Broken Bonds (The Bonds that Tie Book 1)

by J Bree

  Broken Bonds

  The Bonds that Tie

  J Bree

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by J Bree

  About the Author

  CONTINUE READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM

  Also by J Bree

  Prologue

  Prologue

  The dream is always the same.

  We’re all in the car together, traveling on the highway. I’m arguing with my mother, who’s sitting next to me, and it’s because I’m so angry that she’s making us move again. I’d made friends in Connecticut, real ones, and for the first time in my life I felt… normal. Average. Just one of the girls and not like some freak of nature.

  It was the last time I would feel that way.

  My father is driving, our looks so similar that there’s no mistaking I came from him. He’s listening to the news and frowning, always glancing back at me to check that I’m okay. He always has an eye on me, his beloved daughter.

  Andrew, another of my mother’s Bonded, is in the front passenger seat with his laptop open as he works. He’s a very serious guy, cold and aloof to anyone outside of our family, but he’s very affectionate and loving to me. He calls me his reason. The reason he works hard, the reason he’s always striving for more.

  Vincenzo is the third and final of my mother’s Bonded and he’s sitting in the back with us, holding my hand tightly as his thumb strokes down my thumb in comfort. He’s always been the kind one, the one who was affectionate and loving no matter where we are. Often, when we’re living among the non-Bonded, people assume he’s my biological father because he would spend the most time out with me. He’s a stay-at-home dad, the type of man who is happiest taking care of the house and his Bond.

  I’m angry but it’s also the last time I felt at peace… and safe.

  I’m struggling not to cry; I’ve always been the type to burst into furious tears. My mother is trying to get me to talk to her, quiet words I can’t remember, but the sound of it is soothing to the deepest depths of my soul. That’s the last I remember of them and the last moments of the dream.

  Right before it turns into my nightmare.

  The one I can’t wake up from, the one that tells me that this isn’t a dream at all. It’s the memory of a day I can’t scrub from my mind, no matter how hard I try.

  Something hits the side of the car at a high speed, pushing it over until the car flips and flies down the side of a ravine.

  In my shock, my gift flows out of me.

  I panic and try to pull it back into my body but I hit my head, dazing myself so badly that there’s no stopping it.

  I’m the only survivor.

  And I will never stop hating myself for it.

  Never.

  Chapter One

  Five Years Later

  The interview room is as cold as ice.

  I’m still wearing the same clothes I had on when I was grabbed off of the streets by the Tactical Response Team, stuff that I really should have thrown out months ago, but I never wanted to waste my money on new clothes when these still did a decent job. Life on the run wasn’t easy, or cheap, and I wasn’t expecting to be dragged out of the heat of the South and into the chillier state of Oregon.

  I’m also pretty sure they’re trying to put me on edge.

  What I did… running away from your Bonded, the people fated to be with you, that isn’t something that happens a lot. Or ever, really. Running away from the people that complete your soul, only a fucking crazy person would do that.

  I am that crazy person.

  But I did it for a reason… actually, I did it for a lot of reasons, and all of them completely sane. They’re just not something I can talk about without risking my life, my Bonds, and every other person on the goddamn planet. Seriously.

  I can’t tell them that though.

  Guess I have to keep my mouth shut and face whatever consequences my actions have brought about.

  I try not to rub my arms or make it so obvious that I'm uncomfortable, because that's exactly what they want. My skin crawls with the need to leave, get out, run until I find myself in a big city where no one knows me and could ever attempt to lock me down again. My eyes dart back to the door, but I know for a fact there's a giant guard on the other side, waiting for me to try something.

  They made sure to tell me all about him, and his abilities, when they'd thrown me in here, just to be sure I'd keep my ass in this seat like a good little girl. The thing is, I will keep my ass here because being paralyzed isn't on my to-do list today. Nope, not at all. An icy drop of dread works its way down my spine at the very thought of it.

  I seethe about the attitude of the men again for a second before the door finally opens and a man steps through. He's tall and imposing, a wall of man, really, and hell, I hope he isn't one of my Bonds.

  He'd probably strap me down and torture me just for his own sick pleasure.

  "Ah, Miss Fallows. I don't think we've met yet. My name is Brian Noakes, and I'm here to go over a few key details before your Bonds arrive."

  I swear I feel beads of sweat start to form on my forehead despite the chill in the room. "Sure, it's not like you've given me much choice."

  He takes the seat opposite of me and slides a file across the table. "I don't think you fully grasp the situation you are in, Miss Fallows. It's highly unconventional for a Bond to run away."

  I try to keep my face calm and blank. "I haven't broken any laws, you can't keep me here against my will."

  As his eyes pick me over, the man smiles, but it's not a nice thing, more a baring of teeth, like he’s a predator preparing to go in for the kill. "The Council has voted. While there may not be any laws against leaving your Bonds behind, there has to be special consideration taken in this case. North Draven is on the Council, he's a pillar in our society, and with his social standing, this entire... ‘adventure’ of yours has been quite embarrassing for him."

  My teeth clench, my jaw locking up so there's no way I could answer him even if I wanted to, but let’s be real, there’s not much running through my head except exactly how badly I wish I could choke him out with nothing but my mind.

  That would be an amazing gift to have.

  He nods at me like I've spoken and continues with his condescending drivel. "So you see, we had to make a decision. You can't go running off again, not with your Bonds being who they are, and your deceptions over the years mean that we cannot trust you."

  It takes more will than I thought I had but I force my jaw to relax to spit out, "So you're going to lock me up here then? You're putting bars on the windows and I'm going to be kept as a fucking pet? It doesn't matter who my Bonds are, forcing me to complete the bond is rape and I won't just bend over for them like a good little slave."

  All pretense of civility drops away from him as his garish smile turns into a grimace. He mumbles something about my terrible manners and the door opens again, this time the hulking guard walks in and I shrink back in my chair. I hadn’t realized just how outm
atched I really am now without being able to use my gift.

  Despite it being the worst thing to do right now, I start to panic.

  The thought of being paralyzed in this room with those two men... there’s no stopping the dread from taking hold of me. The sweating gets worse and my hands begin to shake as I grab my knees under the table so they don't see it, but it’s no use. The guard smirks at me, spotting my terror and probably getting off on it. Fucking sicko.

  "Ah, Jennings, thank you for coming. I'm hoping Miss Fallows agrees to this without having to use extreme measures."

  Agrees to freakin’ what?!

  He pulls out a small leather pouch and unzips it. All I see is the scalpel before I freak the hell out. "What the fuck do you think you're going to do to me?"

  Jennings smirks and then I feel the scalding touch of his power wash over me, my muscles lock up, and I'm fucking trapped in my own body.

  I can't even move my eyeballs to glare at him or to see what's coming. I just have to sit there and take it.

  I will never forget this man. Someday, I'm going to make him pay for this. If it didn't jeopardize everything I've been running from all this time, I'd unleash my own power onto him, see how he fucking likes it, but instead I have to just... take it.

  For now.

  "Now, now, Jennings. I thought we'd give her a chance to be good, though I'd rather get this over with without her smart mouth getting in the way. I'm not envious of Draven at all."

  Jennings laughs and they move around me, standing behind me so I have no fucking clue what they're doing.

  "I dunno, breaking her in sounds like a good time. It's always the ones with a smart mouth that break open so pretty."

  Holy fucking shit.

  That's it, I'm going to have to use my power and run, there's no fucking way I'm being raped by this guy today. Nope. Never fucking happening.

  My hair is lifted off of my neck and the panic really starts to squeeze my chest. My gift swells in my stomach, straining at the restraints I've locked it in, wanting to come out and protect me. I can't freaking think. I can barely breathe. If this isn’t over soon, I won’t be able to hold it back. Like a reflex, once it’s been triggered, there’s no stopping your gift from coming out as protection.

  "Can you soften her muscles here a little? I won't be able to get it in if you don't."

  My vision starts to white out, I'm definitely hyperventilating.

  "I can soften her up a bit."

  Then I feel a sharp pain over the back of my neck that snaps me out of the panic. The fucker is slicing me open! He pushes and pulls at my skin, opening the wound and then pushing something inside. What the actual fuck is going on?

  Jennings leans forward so I can feel his breath on my neck. "Just a little something so we know where you are at all times, Oleander. If Mr. Draven needs any help with you, I'll be the first to volunteer."

  A GPS tracker.

  They've put a freaking GPS tracker into my skin. I haven't even met my fucking Bonded yet and already I hate them. I know I ran away but I did it for a reason. Not that I could ever tell them that, not without risking their lives again. They don't even know everything I fucking gave up for them.

  Besides, I'm a human being. A Bond. I have my own mind and I'll make my own decisions. They can't force this shit on me!

  One of them actually stitches my wound back together, I don't see which of them but I'm hoping it's Noakes, and then they both step back around the table where they're in my view again.

  They're both on my list now. The list of people I'll fucking come after some day when using my power isn't too freaking risky. I'm going to hunt them down and make a freaking show of my payback.

  "You can step out now, Jennings. I can deal with the rest of the briefing."

  His power tightens around me like a vise before he finally lets me go, like he wants to remind me of just how much control he has over me right now. I take a deep, shuddering breath.

  At least they didn't actually try to rape me. I'm sure I can get the GPS out if I need to.

  "That device can conduct enough volts of electricity to kill you if you attempt to take it out. I could also knock you out with it if I wanted to; your entire existence is in the palm of my hand now, Fallows. Your Bonds will be arriving shortly, but I wanted you to be muzzled before they get here. Draven is a close, personal friend of mine. There isn't much I would consider off-limits when it comes to keeping his Bond close. You would do well to complete the bond with him sooner rather than later. Just lie down and submit."

  Okay, maybe not.

  Bile creeps up the back of my throat even as the angry tears start.

  He smiles and stands again, gesturing to the file he's left for me. "There's all of your rules and guidelines of what we expect of you now. I suggest you memorize them, live by them. The quicker you get into line, the better this will go for you."

  And then he leaves.

  I'm fucking trapped here.

  I don't bother looking at the file for now, mostly because I don’t want to know a thing about the men I’m stuck with and what they can do. Instead, I run my fingers over the stitched wound on the back of my neck, wincing at the sharp, throbbing pain of it. Fucking bastards.

  I have to get a hold of myself, to find that calm within myself so I don't lose control of my gift. It might sound sick, but I imagine how I would use my abilities to get out of here to get calm again. I plan every little moment of how I would get out and how I would get payback on those men who had just touched me. I walk through those plans, over and over, until I feel calm once again.

  Minutes creep into hours and eventually I know the sun has gone down and I'm still fucking stuck here. I desperately need to pee, but I'm not going to knock on the door and ask for a toilet break. My stomach begins to growl. When had they found me and grabbed me off of the street, two days ago? Maybe three now. I'd been on my way to work, late and having skipped breakfast.

  No one has given me food since. One of the drivers had shoved a bottle of water at me that I'd guzzled down greedily, but that had to be at least a day ago. These guys aren't at all afraid of torture because I feel like a freaking prisoner of war right now.

  The door opens again and this time an older, stern-looking woman walks in. My leg starts to bounce nervously under the table, an old tick I can't let go of.

  "Follow me, I'll take you to freshen up."

  Freshen up? I glance down at the mess my clothes are in. I probably stink too after days in the same clothes. "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

  My head spins when I stand up. Blood loss or hunger, I don't know, but the lady doesn't notice me swaying on my feet at all. She just wrinkles her nose at me and then turns on her heel to lead me out of the room.

  The building we're in looks like an office building, everyone wearing suits and ties. As we walk through the halls together, my skin starts to pull tight as I feel the eyes of the workers here on me. There's a lot of interest and it's pretty obvious they all know who I am.

  Oleander Fallows.

  The runaway Bond.

  The murderer.

  Not that they know I'm a murderer, I'm sure this would all be going very differently if they did. A lump forms in my throat as I think about it. Hell, that's the quickest way to freak out and lose control. I give myself a shake. Stop fucking thinking about it, Oli!

  The bathroom is clean enough and the shower is an actual stall, thank God. The woman shoves a bag at me, one I hadn't noticed her carrying thanks to my freak out, and snaps, "I don't have all night, so you better be quick. I'll drag you out naked if I have to."

  Right.

  Fuck this bitch.

  I give her a dirty look and take the bag, stomping into the stall as if I'm four years old and not the mature nineteen that I am. Well, I think I'm mature. I've survived five years on the run, living on the streets when I've needed to. It hasn't been easy, but it's better than the alternative.

  This is the alternative.

  Being
chipped and forced to live with the men who are biologically fated to be mine... that's the worst fucking hellsphere I can think of. Not that I've met them. I've only seen photos of them, little headshots that were handed over to me the day after my family was killed. I can barely remember what any of them look like, but I remember their names.

  I strip off and scrub down, wincing at the state of myself. I'm covered in bruises. The Tactical Team hadn't been kind in their takedown of me, three fully grown men had slammed me to the ground. I'm not exactly tiny but fuck... One guy grabbing me would have done the job.

  My hair is a mess, so I wash it and then dry it carefully. The clothes they've left for me are ugly, sweatpants that are at least three sizes too big and an old sweatshirt. The smell of cologne on it makes me want to hurl, my bond is so freaking picky about scents.

  I hear the woman start to tap her foot and I roll my eyes. What a bitch.

  I leave the stall with my old clothes bundled up in the bag and the hairbrush in my other hand.

  "There's no time to try to pretty yourself up. I doubt you'd be able to do much anyway," the woman snaps.

  I'm a stubborn girl, the quickest way to get me digging my heels in is to throw those sorts of insults at me.

  So I stand there in front of the mirror and I brush out my hair, slowly and meticulously, until it's knot-free and then I braid it. I do the most complicated braid I can manage with only one hair tie to secure it. I have to focus to make sure my hands don’t shake at the sight of the silvery strands, I don’t think I’ll ever really get used to this color.