Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

3

CALLUM

When the party finally starts winding down, Nessa and her friend take off, and I’m oddly disappointed

when she goes. Not that I expected her to linger in hopes of an invitation to stay. A lot of girls pull that

move at the end of the night, but that doesn’t seem to be Nessa’s M.O., if she even has one. I still can’t

figure that girl out.

Everyone has damage, but she must be really good at hiding hers, because I’m stumped. She just

seems so… pure. And I have no idea why the fuck she chose to spend her evening with me, of all

people, because I’m decidedly not. So, I can only conclude that she’s either a danger junkie or honestly

can’t see the monster beneath my skin that’s so apparent to everyone else. Either way, she held my

interest all night, and a girl hasn’t done that since… ever.

When she leaves, it’s like she takes all the energy in the room with her. I’m about to call it a night, but

then Miles sparks up a joint and I’m compelled to linger a little longer. It’ll help me sleep. I hardly ever

sleep worth a fuck.

He passes it to me after lighting it and I take the joint between my fingers, bringing it to my lips and

inhaling. The paper crackles and burns as I suck the smoke deep into my lungs, holding it in for a beat

before blowing it out.

“So, Vanessa Diaz,” Miles murmurs as I pass the joint back to him. I tilt my head in question, searching

his eyes, and he throws his head back on a laugh. “The fucking girl that was sitting here all night, man.

Did you honestly not even get her name?” Miles shakes his head as he brings the joint to his mouth,

taking a puff.

“Not her full name,” I grumble as I rake a hand through my hair, melting back into the couch cushion. I

flick a glance in Miles’ direction. “What about her?”

He shrugs a shoulder and blows out the smoke, passing the joint back to me. “She’s a fuckin’ ten, bro.

The question is, which one of us is gonna hit that first?”

I roll my eyes, tucking the joint between my lips to take another hit.

Miles chuckles softly. “What, you not interested?”

“Never said that,” I reply, my voice strained as I hold the marijuana smoke in my lungs. I turn toward

Miles and blow it right in his face, the corner of my mouth twitching up in a smirk. “It’s funny that you

think you’ve got a shot, though, considering you have no game.”

“What the fuck ever,” he barks, snatching the J from my fingers as a laugh rumbles in my chest. “I could

get that girl if I wanted to. I wasn’t even trying.”

“Suuuuure,” I mock, rolling my eyes and sinking further back into the soft leather couch.

“What, you think you could?” Miles challenges. “To land a girl like that, you’d actually have to be nice.”

I shrug. “I can be nice.”

Miles levels me with a stare, and I can’t help but crack a smile. He’s right. I’ve never been accused of

being a ‘nice guy’.

“Whaddya say we make a little wager,” he suggests as he brings the joint back to his lips to take a

drag.

I arch a brow and turn my gaze on him, waiting for him to go on as the cherry glows bright with his

inhale. He takes his sweet ass time, puffing on the joint and exhaling the smoke slowly.

“First one to nail her, wins,” Miles finally finishes.

I roll my eyes again. “Fuck off.”

He barks a laugh, elbowing me in the ribs. “What, I’m serious! If you think your game is so much better

than mine, then let’s put it to the test.”

I narrow my eyes on Miles, trying to discern his angle here. “What are the stakes?” I ask slowly, swiping

a hand over my chin. I mean, I’ve already considered sleeping with her, so why not get something else

out of it?

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His eyes light up. The guy thinks he has me on the hook, but I haven’t agreed to anything just yet.

Miles is always playing these childish fucking games with the other guys. I usually don’t bite, so the fact

that I’m even indulging him right now has him extra eager.

“You still rebuilding that old Corvette? Needs a new transmission, right?”

“That’s like four grand,” I grumble.

Miles waves a hand like it’s nothing to him. “You know I’m good for it. Plus, you’d actually have to win.”

I snatch the joint back from my friend, pinching it between my lips and sucking in the smoke as I mull

over his challenge. I’m not a gambler, but I’ve been saving up for that transmission for the better part of

a year. It’s the last thing I need to get the Corvette running again. “And what is it that you’d want from

me?” I ask on an exhale, coughing out the words. “You know I don’t have that kind of money.”

He grins.

“No. No fucking way.” I shake my head adamantly, disturbing the tendrils of smoke lingering in the air

around me. “I already told you, I’m not giving up my spot.”

“Thought you were sure I wouldn’t win?” Miles teases, stealing the joint back. He looks smug as fuck

right now, probably because he already knows I’m about to agree to play his stupid game. Dangling the

last part I need to restore the Corvette in front of me was the right play; tempting me with the ticket to

my freedom.

I scowl, scrubbing a hand over my face, knowing I’ll regret this. “You won’t.”

~

My body’s wired all wrong for sleep. When it’s dark, I don’t sleep worth a damn, but as soon as the sun

comes up, I can usually manage to grab a few hours. It’s less than ideal, but that’s how I’ve always

been.

It’s also why I tend to stay up late. Less tossing and turning when I finally lay down to rest.

My friends aren’t cursed with the same bizarre sleep cycle, so when I wake up around ten, I figure most

of them are already gone. We all typically crash here at the packhouse after a party since we’re usually

pretty wasted by the end of the night and there are plenty of guest rooms to go around. It’s definitely

convenient for post-party hookups; common for my friends, though a rarity for me. It’s not the hooking

up that I have a problem with, it’s the fact that most girls expect to sleep over after, and I can’t stomach

the thought of lying beside someone else all night. Too intimate.

Reaching onto the nightstand for my cell phone, I’m not even surprised when I pick it up to see that I

have two missed calls from ‘Fuckface’- a.k.a. Troy White- a.k.a. my stepdad. After my run-in with

golden boy Spence last night, I knew it was only a matter of time. I groan in annoyance and push

delete on the notifications, then climb out of bed clad only in my black boxer briefs, slipping my jeans

on over them and not even bothering to button them up. They ride low on my hips as I pad barefoot

down the corridor toward the living room, spotting a rough looking Chase sprawled out on the sectional

as soon as it comes into view. He’s got a liquor bottle in one hand and a joint smoldering in the other,

and he lifts his head when he hears me coming, his dark eyes meeting mine.

“Hair of the dog?” he asks, tipping the whiskey bottle back and forth tauntingly as I emerge from the

hallway.

I grimace, shaking my head.

Chase shrugs. “More for me.” He lifts the bottle to his lips as I make my way over to him, kicking a

plastic cup out of my path and sending it skittering across the floor.

It’s quiet in here. Too quiet. I flick on the power for the stereo as I pass it, hitting the Bluetooth button so

I can connect my phone. I pause to slip it out of my back pocket, queuing up a playlist and turning the

volume down to a low level before hitting play. The familiar guitar rift at the start of ‘Killing In The Name’

by Rage Against the Machine bleeds out from the speakers, stealing the silence from the room, and I

immediately relax.

“Jesus, it looks like a bomb went off in here,” I murmur as I continue toward the leather sectional,

raking a hand through my hair and surveying the damage from last night along the way. Every surface

in here is littered with liquor bottles and plastic cups, joints and cigarettes stubbed out on the glass

surfaces of the end tables. There’s a black lacy bra hanging from one of the lamps and a huge red

stain on the rug by the back patio, likely from the Jungle Juice that was going around last night.

People are fucking pigs.

“The cleaners should be here soon,” Chase mumbles, unphased by the mess around him as he

lounges on the sofa.

I flop down beside him into my usual spot, kicking my bare feet up onto the coffee table. “Everybody

else already leave?”

“Yup,” Chase replies, popping the P. He brings the whiskey bottle to his lips again, taking another pull.

“You can’t drink it away, you know,” I grumble, flicking him a sideways glance.

The joint is still burning in his fingers, a tendril of smoke curling up in front of his face. “Don’t know what

you’re talking about.”

“Your dad.”

“My dad was a fucking liar,” he spits, every word laced with venom. There’s something else behind

those words, though. Pain.

“Your dad…” I sigh, leaning over to snatch the joint from his fingers. He gives it up easily, and I flick the

ash off the end into an abandoned cup on the coffee table before relaxing back against the couch

again. “Your dad always meant well. You know it.”

He narrows his eyes on me accusingly, like I’m taking a side that isn’t his.

I bring the joint to my lips, slowly inhaling the smoke. “He kept secrets because he thought he was

helping people,” I say, voice strained as I hold the smoke in my lungs. “He helped me out, ya know.

Kept mine. I’m sure that’s what he was doing for you, too.” I blow the smoke out with a whoosh, a grey

cloud sailing toward the ceiling.

“Yeah?” Chase challenges bitterly. “And what good did it fucking do me?”

I shake my head, taking another hit. “Come on, man. You always used to go on and on about your

mom coming back when we were kids. Would you have rather known what she really became? That

she stayed away on purpose?”

I blow the smoke right in his face and he snatches the joint back from me with a scowl, holding it in

front of him and watching the paper burn with morbid fascination.

“No.”

Well, that’s a start.

I heave a sigh, my head flopping back onto the couch and my eyes drifting to the ceiling. “You’ve gotta

channel all that rage into something else, bro. Getting wasted ain’t it.”

“Speaking of channeling rage…” Chase grumbles, leaning forward to stub the joint out on the coffee

table. He turns to look at me, raising a brow. “Why does Miles seem to think he’s taking your spot on

the mission next month?”

I roll my eyes, lifting my head to gaze back at him. “Miles is an idiot.”

Following the war with the shadow pack, the six-pack alliance’s army, aptly named the ‘security squad’,

started sending teams off on missions to track down and eliminate splinter groups that formed from

remaining shadow pack loyalists. Miles and I both applied to be included in the next mission, but he

narrowly missed making the cut and he’s been salty as fuck ever since. He’s officially next in line for the

mission if someone drops out, hence his ask in the bet we made.

I don’t even know why he wants to go so badly. Going on a hunt and spilling blood is the kind of shit I

live for, but pampered, rich-boy Miles doesn’t have the stomach for the kind of brutality needed to carry

out this mission. Honestly, I think he’s just so competitive that he can’t take the shot to his ego in me

being selected over him, and that’s why he wants my spot so badly, just so he can have one up on me.

“Well, you might wanna take that up with him, since he was bragging all about it this morning before he

left,” Chase murmurs, resting his elbows on his knees. “Any idea why?”

I blow out a breath, stabbing my fingers through my hair. “He wants me to make a stupid bet with him.

Give up my spot to him if he wins.”

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Chase chuckles lowly, shaking his head. He knows as well as any of us about the games that Miles

likes to play. “You gonna take the bet?”

“We’ll see.”

What I don’t tell him is that I already have, and in the light of day, I’m already regretting it.

Chase’s brows fly up, his curiosity piqued. Like I said, I’m not a gambler, so I haven’t taken Miles up on

a bet in quite some time. “What’s the wager?” he asks.

I give a little shake of my head, pulling my feet off the coffee table and sitting up. “Don’t worry about it.”

And just in case he decides to pry, I quickly change the subject. “Surprised Levi didn’t stick around.”

Chase frowns, annoyance coloring his features. “He’s been getting on my nerves lately.”

“Oh yeah? Anything to do with that little waitress from the lodge?” My lips curl into a grin as I study

Chase’s reaction. His shoulders tense, his jaw twitching and brow furrowing.

“No.”

Bullshit.

After seeing them together at the party last night, there’s one thing I know for certain- Chase and

Vienna clearly want one another. They’re both just too stubborn to admit it. They couldn’t keep their

eyes off each other all night, and even though Vienna spent most of it cozying up to Levi, her body

language screamed her disinterest in the poor guy. She was leaning away from Levi, legs crossed, feet

pointing toward Chase. The whole play with Levi was to make Chasey boy jealous, and from the way

his nostrils flared and his fists clenched every time he looked over at Vienna and Levi, her little game

worked like a charm.

Chase won’t admit it, though, and now it’s his turn to abruptly change the subject. “You know, you could

just let Miles have that spot on the mission,” he suggests. “You could stick around here, become an

official enforcer for the pack. I know that’s what my dad was grooming you for.”

“Aww, you gonna miss me, Alpha?” I tease, pressing a hand over my heart like his declaration moves

me. “I’m touched, really.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, leaning over to shove me playfully. “You know I want you here.”

“Well shit, if you stepped up to take your place as my Alpha, you could order me to stay.”

He goes to shove me again, but I hop up from the couch, dodging his onslaught. In all fairness, I

probably deserve it, though. I’m sure what I just said struck a nerve. Chase has been shirking his

responsibilities and avoiding formally taking his place as our pack’s Alpha since his father died, and

while I know it’s all part of his grieving process, he’s gotta get his head out of his ass one of these days.

Our other friends walk on eggshells around him when it comes to that shit, but I’m not afraid to tell the

guy how it is. Probably why he keeps me around- because he knows he needs someone to call him

out.

“I’d better get going,” I mumble, kicking at a red plastic cup on the floor. “We doin’ it again tonight?”

Chase shrugs a shoulder, leaning back and bringing his hands up to rest behind his head, lacing his

fingers together. “Thought maybe we could take the party to the pit instead.”

I grin. The ‘pit’ is our bonfire pit at the edge of the territory, and fuck, I love fire. There’s just something

about its destructive quality that calls to me. From the look in Chase’s eyes, I know he feels the same

way.

I give him a nod, turning to head back to the guest room to gather the rest of my clothes. After I take a

couple steps, though, I pause, swiveling back around as an idea strikes me. “Cool if I invite a friend?”

“Since when do you have friends other than us?” he snorts.

I shrug a shoulder. “Hey, I’m a likable guy.”

“Sure,” he replies dubiously before waving me off. “Invite whoever, I don’t give a shit.”

I nod again, turning away to continue toward the hallway that houses the guest rooms, sliding my

phone out of my pocket and firing off a text to Nessa on the way. I had the bright idea to steal her

number last night while I had her phone, sending myself a text from it, and now in light of the bet I

made with Miles, it was a fucking good call.

Callum: Hey there, emo girl. Wanna get hot tonight?