Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

8

CALLUM

The sound of a fist rapping loudly against my apartment door rouses me from a dead sleep. I‘m a little

disoriented as I lift my head from the pillow, swiping drool from the corner of my mouth with a forearm

while using my other elbow to push myself up against the scratchy cotton sheets. What time is it?

The knocking continues.

Whoever‘s there isn‘t giving up, so I pry myself from bed with a groan, the rusty old springs of my

mattress answering with a groan of their own. Finding my feet and blinking against the harsh sunlight

streaming in through the blinds in my bedroom, I swipe a pair of sweatpants off the floor and stumble into

them as the pounding on my front door continues.

“I‘m coming!” I growl out, not even attempting to mask my annoyance. A quick glance at the clock on my

nightstand tells me it‘s 10:30 a.m., which is about typical for my fucked–up sleep pattern. Still, with how

deeply I was sleeping, I could‘ve gotten another hour in if this prick wasn‘t pounding on my door.

Whoever it is isn‘t going to get a warm reception, that‘s for sure.

The banging is getting even more insistent, only stoking my irritation.

“I said I‘m coming!” I bark loudly, stabbing my fingers through my hair to tame my bed head and dragging

my feet against the vinyl plank flooring as I make my way down the short hall from the bedroom to the

front door. It‘s practically rattling on its hinges while the person on the other side continues to beat on it.

I flip the deadbolt and turn the knob, yanking the door open with my teeth bared and a growl rumbling in

my chest. “The fuck do you want?!”

My stomach drops when I see who‘s on the other side, his fist still raised mid knock. I groan loudly and

go to shove the door shut, but my stepdad sticks his foot over the threshold and it bounces off his boot,

swinging back.

“You haven‘t been answering my phone calls,” Troy says as he shoulders his way inside. I step away,

giving into the inevitability that he‘s not leaving until he fulfills whatever agenda he has. “Please, come

in,” I grumble sarcastically, rolling my eyes and turning away to step into the small galley kitchen just off

the front entrance of the apartment. I hate having my back to him– the feeling of his eyes boring into me

makes my fucking skin crawl as I step over to the cabinet beside the sink. I open it to retrieve a glass

from inside, turning on the faucet below and sticking the glass

underneath.

I hear Troy‘s boots scuffing against the floor and the creak of the door closing behind him, followed by

the snick of the latch as it closes. I bristle, gripping the glass so tightly in my fist that it feels like it could

give way and splinter into shards at any moment.

“Is there a reason you‘ve been ignoring my calls?” Troy asks, the sound of his familiar monotone grating

on my nerves. Water spills over the top of the glass and onto my hand.

I turn the faucet off, lifting the glass to my lips as water beads from my hand and runs down my bare

chest. I take a big gulp of the water, fighting to muster my composure before slowly turning around to

face my stepdad. “Been busy,” I shrug, leaning back against the sink.

The muscle in Troy‘s jaw ticks as he stares at me from just outside the doorway to the kitchen. “Too busy

for your family?”.

I stare right back at him, unblinking, not bothering to dignify his question with a response.

“Hm,” he muses, his lips sliding into a condescending smirk. Then he turns away, striding further into my

apartment, and my hackles raise.

I don‘t like anyone in my space. Ever. Miles has an apartment two doors down, but I hardly even let him

in here. It‘s my sanctuary; my fortress of solitude. And now Fuckface is here, tainting it with his presence.

I grit my teeth while I step out of the kitchen and follow him into the living room.

“Spence told me you‘ve been giving him trouble,” Troy sighs, stepping over to the beat–up blue couch

and plopping his ass down onto it. He spreads his arms across the deflated cushions behind him,

crossing an ankle over his knee.

I don‘t like how comfortable he‘s making himself in my space.

I make my way over to the old leather recliner at the far corner of the living room, putting as much space

between the two of us as possible while still remaining in the same room. “And?” I question, settling the

glass of water on the side table with a clink and grabbing a maroon zip–up hoodie off of the back of the

chair, sliding my arms into it. I don‘t bother zipping it up before flopping down into the recliner.

Troy‘s judgmental gaze is still zeroed in on me. “And making him leave a party is a bit unnecessary, don’t

you think?” He arches a brow. I reach for the water glass. “How so?” I take another sip.

His jaw ticks again. That‘s his only tell that my evasive responses are getting under his skin – Troy never

outwardly shows emotion. “Well, it was a party at the packhouse, wasn‘t it? Is Spencer not a part of this

pack?” “It was my friend‘s party,” I reply, setting the water glass down again.

It‘s too fucking quiet in here. I can hear the tick of the clock on the wall, the heavy breaths that Troy is

drawing. I grind my molars, my pulse quickening. “Ah, yes,” Troy nods. “And your friend is going to be

taking his place soon as Alpha of this pack.”

I

I don‘t like the way he says ‘friend‘. Like he thinks it‘s a fallacy for me to have one of those. “So?” I ask.

Troy‘s mouth slides into that slimy smirk again. “So given Chase‘s position, don‘t you think it would be

advantageous for Spencer to get closer to him?” I snort, shaking my head. There‘s the agenda. “Why is

that my problem?”. He sighs, uncrossing his legs and sitting up straighter. “Because like it or not, you‘re

still part of this family, Callum. What‘s good for one of us is good for all of us. Spencer has what it takes

to pull rank in this pack someday, and the first step to doing that is for him to become friendly with our

Alpha.” He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. “And rather than allow him the opportunity to

do that, you made him uncomfortable and forced him to leave the party.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes and grabbing for the water glass again. “Do you even know what goes

on at those parties?” I scoff. “Trust me, that isn‘t something you want your golden boy to get mixed up in

anyways.” I take a slow sip from the glass, still fighting to keep my temper in check. Troy‘s unimpressed

with my suggestion. “Then why do you go to them?” I swallow, setting the glass back down with a

chuckle. “I’m the bad one, remember?”

His gaze locks in on mine. “If Spencer decides to come to another party at the packhouse, you won‘t

interfere with him being there,” he snaps, his voice still gratingly monotone. “You may not live under my

roof anymore, but I won‘t have you embarrassing this family by chasing your own brother away from

somewhere that he has every right to be. Do we understand one another?” I glare at him, my fists

clenching on the arms of the recliner. Troy‘s eyes flicker down to them, a smirk returning to his lips.

“Temper, temper,” he chides, his eyes slithering back up to meet mine. “You

always did have a problem keeping that in check.”

I want nothing more than to lunge at him and haul my fists into his face, see the red of his blood paint the

beige rug at his feet. Instead, I take slow, deep breaths, keeping the monster inside of me tightly caged.

That‘s what he wants, after all for me to freak out and give him a reason to try to get me tossed from the

pack again. I won‘t give him the satisfaction of besting me.

Troy gets to his feet with a sigh, glancing around my small living room in obvious distaste. It isn‘t much –

just a few pieces of mismatched furniture, a worn –out rug, a couple of end tables and a crappy old tube

TV. It‘s home, though– my home, and he isn‘t welcome here.

Troy eyes linger on the wall behind me; the one where I have all of my latest sketches taped up. Bile

crawls up my throat. Those are personal, and if I had it my way, I‘d gouge his eyes out for even looking at

them. “The Alpha was far too soft on you after what you did,” he murmurs, his eyes still combing over the

designs. “If that were me...” “Well good thing it wasn‘t then,” I bite back, shooting to my feet and

sidestepping to position myself between the sketches and his judgmental stare. I‘m so close to the edge

that my body is practically vibrating with dark energy. It‘s one thing for Troy to barge in here and give me

shit for something I‘ve done. That, I’m used to. But if he expects me to stand here and listen to him

speak ill of Alpha Vaughn, he‘s got another thing coming.

Something deep in my chest aches every time I think of our fallen Alpha. I‘ve always been a fuck–up, but

Chase‘s dad was the only adult that ever seemed to give a shit about me. I resisted it when I was

younger because I didn‘t trust him, but then the day came when I had to, and he didn‘t let me down. He

got me out of my parents‘ house and hooked me up with this apartment, rent–free in exchange for

performing maintenance work around the building. He helped me furnish it with old stuff from the

packhouse and guided me into finding a purpose. An outlet. And he did it all while keeping my secrets,

never expecting anything in return. 1 Alpha Vaughn was a true leader. I see a lot of him in his son. If

Chase gets his head out of his ass, there‘s no doubt in my mind that he‘ll become the leader that this

pack needs. Troy gives me a once–over, clocking my tight posture, clenched fists, and deep scowl. He

smiles. “Looks like you could use a time–out, boy.” Those words. The room tilts, panic gripping in my

chest. “Get out,” I snarl.

His smile spreads until he‘s flashing his teeth. He gives me a little nod in satisfaction, turning to head

toward the door. My hands start to tremble.

“Come by and see your mother sometime,” Troy comments as he reaches for the knob, pulling the door

open. 2

I don‘t respond. I don‘t even realize that I‘m holding my breath until after the door closes behind him and

all the air leaves my lungs on a heavy exhale.

“Fuck,” I murmur, scrubbing a hand over my face. I start pacing back and forth across the floor, fisting a

hand in my hair. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I whirl around and lunge toward the wall behind the recliner, tearing

down my sketches as Troy‘s words echo in my brain, dark memories playing in my mind on repeat.

Deafening silence. Pitch black. The ‘time outs‘ that I was so often treated to as a child, locked in a room

in the basement where my monster was born. Troy never laid a hand on me, but the damage he did to

my psyche was far worse. Not all abuse is physical, but that doesn‘t mean it can‘t scar. I spent years

building up defenses in my mind; mental roadblocks to stop his words from filtering in. They‘d still find

their way past them to inflict their intended damage, though. The deepest scars aren‘t always visible to

the naked eye. 1 My chest is heaving, shreds of paper littering the floor at my feet. I need to do

something. Go somewhere. Get the fuck out of this apartment, where I can still picture Troy sitting on the

couch, kicked back like he owns the place with that smug ass smirk on his lips. I should fucking burn the

sofa. Scorch the memory away. It‘s too fucking quiet. My bare feet slap against the vinyl flooring as I

make my way back to my bedroom, snatching my cell phone and ear buds off the nightstand. I shove the

buds in my ears and swipe the screen to unlock my phone, only to find an unread text message waiting

for me.

I blow out a shaky breath, sinking down to perch on the edge of my bed as I open it up.

Vanessa: What are you doing today? A wave of calm washes over me as I read her words. Sweet

Nessa, with her idealistic outlook and wide–eyed naivety. She‘s quite possibly the only person who

doesn‘t see me for the monster that I am, and there‘s something liberating about that. Like without the

expectations of the worst, I can just... be.

Though it‘s only a matter of time before I taint that, too; show her the beast

lurking beneath my skin. Then she‘ll run away, as she should, and faster than she did a few nights ago. I

absently run my finger along the curve of my upper lip, conjuring up the memory of hers against mine. I

can still feel her; taste her. With how timid she was leading up to it, I wasn‘t expecting a kiss like that. So

uninhibited and steeped in sin, primal and greedy and unapologetic. A little cautious at first, but then

dripping in confidence, like everything else about Nessa is.

I don‘t make a habit out of kissing women, so it took me by surprise how much I wanted to kiss her in

that moment. How much I liked it. So much that I knew I had to put a stop to it before I took it too far and

scared her off for good. It only left me craving more of her. All of her.

If the thick scent of her arousal was any indication, she wants more of me, too, so with any luck I‘ll soon

be getting laid and score a new transmission for the corvette. Win–win.

As long as I can keep a tight grip on my control until then.

With how rattled I am from the run–in with Fuckface, I know I should probably cool my heels for a little

while. Then again, just thinking of Nessa has already calmed my beast considerably, so I can only

assume that seeing her would have the same effect. I hit reply on her message, typing out a quick

response. Callum: Not shit. Wanna hang?

I fire it off, and before I can even set my phone back down to drag my ass into the shower, it vibrates

again with her reply. Vanessa: I thought you‘d never ask :)