The Warrior's Gamble

Chapter 1

Caitlin Fallon

14 Years Ago

Caitlin 6, Tristan 9

I shouldn't be here.

Mommy and Daddy dragged us to this big party at the Donnelly's place. I should be outside with the other kids my age. I really, really had to go to the bathroom is the problem. It wasn't my fault they were serving Shirley Temples and I hadn't been paying attention to how much of the syrupy goodness I had drank already.

But I didn't really figure I'd get so lost in this expansive mansion.

I'd been over here a few times before to play with Nessa. She was the only other girl my age that my parents let me see regularly. But we usually always stuck to one wing of the house.

I heard yelling coming from down the hallway from where I was.

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't follow the yelling. It wasn't my business.

I've always been slightly nosey, though.

I tiptoe down the hall. I'd been a ballerina since I could walk, so I knew how to tiptoe and be quiet. My brothers always yell at me for it. They call it my creepy habit.

I stop at the door where the yelling is coming from. It's cracked slightly, allowing me to see inside. I'll only peak for a moment then I'll leave. I just want to make sure whoever is getting yelled at is alright.

I blink when I see the little dark-haired boy in front of me. I recognize him. It's Tristan Donnelly – my older brother, Parker's good friend. His shaggy black hair falls in his face as he looks defiantly up at the man yelling at him.

"...worthless!"

I stifle my gasp as the older man hits Tristan, landing a blow so hard that the 9-year-old boy goes flying across the floor.

"Get up, you waste of space," the man growls.

My heart thumps.

This is wrong.

Tristan staggers to his feet. He's dressed nicely for the party in a dark polo and khakis. They're all wrinkled from the struggle.

As soon as Tristan gets to his feet, the man tugs him by the neck and slams him back to the floor. Tristan coughs, struggling to get up again.

"Don't come out the rest of the night. You've ruined you mother's evening, yet again," the man huffs. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, sir," the boy corrects angrily.

I gasp again, realizing the man is coming towards the door. I dart to a dark corner of the hallway and watch as the door opens. A tall man with dark hair in a suit walks out. He straightens his tie and slams the door behind him. I watch as he storms off down the hall, back towards the staircase.

My heart is racing wildly.

He really hurt that boy.

I wouldn't have probably survived the blows that he was given.

My parents never hit me. Sometimes my brothers, but never like that.

I swallow, frustrated that I didn't speak up – although, what could I have said? Would the man have hurt me?