Page 2 of Broken Bonds

I need help. More importantly, I need information.

Because while it’s no longer a secret to the world that wolf shifters exist—and other races of shifters, along with witches, fae, vampires, and others—it is still a secret that my father is a wolf shifter.

And it’s still a secret among the rest of the pack that I’m gay.

Which is a secret my father is willing to kill me over if it means keeping it hidden.

Chapter Two

Mal

Ensnared

My problem is that I grew complacent, sloppy.

I didn’t reveal to any of my shifter “friends” I’m gay, because I knew if it slipped out around their parents or—worse—around my parents, there would be hell to pay. I didn’t want to put anyone at risk.

At that point, I was already on Dad’s shit list because I insisted on attending public high school instead of the exclusive private school my brothers and the kids of nearly every other high-ranking pack member attended.

Then, once I graduated, I refused to be shipped off to some fancy-assed university in Europe where other shifter kids went.

Dad thought he’d win the battle by telling me fine, he’d pay for me to attend Harvard or some other ritzy college in the US.

Then I blew him off in lieu of the full scholarship to a local trade school I’d landed all on my own.

He didn’t speak to me for three months. Which, in all honesty, was pretty sweet.

I know his “friends” reminded him that I’m the baby—even though I’m twenty-five now, thank you very much—and with three older Alpha brothers who could more than adequately perpetuate his “legacy,” he should ignore what I do because I’d eventually come around. And it wasn’t like I was out partying or drawing attention or getting arrested.

Which…yay. Right?

Problem solved?

Not so much.

I’m a plumber, and that’s not a euphemism. People always need their drains unclogged, their houses piped, and their toilets fixed, right? Kind of a job-security situation. The money isn’t bad, either. Honest work, honest pay, and in my free time I didn’t need to worry about work stuff. Perfect job for me.

Until my dad stepped in and “asked” my first employer to let me go.

I didn’t know about that at first. The guy told me he couldn’t afford to keep me on because one of his wife’s cousins needed a job, sorry.

The second company kept me on for nearly six months before letting me go.

It was when the third company fired me after only month—days after the owner told me he was keeping me on and giving me a raise—that I finally got my answer. The receptionist of that company caught up with me as I stormed out to my car and whispered to me that my dad had shown up late the previous afternoon after I went home and had a private “chat” with my boss.

And after that chat, my boss’ face looked even whiter than my pale ass.

Doesn’t take a genius to connect those dots.

Meanwhile, Dad had been strongly “hinting” to me that if I wanted to go back to school for a “real” degree, he’d happily pay for it.

Carrot, meet stick.

I didn’t confront him about it. Didn’t get angry.

Well, not in front of him. Felt like keeping my teeth, thanks.

The next week, my car developed a mysterious problem and was towed.