the three days since I’d left her, there hadn’t been time to catch a breath, but I’d still had time to think about this—think about her. I tugged the tie free from around my neck and tossed it on the bed. As far as production went, things couldn’t have gone smoother. I’d most likely finish early. A lifetime of work coming to fruition, so why did I feel this tightening around my throat? That same plunging sensation I had just before I hit the ground in my sleep—before the electric jolt.
    Someone had followed us on the way to the train station.
    Someone had tracked us down.
    Like they’d found us on that first yacht, and I still hadn’t figured out how . Not even Avner could explain. Losing whoever followed didn’t change the fear crawling under my skin.
    Shouldn’t have left her behind.
    But, I couldn’t have her here. If something happened this would be where it did. In the heart of it all. At the very center of what I’d created.
    I gazed at the screen.
    No planning could be careful enough. Not with what hunted me.
    Now perhaps her, too.
    I exited the photo album and pressed an app on my phone. Scrolled through the options, and found the one I needed. A heartbeat thumped though the phone speaker—slow and even.
    Healthy and well .
    I left the phone on, and set it on the table, stared at the curtains, and listened to that rhythmic sound.
    Perhaps I should feel guilty for spying on her heartbeat without her knowing. I was sick, getting sicker by the minute.
    A liar, too. I still kept things from her. It wouldn’t be impossible to call. My phone was untraceable. It was entirely possible to tell her how we’d been followed. Just as it was possible to tell her how the worry drove me mad.
    But this was my fight—my battle. My burden.
    And I’d asked enough of her. I’d cost her too much.
    Selfishly, I’d rather deceive her to keep her happy and keep her loving me. This wasn’t the beautiful pure thing my father felt for my mother. A man of few words, the way he’d watch her, listen to her. From the moment she stepped in the door she’d be talking. The woman didn’t pause between sentences. He’d hear every single thing she said.
    When she’d set dinner in front of him, the only time my father ever remembered to eat, he’d kiss her hands.
    I’m sure there were times he’d kissed her feet.
    That’s how I’d envisioned love.
    But my father would never have done the things I’d done. Never do any of the things I still might do. Not even to protect her. He wouldn’t . He’d had lines he wouldn’t cross.
    He’d been a good man.
    Every moment I’d gone without sleep seemed to capture me at once. Weariness entered my muscles and bones. I closed my eyes, and tipped back my head. Not to sleep, just to listen. To picture the face that belonged to that heartbeat.
    In a different world I’d long to be like my father. In this one I knew exactly what good men got.
    Yes, my father loved my mother—and in the end he’d watched her die.

Chapter Eight
    On the veranda, a cup of tea warming my palms, it should have been true tranquility. Not a sound except for the breeze. The staff retired for the night in their quarters. They’d all been nice, all been hospitable. Even