Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2)

by Victoria Renteria

  Involuntarily, I shake my head. “Are you sure that you want me to speak with him, sir?”

  The Colonel nods. “Hmm. Yes, he’ll jump at any opportunity to speak with one of his Delta operatives. Again, the advantage of knowing him as well as I do.” The corner of his mouth quirks up into a devious grin.

  “So, you basically want me to play dumb and feel him out?” I ask.

  “At first,” he replies.

  “Then?” I ask.

  His cerulean eyes grow dark and turbulent. “Then I want you to find out anything you can. See if you can locate the lecherous serpent that’s betrayed our country and harmed my daughter.”

  Emotion clogs my throat, tightening it painfully. The depth of feeling and sentiment that Kyle Parker shows for his country and his daughter gives me a newfound level of respect and admiration for the man.

  Clearing my throat several times, I reply, “Yes, sir.”

  He holds my gaze for several long moments before giving me a stiff nod. Pivoting, he turns, disappearing into the crowd. Exhaling an unsteady breath, I quickly scour the room, my eyes locking onto the General. Plastering on a smile, I make my way through the crowd, greeting people and shaking hands along the way. My smile grows exponentially as I spot Colonel Black chatting with the General. Well, that definitely makes my introduction just a little easier.

  Strolling up to the Colonel, I slap him on the back, an enormous grin slathered from ear to ear.

  “Alexander,” Colonel Black greets.

  “Colonel, how are you, sir?” I nod, my smile still firmly fixed in place. Angling my body so that I don’t exclude the General, I keep my gaze securely locked with the Colonel’s.

  “Good, good. Have you met the General?” he asks, tilting his head in the General’s direction.

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, sir.”

  “Well, let me introduce you, then,” the Colonel beams.

  Inside, I’m dying . . . I’ve never been one for the dog and pony show. I love my job, but I hate the politics. Something tugs at my subconscious, a little tidbit of information. Unable to put my finger on it, I focus on what’s in front of me. Colonel Black certainly seems to be all about the show.

  “General Nolan, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Alexander Grant.” Colonel Black extends his arm in the General’s direction, inviting him into our conversation.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Grant,” the General says, extending his hand for me to shake.

  “The pleasure is all mine, General,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “What brings you to Korea, Grant?” the General asks.

  “Other than the scenery, sir?” The General laughs deeply.

  “I like him, Black.” He smiles broadly.

  “Don’t let Grant fool you, General. He’s very valuable,” the Colonel replies, a dastardly gleam in his eye.

  Hefting his eyebrow, he tries to hide his interest as he proclaims, “Is that so?”

  “Mmm, yes. Our boy here is part of Delta,” the Colonel whispers, offering me a wink.

  Gulping loudly, he takes a rather large sip, finishing off his drink. My stomach churns, contorting with disgust. I know my job was to out myself to the General, schmooze him and all that jazz, but . . . damn. I kind of feel like he just ratted me out, and this isn’t the kind of job where you just go around handing out a job description. Lowering his glass, the Colonel desperately looks around in search of a waitress.

  Frowning, he shakes his glass and says, “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if I can hunt down a refill.” Without waiting for a reply, he turns, marching off in search of more liquid gold.

  “Well, that was awkward,” I joke, placing two fingers behind the bow tie to try and get some air into my windpipe.

  Deep, belly rumbling laughter emanates from the General. He begins laughing so hard, he no longer produces any sound. Tears leak from the corners of his eyes as he begins to drag in slow, deep breaths through his nose. Displaying a wide grin, his eyes twinkle with mirth, his voice cracking slightly as he says, “You know, I really do like you, Grant.”

  Smirking, I reply, “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’d heard rumors of Delta working an operative here.” The sly smile he dons practically gives him away. As if the General wouldn’t know that Delta had taken up residence on his base.

  Chuckling, I respond, “Sir, with all due respect . . . I’m sure there is nothing that happens on this base that you don’t know about.”

  Defying all odds, his smile grows impossibly wider. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it.”

  “It would,” I respond.

  “So, Grant, what brings you here? Something tells me it isn’t for the festivities.” He gestures toward the room.

  “Sir, a man of your caliber . . . I’m sure you already know this is a conversation that is best had behind closed doors.”

  His lips pull into a taught line. Inclining his head toward the bar, he demands more than suggests, “Walk with me. Let’s get a drink. Maybe we’ll chat along the way.”

  Unable to refuse, I gesture for him to lead the way and fall in step beside him. Several heartbeats pass before he says, “The funny thing about rumors is they usually hold a grain of truth.” The General sneaks a peek at me out of his peripheral vision.

  Swallowing once, I give a stiff nod. “Any good rumors currently circulating, sir?” My tone is surprisingly calm, despite the anxiety coursing through my veins.

  “Mmm. Quite a few, actually.” His face pinches, scrunching as if he’d sucked on a lemon. Patiently, I wait silently as we continue our leisurely stroll toward the bar. The ruse of keeping a smile firmly fixed in place is more daunting than I’d originally concluded. General Nolan’s voice drops low, and I have to strain my ears to pick up his next words.

  “Tell me, Grant, what do you know about excavating tree roots?”

  “U-Um. Not much, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, sir,” I stammer, confused by his rambling. Waving off my answer, he grabs us drinks at the bar then steers us to a cocktail table in a secluded corner. General Nolan meets my eyes, determination flickering boldly as he states, “Suffocate the roots. Cut off the air and water intake by pouring concrete all the way to the tree trunk. It’s slow and takes several weeks for it to die, but when you rip the stump out, the roots come up with it.” He pauses, drawing in a breath.

  “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Grant?” the General asks.

  Understand? Loud and Clear. Sharp-witted is what Kylee’s dad called him. No, he’s more like—what’s the word Brighton would use—bloody brilliant. Yeah, that’s it. He’s fucking bloody brilliant.

  He knows about the damn leak, pretty much hinted that he is trying to draw the fucker out. Well, at least I know we have the General in our corner. My mouth practically salivates as adrenaline floods my muscles. Excitement stimulates me, pulsing like a live wire. I’m ready to get the General into the first available room and drag any information he has out of him.

  Bobbing my head like a kid who’s just gotten his first Playboy, I instantly respond, “Loud and clear, sir. Loud and clear.”

  The General’s face is grim as he leans in, readying to speak. An older woman’s voice breaks into our conversation, causing us to separate immediately.

  “Elliot, dear, what on earth are you doing over here looking so dour?” She leans in, giving him a peck on the cheek. He smiles with affection before placing an arm around her waist, drawing her into his side.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he replies, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  Putting me back in his line of sight, he says, “How impolite of me. Alexander Grant, this is my wife, Beverly Nolan.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Grant,” she says, extending a hand in my direction.

  Bowing, I gently place a kiss on her knuckles before replying, “Please, call me Alex.”

  Pink suffuses her cheeks as she takes her hand back, beaming at her husband. “Well
, he’s quite the gentleman, now, isn’t he? Where ever did you find him?”

  Chuckling, his tone full of amusement, he retorts, “Oh, you, know, I custom ordered him at the Post Exchange.”

  Peals of laughter echo all around us as Mrs. Nolan nudges her husband in the side. A pang of sadness lances through my chest as I watch them. I miss my Goddess. The Nolans have that natural connection that Kylee and I share, and it’s evident how much I miss it in their presence. An overwhelming urge to scream at the top of my lungs and rip this place to shreds storms through me. Tearing my eyes away from them, I stare off into the distance.

  Mrs. Nolan’s uncontrollable excitement brings me back to their conversation. “Oh my goodness! I almost forgot! Look who I found!” she excitedly exclaims, pointing to someone just beyond my shoulder. Before I’m able to turn around and greet the person joining our little trio, slender arms wrap around my bicep. My body grows rigid, each muscle locking down as heaviness grows in my stomach. Sadly, I don’t even have to look down to know that touch.

  Frowning, I glare down at Sabrina desperately clinging to my arm. Son. Of. A. Bitch. What in the hell is she doing here? How in the hell did she even get an invite? With a sickly sweet smile, she croons, “Hello, Alexander.”

  Baring my teeth, I extract her fingers from my arm, giving her a sharp retort. “Sabrina.”

  The Nolans stare blankly at each other, bafflement clear from their expressions. Mrs. Nolan works up the nerve to ask the question that’s clearly on the tip of her tongue. “You two know each other, I take it?”

  Sabrina doesn’t hesitate, just jumps right in, playfully slapping me on the arm along the way. “Oh, Alexander and I go way back. I mean, considering he is my husband and all.”

  Mrs. Nolan grins, her mouth parting to show her white teeth. Growling, my voice is deep and guttural as I say, “Ex-husband. We’re divorced. It was finalized last week.”

  Waving a dismissive hand in the air, Sabrina claims with casual indifference, “Semantics, Alexander. It is so good to see you again, Bevy.”

  I’m seething, rage pouring through every inch of my body. Semantics? Fucking psychotic bitch. My ears bristle as pieces of the conversation drift to me, hauling me back into the present.

  “Oh, Elliot, isn’t she glowing! Don’t you remember when we had our first child? Alex you must be so—”

  The hair on my arms stands on end. Immediately, I interject, cutting her off on the spot. There is no way I’m going to let her assume I had a hand in creating that child.

  “I’m not the father,” I say flatly.

  Mrs. Nolan swiftly averts her eyes, obviously uncomfortable with the tense ambiance my remark has caused in our conversation. The edges of Sabrina’s eyes tighten faintly. Regaining her composure, she poses with her fake smile, engaging Beverly in polite conversation.

  “Bev, that dress is just simply divine,” she fawns.

  “Oh, this old thing? You’re too kind.” Beverly blushes. Crossing my arms, I glare down at Sabrina, her continued presence rankling my nerves. Poking my tongue lightly into my cheek, I inhale through my nose. Unable to hold my tongue any longer, I openly challenge Sabrina.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  She cranes her neck, giving me an incredulous look. Her eyes widen just a fraction before she cocks a single brow as if to say “What do you think, stupid?” Her look only further fuels my irritation. Giving a small shake of her head, a lecherous smile spreads across her painted lips, her eyes brazenly perusing my body. Stifling a shudder, I wait—impatiently—for her to answer.

  “Why, Alexander, didn’t you know? I came with Colonel Black.” Mrs. Nolan let’s out a shocked breath.

  Sabrina’s satisfied gleam ignites my frustration, boosting my irritation to an irrational level. The clearing of a throat and rustle of equipment catches my attention. Snapping my head up, I notice a photographer has joined our group. Great, this is just what we fucking need. Actually, this is the perfect excuse for me to beg my pardon and leave. My mouth parts to do just that when the photographer speaks.

  “General, sir, if I could get a few photos of you for the paper?” he requests.

  The General frowns. Obviously, I wasn’t the only one set off by Sabrina’s antics. Mrs. Nolan speaks up for her husband, accepting the offer with a polite smile and a squeeze of his arm. Catching her gaze, he softens, smiling down at her. Nodding, he lifts his head, meeting my gaze. Silently, we have a conversation, which he comprehends. He understands my need to leave.

  Then the stupid photographer opens his mouth again, ruining my escape plan.

  “If I could get a shot with all of you together, that would be great.”

  FUCK! I swear, it’s like fate just wants to throw me down on the ground and kick me in the balls. Moving into position, I take the spot next to the General, assuming Sabrina is going to stand next to his wife. No. Such. Luck.

  Sabrina slides up next to me, molding her body to my side. A mixture of disgust and repulsion hits me at the same time. Automatically, my body recoils. Sabrina’s arm wraps around my waist, clinging tighter to me. She whispers so that only I can hear, “It’s only a picture, Alexander, relax.” That’s easier said than done. I can’t stand to be in the same room as the woman, much less have her rubbing herself all over me. My gut churns violently.

  The photographer snaps several pictures, taking a few of the General and his wife before turning to Sabrina and me, asking, “Would it be possible to get a few of the two of you?”

  A denial is already on my lips and out of my mouth, but fuck me . . . fate is one mean fucking wench. Shit for brains next to me has already offered us up. That nagging feeling from earlier is back. Fisting my hands at my side, I stand as still as a statue. If they plan on taking pictures of me, they’ll have to fucking shoot them around me.

  I won’t participate. Sabrina sidles up to me, slithering about, slinking her body over mine. My skin crawls, like millions of fire ants are eating me alive. The photographer directs us to smile; I force one that comes out as more of a grimace than anything. Then he says something that has the hackles on the back of my neck rising like the ocean tide. He asks us to pose.

  This douchebag wants me to wrap my arms around Sabrina. Is he fucking serious? If looks could kill, he’d be dead right now. Sabrina lifts my arm. My fist is still clenched tightly, yet she slides it around her waist. My body is as tense as nails. The music in the background changes. Elvis croons “Suspicious Minds” in his melodious tenor.

  The photographer counts down to take the picture. I’m lost in thought, Elvis’s song triggering a riot of emotions. When the photographer gets to three, I’m dazed, unable to move as my heart races frantically in my chest. Several flashes go off, dispelling the disorientation as fear sets in and Elvis’s words ironically drift into my mind again. I can feel them to my very core. I’m caught in a trap, and I definitely can’t walk out. The only difference is I hold absolutely no love for the woman who just wrapped herself around me and proceeded to make love to my lips in front of a camera.

  PERSEVERANCE. IT’S FUNNY HOW YOU go through most of your life thinking you’re capable of something like perseverance . . . perseverance and patience. The ability to remain steadfast and have the patience to deal with any situation that is thrown at you. As time continues to pass and the days blur together, I’m once again left to wonder if I truly am capable of persevering. Pesky questions fly through my mind. Do I have the patience to continue? Why do I care again?

  A memory tugs at the corners of my mind. Violet eyes loom there in the darkness as bright as the midday sun. Violet eyes, yes, that’s why I care. I desperately grasp onto the memory, trying hard not to let go. The patience I once wielded like a superpower around ten-year-olds fades radically with each new day that passes under my mother’s control. Days blend, blurring together as one. My stomach lurches again as I stare blankly at the wall.

  Secluded, concealed in this room for . . . I’m not sure how long I’v
e been here. Days? Weeks? Months? The sound of my heartbeat thrashes in my ears. Pain tightens, squeezing the air from my chest.

  Quickly looking around the room, I search for the girls. They always help to calm the panic. The room is empty. I’m alone, huddled next to the foul-smelling bucket. The girls left . . . When did the girls leave again? My brain seems to be malfunctioning. I can’t seem to fully grasp a rational thought. Pressing my fists to the side of my head, I begin rocking from side to side.

  Still warring with my body for every breath, I squeeze my eyes shut, giving my hair a little tug. Desperation clings to me like sickly slime. Hyperventilation is in full force, exploding through my insides, clutching my lungs. I’m barely able to drag in a breath as black spots dance like ballerinas on display across my occipital lobe. My forehead falls to my knees with an audible clunk. Pain registers somewhere in the back of my brain.

  Inhale in through my nose, exhale out through my mouth. Wash, rinse, repeat. Over and over again until the iron-clad grip on my lungs starts to lessen. With my panic beginning to fade, I open my eyes as the handle on the door jingles. Copious amounts of sweat drip, stinging my eyes. Covering my face, I try blocking out whatever horror lies beyond the door.

  The irrefutable odor pummels my senses long before his deep-seated grip hits the tops of my shoulders. Balling my hands into fists, I pound against his chest, feeling the need to fight for my life, even if it takes the very last breath I have in my body.

  “Enough!” Jeong yells.

  Rearing back, he slaps me across the face. The resounding crack bounces off the walls. Ear-splitting pain radiates through my cheek, setting my face aflame. Dazed and confused, my teeth rattle around in my skull as my fists fall to my sides, my body going limp.

  “Behave yourself, Agassi. Do not make me bind you. You know how much pleasure I take from it,” he whispers in my ear.

  Trembling, I sit, hugging my knees to my chest, sinking further and further into my mind.