Free Broken Promises (The Brianna Lane Series) by Belinda Boring Page A

countenance. He had given me many similar looks over the years and the memories rekindled my determination. Nothing was ever lost forever and it helped still the rising panic.
    A mantra began to take shape and grew louder and more insistent until it overshadowed the other noise in my head.
    You can do this. Quinn isn’t lost. Don’t give up hope. You can do this. Quinn isn’t lost. Don’t give up hope. Each time it repeated, I felt stronger and more empowered.
    I tingled with purpose now, and I looked around to see exactly where I was. Judging from my surroundings, I was blocks away from the theater and in the heart of downtown Penshurst. Maverick Street was eerily quiet—the calmness you get right before the storm, and it was strange seeing it so empty. Usually the sidewalks were teeming with commuters and tourists, now they resembled a ghost town. I assumed it meant the effects of the charm hadn’t reached this far yet, and I breathed in relief.
    Seeing no immediate danger and taking advantage of the peace, I reached into my pocket for my cell phone. Too tired to figure out time differences, I scrolled through the menu until I found my grandmother’s number and pushed send. She knew what was happening and I wasn’t going to hang up until she answered my questions.
    My nerves were still strung tightly as I began cursing under my breath. On and on the phone rang until I heard the device switch over to her answering machine. Tapping my foot on the sidewalk, I counted down to the beep.
    “Grandma, it’s Bri. Where are you?” My voice was impatient because all my hopes rested on her knowing what was happening. “They’ve got Quinn and you know who they are. Please pick up!”
    I leaned my forehead against a cool brick wall, forcing myself to calm down. It didn’t matter how hard I tried steadying my breath or reminded myself to relax, the silence on the end unraveled it.
    “Okay, when you hear this message, call me.” I dropped my hand as I hung up, my grip barely holding onto my phone. I could feel my new sense of purpose weaken and the sound of my mantra grow faint.
    Releasing a deep sigh, I sat on the curb, having no idea where to go next. It made sense to return home and gather a few things but my gut told me it would be the first place Quinn would go. I wasn’t ready to be alone with him—not before I had answers. I began to walk, letting my feet choose the direction. Sooner or later I’d figure it out, maybe see something that would spark a solid plan.
    With things reasonably quiet in my head, I could avoid thinking about the problem directly and focus on the mundane instead. How many steps before I hit a crack in the sidewalk? How many breaths it took to cross a street? One, two, three, four, five—stop and start—over and over and over. As a fragile sense of calmness came over me, I told myself I could do this forever.
    I passed by an alleyway before turning the corner and almost interrupted a fight in progress. The two men hadn’t noticed me yet and I stood there frozen, terrified any move I made would draw their attention.
    It was one thing to see a fight on TV and another to see it in real life. I’d never realized how noisy it could be as flesh pounded on flesh—the grunts and growls that came from beating someone to a bloody pulp.
    I knew I was in shock as I studied the scene with a detached and clinical eye. Gore trickled down their faces as noses were smashed, causing cartilage to break and blood to gush everywhere. It had no effect on me. One stranger spat, ridding his mouth of the teeth that had been knocked free. I didn’t blink an eye.
    I stood there macabrely fascinated and didn’t even flinch when a gun was produced, turning the fight I’d just witnessed into something much more deadly. Without skipping a beat, the weaponless man charged as his snarl filled the air. It was complete insanity.
    The trigger was pulled and the sound of the gun retort pierced the air, breaking the hold