Bond Betrayed Read online

  “Yep.”

  “Who knows I’m here?”

  “Besides my mom, your agent brother-in-law and Gus? I’m not sure, but I’m betting they work for your father.” It was a solid bet. Her father had always wanted Nikki under his influence. Like that was ever going to happen. Glass shattered somewhere behind her but Isaac had already grabbed her by the wrist and was pulling her down the hall away from the sound. “We’ve got to get you someplace safe.”

  Her wrist was incredibly small when encased in his huge hand. And she had to fight to hide her reaction to the calluses on his palms as he pulled her down the hallway and up the stairs. But the rough slide of his skin on hers was giving her goose bumps and making it hard for her not to remember how his hands felt on her body.

  Dear god! Why had he placed the bond before they’d had sex? If he’d only waited until after, he wouldn’t be affecting her right now. She could concentrate on getting them the fuck out of this mess.

  Not that he was exactly asking for her insight. He didn’t stop for anything, didn’t even slow, until he’d pulled her up the flight of stairs and thrown open a door. Shoving her inside, he paused. “You can hide in here. I’ll let you know when the coast is clear.”

  Facing whatever it was out there had to be easier than waiting for it to come get her. She wasn’t helpless. Sex wasn’t the only thing she was good at. She knew how to fight. And she’d watched her fair share of horror movies. They would have better odds if they fought together instead of allowing the monsters to pick them off one at a time. “I could help you.”

  He swore under his breath. “You will. But not with this.”

  “But—”

  “No,” he said decisively. “Not with this. I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but I meant it when I promised I wouldn’t let anything hurt you.” The bittersweet smile he wore held so much pain it made her heart ache. “Try to be good. I’ll be back when I can.” With that, he was gone. The door clicked so softly behind him, she didn’t even hear it close.

  Be good? She smirked as she made her way to the door.

  Good girls helped those in need, right?

  If not, they would certainly help themselves. She may be pissed at her captor, but that was easily trumped by the lifelong hatred she held for her father. She would do anything to see him fail, especially when winning would mean getting his hands on her.

  Pressing her ear to the hard wooden surface, she listened as she counted to sixty. If she didn’t give him a good head start, she was fairly certain she would end up tied to the headboard. And not in a good way.

  When she was certain he was far enough ahead to make restraining her impossible—or at the very least improbable—she quietly crept out of the room. Thankfully her eyes had had time to adjust to the darkness of the house. Following the hall, she had just started down the stairs when the sounds of the struggle reached her.

  It was crazy, charging into a fight to protect the man who’d betrayed her. But, if what he said was the truth, she did want to help Molly. No one deserved to be at her father’s mercy. And it wasn’t like the man who’d bound her was a threat. She was fairly certain he was going to be easy to manipulate.

  Hell, even the bond was a bit of a blessing under the current circumstances. Her father couldn’t place a blood bond on her, but he could have a lackey do it. He would too. It was the only way he’d ever be able to bend her to his will. She hadn’t even thought about the possibility until she’d come to, alone in the bedroom, unsure of what’d happened.

  She shuddered at the memory. Fortunately, it hadn’t taken her long to realize, if her father had anything to do with the bond she’d have already been turned over to him. And since she could only be bound to one person at a time, her captor had unwittingly spared her from that particular fate. She wasn’t about to thank her captor, but she was smart enough to realize keeping him alive was mutually beneficial. For now, at least.

  With that in mind, she started down the hallway to the right. Glancing through an open doorway, she made out two shadowy figures struggling in what appeared to be a sunroom. Even now the moon shone brightly through a wall of windows and illuminated the many potted plants—some of which seemed scattered among the motionless bodies of three people. But she only had a moment to take in the room’s layout before her attention was drawn back to the struggle. One of the shadows had an arm around the other’s throat in a painful-looking chokehold.

  “Did you think he wouldn’t come for her?” Not recognizing the voice, she assumed it was her captor caught in the chokehold. He was pulling on the assailant’s arm, but couldn’t breathe let alone answer. “And now you’ve got nothing to trade for dear Molly.”

  Was that his plan? It was a possibility. One she hadn’t thought of. But it didn’t seem to ring true. If he wanted to trade her, she’d be sitting in a dark holding cell somewhere. Wouldn’t she? Besides, he was an enforcer. And he was smart enough to still be breathing, which was somewhat of a rarity if she remembered correctly. He wouldn’t trust her father enough to arrange a trade. It was reassuring that he’d been telling her the truth about her father having Molly, though. Hearing those words gave her the courage to continue.

  She crept up behind the men quietly, carefully stepping around the clay pots. When she was close enough to hear the grunts of the struggle, she picked up one of the discarded pots and dumped out its contents. She was armed now—in a fashion.

  “Tell me where Nikki’s hiding and I’ll let you live. Maybe.”

  Her captor thrashed in the hold but didn’t say anything.

  “Sucks not being able to use magic, doesn’t it?” the man taunted.

  She didn’t wait to hear if her captor found a way to answer that question. The pot came down over the assailant’s head in a deafening crash. He swayed and staggered but, much to her horror, didn’t fall. He did, however, release his hold on her captor.

  “There she is,” he sneered. “Your timing is perfect, my dear.”

  What the hell? Did he have a steel plate in his head?

  Her captor was busy gasping for air and coughing. He wasn’t going to be any help. This was all up to her. She widened her stance and readied herself for his first blow.

  “Pyro.” Her captor’s croaked warning gave her just enough time to drop into a crouch as an arc of fire raced through the air.

  Huh… He’d been of use after all.

  A quick change in strategy had her stepping closer to the assailant. He was just as flammable and wouldn’t risk a fire if he were in the burn radius.

  “What’s the matter, afraid of being singed?” the pyro asked in a mocking voice.

  She noticed the lack of fire as he moved to strike her, though. Her gamble had paid off. “No more than you, I’m sure.”

  “You could surrender. I might even let Isaac live if you’d be gracious enough to put on these Sim cuffs.”

  She eyed the handcuffs that would block her abilities with a grimace. There were few things that could get her to put those on her wrists. And since he wasn’t in possession of any of them, she decided to decline his offer.

  Balancing her weight squarely on her left leg, she struck out with her right. When her foot landed on his sternum, there was a sharp crack as he was thrown back. The Sim cuffs hit the floor with a solid thunk and both she and the attacker went after them. He was bigger and stronger, but her fear gave her an added advantage. She wanted them more than he did, and that made her quicker. She had to give some of the credit to Isaac, though. He’d pounced on the attacker at some point and currently had him pinned to the floor.

  “Give me the cuffs.”

  Her top lip rose into a snarl of anger at the command, but she still handed them to him. She couldn’t fight the order even if she’d wanted to.

  “Sorry.”

  She shrugged off the apology. “You’re welcome.”

  Isaac clicked the cuffs around the man’s wrists before standing. “I thought you were going to be good?”

>   “And saving your sorry ass would be what, exactly?”

  A glint of white told her he was smiling. “Guess that could be one definition. Can you watch him for a moment while I go check the circuit box?”

  He must have taken her heavy sigh as consent because he left the room with only a deep chuckle for her to track him by.

  “You realize he’s gonna trade you for someone else, don’t ya?” the man taunted.

  Arguing with him wasn’t going to get her anywhere so she kept her silence.

  “I could help you, though. Let me go and I’ll tell your father you weren’t here. That it was all just a trap.”

  She laughed harshly. “Do I have the word ‘stupid’ tattooed across my forehead?”

  Then again, today probably wasn’t the best of days to judge her intelligence by. She had gotten herself blood bound and then had rescued her captor…Isaac. She remembered the thug calling him that.

  “Can’t blame me for trying,” the assailant said.

  It was almost as if he could read her thoughts. “Nope. Guess I can’t.”

  Bright light flooded the room, making her blink several times. The man on the floor moaned as he forced himself to sit. He looked well-built under the black turtleneck sweater and cargo pants, but the ski mask prevented her from making out any of his features.

  “You don’t have a problem with him handin’ you over to your daddy?”

  “Nope.” But only because she didn’t think he was really going to. “And if I were you, I’d be more concerned with what he’s planning on doing with you. Something tells me your interrogation’s going to be a bitch.”

  “I’m not concerned. He’s not gonna get anything from me.” The assailant jumped up quickly and pulled his legs though his hollowed-out arms, allowing them to now be in front of him. She instinctually took a step back, but he wasn’t interested in her, only in a small pocket at his wrist. Before she could stop him, he’d managed to pull out a pill and pop it into his mouth. “There’s only one way to escape your daddy,” he said, the pill trapped between his teeth.

  “Isaac!”

  But as Isaac ran into the room, the assailant threw his head back and swallowed. Isaac managed to pull the man’s ski mask off just as thick white foam started to leak from the pyro’s mouth.

  “Jesus, Mitch. I’d say I was disappointed, but…”

  “Don’t act so god damned condescending. Everyone has their price. He just hasn’t found yours yet.” That was the last thing the man could say as his body was taken by seizures and then stilled altogether.

  “Call your uncle.” Isaac knelt in front of the body, one hand searching out a pulse on his neck. “Tell him he’s going to need a new bartender.”

  She turned and started for the door before she had time to think about it. But she wasn’t sure where he’d put her phone and, even if she had it, she didn’t know Gus’ number. Sudden pain exploded in her head, bringing her to her knees as her fingers found her temples of their own accord.

  “Shit… Shit! What’s wrong?” The panic in his voice would be comforting if she wasn’t in so much pain.

  “Can’t call,” she managed to say through her clasped jaw.

  “Fuck. Nikki, stop. Don’t call Gus.”

  Instantly, she froze and the pain was blissfully gone. “I don’t know where my phone is,” she said, not getting up. “And even if I did, I don’t have Gus’ number.”

  One step brought him to her, and then he was kneeling next to her, his hand running over her hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll choose my words better, I promise.” His eyes swept down her body before he looked away from her. He looked almost sad—almost.

  He cleared his throat softly before looking away from her. “If you’d like, there’s lasagna in the stove in the kitchen. I’ll be there as soon as I call Gus.” He looked around to the other dead, black-clad figures on the floor. “And after I get this mess cleaned up.”

  She smiled softly at his attempted courtesy. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Not for this.” Guilt colored the sculpted lines of his jaw and worked its way up to his cheeks, leaving a soft red in its wake. He really did feel bad about holding her captive.

  Good. That would make manipulating him that much easier.

  With a nod, she stood and then set off in the general direction of the delicious smells wafting through the air. Before she could go another round with him, she needed to eat. The chaotic day had left her starving to the point of weakness.

  Finding the massive, state of the art room he called a kitchen, she marveled at the man once more. She didn’t even realize real people had kitchens like this. It looked like a cooking show set. Maybe cooking was a passion?

  The thought startled her almost to laughter. True, she knew very little about him. But what she did know didn’t exactly scream foodie. He was an enforcer. His name was Isaac. And he was somehow connected to Molly.

  Nope, nothing she’d discovered made him out to be the next cooking reality show star.

  But still, somehow that man was connected to this kitchen. There had to be some way to make the pieces of this puzzle fit. Once she figured it out, she’d be that much closer to figuring him out. And if she figured him out, she’d know which strings to pull to get him to do exactly what she wanted. The only other thing she’d learned, though, was that he couldn’t use his magic against their attacker.

  She stopped to give that more thought. It was a mini-puzzle in its own right.

  Why couldn’t he use his magic?

  There were only three ways to prevent him from using his magic. Well, four if one counted abstinence. But Nikki was the only one who willingly abstained from using her magic. People tended to look at her like she was crazy when they found out. But she wasn’t. Ironically, the abstinence was what was keeping her sane.

  Regardless, the attacker said Isaac couldn’t use his magic, so Isaac’s lack of magic wasn’t by choice. If he’d been blood bound to their attacker he would’ve handed her over, so that crossed that one off. And he hadn’t been wearing Sim cuffs. That only left ink bound.

  Most magic wasn’t affected by the ink. It was just a permanent way to track family and alliances. But it was different if the magic manipulated the will and lives of others. For those rare individuals, putting another’s ink in their blood was to grant them immunity. Apparently Isaac belonged to that latter group. Just as Nikki did. Having another’s ink would render her powerless against that family. Even the thought made her shudder in horror. She’d never actually use her magic, but insinuating she would was a powerful threat. Might even be enough to get her out of a tight spot. But it was a bluff Isaac had apparently sacrificed. His beautifully inked torso suddenly didn’t seem like the status symbol she’d originally read it as.

  The chiming of the doorbell chased away the troubling thoughts, though.

  Awesome. More company. Just what she needed right now.

  “That would be some of the enforcers assigned to the police department,” Isaac said as he popped his head through the doorway. She looked down at her calves and thought about asking for her clothes but, in typical guy fashion, he disappeared before she could.

  Oh well, if they found her like this—in just his shirt—they’d be less prone to ask questions about why she was at his house in the middle of the night. She’d be nothing more than a seductress in seductive attire. And the fewer questions she had to answer the better, as far as she was concerned.

  She rummaged around in the drawers until she found a couple of oven mitts and a trivet. The power outage, as brief as it’d been, had shut off the stove but it hadn’t been off long enough for its contents to cool. She pulled the lasagna out of the oven carefully before setting it on the waiting trivet. And, after grabbing a plate from a nearby cabinet, she dished herself a piece before making her way over to the small table to sit down and eat. She had to breathe through her first couple of bites to cool it. But it was worth it. It was perfection covered in cheese and dipped in
sauce.

  “Ms. Rathe.”

  Startled, she looked up as two enforcer police types walked into the room.

  “We need to get your statement before we go.”

  Her upper lip twitched with restrained anger as she recognized one of the men. His once-black hair was gray and he now had a paunch and some wrinkles, but she would recognize those beady eyes and sharp nose anywhere. They’d been so distinct they’d garnered him the nickname Officer McRatrick back when he’d been investigating her mother’s death. If one could consider what he’d done an investigation. She sure as hell didn’t.

  Okay, he’d brought in the killer. She’d give him that. Grudgingly. But that was where his investigation had ended. The evidence pointed to it being a contracted killing. As young as she was, even she had seen the connections. Everyone in the fucking Community had seen them. Everyone except Officer McRatrick, that is. He refused to budge. And when the investigating officer declares a case closed and the perp is tried and found guilty, everyone’s just ducky.

  “Officer McPatrick, I’m surprised you still work for the police.”

  He looked up from his pad of paper, his eyes blank with disinterest. “And I’m surprised to find you in a Marrow’s house in nothing but his shirt. Guess today’s just full of fucking surprises.”

  She kept her expression as neutral as his and quirked an eyebrow. “Huh, we agree on something. Has someone told Satan to dress warmly today?”

  “Can we just get this over with?”

  As much as she’d love to make him squirm a little, she wanted to be out of his presence as much as he wanted out of hers. “It’d be my pleasure.”

  “Good to hear. So, what the hell happened in there?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes at him, but immediately started recounting the events the best she could—without mentioning the bond, of course.

  “And he implicated your father before committing suicide?” McRatrick asked as he jotted down a few more notes.