The Bonds We Break by Becca Steele
ONE
The smell of petrol clung to my skin as I struggled against the ropes restraining me. I was angry, yes, but I was also afraid. More afraid than I’d ever been in my life.
Never show your hand.
My dad’s words came back to me then, as the car took a sharp turn and I fell, my head smacking into the passenger-side door. The man in the driver’s seat, the one with the scarred cheek, sour breath, and harsh eyes looked over at me and laughed, then said something in Russian that I didn’t understand. I concentrated on breathing, in and out, slowly and steadily, even though my heart was pounding out of my chest.
Vivid images played through my mind. How had I let myself fall into this situation to begin with? I’d been in my flat, watching TV on my bed, when I’d received a text from Caiden Cavendish saying he needed to speak with me in person, asking me to come outside to give him a minute of my time. It was stupid of me to hope for anything—it was clear that he was in love with Winter Huntington, and nothing and no one was going to come between them. But still, I went. Sheltering from the rain in the porch of the front door of the apartment building in my pyjama shorts set with a thin cardigan on top, I watched as a car pulled up, blinding me with its headlights.
I hadn’t even had a chance to get away.
The man glanced over at me again, and then after flicking his gaze back to the road, he appeared to take a closer look, his oily gaze sliding over me, thick and slimy, sending pinpricks of disgust through my body. I’d had plenty of men look at me that way before, and I’d welcomed the attention, craved it even, but here, now, this was wrong.
So wrong.
His hand settled on my bare thigh. I jolted, and his fingers squeezed tighter. I sucked in a sharp breath as my gaze dragged down to his pale, thick fingers, heavy with rings, the tip of one finger missing.
I shuddered in revulsion as his blunt nails dug into my skin, flinging my head round almost on instinct and spitting in his face.
The car jerked, wheels spinning on the rain-slicked road. “Suka!” His incensed growl of rage gave me temporary satisfaction before his hand swung out, snapping my head back around with the force of the blow. Collapsing back into the car door again, I closed my eyes, holding myself still, breathing through the throbbing pain down the side of my face. At least his hand was gone now.
Without any warning, the car pulled to a sudden stop. The next thing I knew, my door was yanked open, and I would’ve fallen out of the side if there hadn’t been a body already there, dragging me out. Kicking out, I screamed and shouted against my captor as the sound of another car stopping behind us filled me with wild hope.
A hope that was extinguished the next second as a rough hand clamped over my mouth. Desperately blinking my eyes against the driving rain, I watched as two figures spoke in harsh, guttural tones before the man who had taken me got right up in my face and spat. “Suka,” he snarled, and I lashed out again, landing a kick to his shin that probably hurt my bare toes more than him.
The man now holding me laughed, removing his hand from my mouth, and I sucked in a deep breath before screaming at the top of my lungs. My scream was abruptly cut off when a heavy, rough fabric came down over my mouth, gagging me and preventing me from speaking. It was only then that I realised that my whole body was shivering, my clothing soaked through from the downpour.
More words were exchanged as I slumped back against the man holding me, my body suddenly weak and helpless. Then there were words spoken in my ear, this time in heavily accented English.
“Pretty little whore.” His hand gripped my breast roughly, and a scream tore from my throat, silenced by the gag. “I understand why he is wanting you. We will play with you later. If you stay alive.”
Without another word, he scooped me up, and then I was being carried across to another car. There was a click, and I was dropped onto a hard surface, covered in a scratchy carpet material.
“Head down,” the voice above instructed me.
The lid of the car boot was slammed shut, and I was surrounded by the stale scent of something distinctly metallic, combining with the petrol smell coming from the ropes that dug into my skin.
Trapped in the darkness, bound and gagged, useless tears fell, hot on my freezing skin.
* * *
“Be a good girl and scream for your boyfriend.” The man holding me tore the gag from my mouth. Gasping, I sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. The rain combined with…sea air. We must be somewhere on the coast. I was disoriented, my head throbbing from the knocks I’d taken, but I wasn’t about to go down without a fight. My arms were still bound, but I kicked out, throwing my head back at the same time. I connected with something hard, but there was no satisfying crack. All it served to do was for the man to grip me around the throat, snarling rage-filled words that I couldn’t understand.
Everything became a blur as I struggled, white spots dancing in my vision as my lungs desperately worked to get air through the constricting hold on my throat. All I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears, and I wasn’t even aware of what was going on around me, my entire focus on escaping the man that held me down.
Then, suddenly, his weight was gone, and I was free. I crumpled to the ground, but reacting purely on instinct, I twisted my body to face the man. He was grappling with two men… I wiped my eyes. Was that Weston Cavendish? And Cassius Drummond? What were they doing here?
A glint of silver caught my eye, and I grabbed the screwdriver-type object from the ground. No one noticed me thrusting it up while Cassius held the man in a headlock and Weston punched him in the jaw. It pierced through denim and into flesh so easily, I dropped it in horror. A howl of rage came from the man, and he tore away from Cassius and Weston.
* * *
I shot upright with a gasp, my eyes flying open. My heart pounding, I blinked furiously until the room came into focus, before slumping back against the headboard.
I was in my bedroom. In my flat.
My eyes slowly scanned the room, taking in the features. It helped a little. Helped me to focus, to remember that while my flashback nightmares had really happened, it was over. Completely over. I started at the small Himalayan salt lamp next to my bed that I kept switched on because waking up from a nightmare only to find myself in the dark was something I didn’t want to consider yet. Next, I scanned over my windows, covered with soft white curtains that dusted the floor. Then, across to the door that led to my walk-in wardrobe, over my dresser, past the door that led to my bathroom, and down to the soft, luxurious silvery carpet that covered the floor. Smoothing my hands over my white bedcovers, I breathed in and out deeply, until my heart rate slowed.
I allowed myself to remember what had happened after the point I’d been pulled from my nightmare, to remind myself that it was really all over.
Collapsing back onto the damp ground and closing my eyes, I let out a breath. Then another. Then another. A hand was placed on my back, and I flinched but settled when it remained there, a warm, steady pressure I could focus on.
“Jessa?”
His voice, normally so full of laughter and charm, was cracked and unsure. I tried to speak, but all I could manage was a whimpering sound.
“Jessa,” he said again, and this time, his arms carefully came around me. Scooping me up, he lifted me to my feet. I clung to him tightly, knowing that my legs would give way if I didn’t have him to hold me up. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” he mumbled. He tried to move back, and I staggered. A huff escaped him, and then his arms tightened around me.
“Can you hold on for five seconds?” Carefully placing me down to lean against a metal surface, he directed my palms either side of me so I could brace myself against the side of the car. There was a rustling sound, and then I was surrounded by warmth as Cassius eased his hoodie over my head, draping it over my body.
“I’m taking her home,” I heard Cassius say to someone, and then he was carrying me, not stopping until we reached his matte black SUV. He let go of me to open the door, and a panicked cry fell from my lips, completely involuntary.
“Jessa. I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re safe now. Safe with me.”
His words were reassuring, and I managed a tiny nod before he helped me into the car and buckled up my seat belt.
I kept my hand resting lightly on the edge of his leg the whole journey back to my flat, needing to know he was still there. He seemed to understand, because he didn’t comment. If I’d been in my right mind, none of this would have happened, yet now that I was away from danger, the fear that I’d been suppressing was drowning me in heavy, rolling waves, and only the feel of the warmth of his body under my hand was keeping the panic at bay.
When we reached my apartment building, he helped me inside, directing me to my sofa. After sitting me down, he pulled his phone from his pocket. It had been buzzing almost constantly while he’d been driving.
“Fuck. Cade—he’s. Fuck. In hospital.”
“You should go,” I croaked out, closing my eyes so he couldn’t see my terror at being left alone. It was clear I wasn’t successful in masking it when he dropped to his knees in front of me.
“You really—”
I cut off whatever he was about to say. “It’s fine, go. Caiden needs you. Weston needs your support.”
The dilemma in his gaze was clear, but I knew that his loyalty was to his best friends, their bond stronger than anything I’d ever known. As it should be.
“Can… Do you want me to phone anyone to come over? Portia, maybe?”
I almost laughed at that. As if Portia would do anything that didn’t benefit her in some way. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Injecting as much firmness as I could into my voice, I forced myself to meet his eyes.
There was no way he was convinced, but he sighed. “You’ve got my number. Text me anytime, okay?”
When I nodded, he rose to his feet with another sigh. He paused for a minute, then leaned down and kissed the top of my head. It was weirdly intimate, and I didn’t know why. Maybe because my guard was down.
“Get some sleep. And text me,” he commanded.
Then he was gone.
When the door closed behind him and I was left alone…that was when the tears began to fall.
With a sigh, I lay back down and closed my eyes. It had been months since the incident had happened, when Caiden had been shot, thankfully not fatally, and his stepmother had died. The Belarusian gang working with his stepmother was gone for good, and the docks where everything had taken place had been levelled, as if they were never there to begin with. I’d been dragged into the entire thing completely by mistake when Caiden’s stepmother had been fed the wrong information, information that I was supposedly his girlfriend, even though we’d never been properly together like that.
Months since anything bad had happened. The nightmares were much less frequent now—and I’d finally been able to start sleeping again, with the help of my lamp and a white noise app on my phone.
But no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that everything was okay, no matter how much I reminded myself that I was fine, sleep didn’t come for the rest of the night.