Page 3 of Broken Bonds

And suddenly, lo and behold, it couldn’t be fixed.

But there was magnanimous ole Dad, ready to buy me a new one.

I don’t know which pissed him off more—me buying myself a bike and using a combo of it and the bus and train systems to get around, or me not complaining about doing that, even in the harshest of weather.

I ended up working a variety of part-time jobs, doing everything from washing dishes, changing oil in cars, crawling through sewers, shoveling horse shit at a dressage training center, sorting peanuts at a packing plant, and picking produce in fields with migrant workers.

I was able to keep that job for a full six months because they paid cash every day, and I started crashing with a friend I made through there.

Human friend who had no idea I’m a wolf shifter.

The more determined my father was to wrap me around his finger, the more determined I was to break free.

Took him that long to finally track me down. It was an INS raid on the field we were picking that day that left me riding in the back of one of his guys’ SUVs, in handcuffs and with my bike left behind, to be unceremoniously dumped at his office. He had my other stuff already, meaning they’d figured out where I was staying and stopped there first—my clothes, computer, some other odds and ends.

The bike was deliberately left behind, I know, as a statement. Because when I’d complained about it, the guy looked at me in the rearview mirror and didn’t respond.

My father has this politely chilling way of smiling and looking friendly to outsiders when, in reality, he’s about two seconds from peeling the flesh from your bones. He perched on the edge of his desk and stared down at me with that smile.

“Mal, are you ready to end this nonsense? I get it. You wish to be independent. It’s admirable, even. You have earned my respect, son, but it’s time to work with me and for the pack’s greater good.”

I knew I was being dragged into the trap even as I stared up at him. I felt the invisible rope wrapped around my ankles tightening, winching me deeper an excruciating foot at a time.

He didn’t let me answer, continuing. “I’ll let you have two months off to recuperate, clean up, get a new wardrobe, let your mother’s stylist”—he waved a hand at my appearance—“change things up.” His chilling blue gaze narrowed. “I’m making an important announcement in eight weeks, and you need to fall in line, Mal. I want to present a unified front to the world. I’m filing to run for office. We need shifters in office.”

He stood and rounded his desk to sit behind it. “You will also start dating Lana Chastain. She’s a year younger than you and an omega, like you.”

Oh, yeah, I should also add I’m certain that another reason my father waited so long to reel me in was the fact that, unlike my three older brothers, I’m not an Alpha.

Frankly, once I was old enough to understand why my father rarely paid attention to me, I considered it a boon. Camouflage. Hoped it would allow me the chance to escape because he already had three golden-child sons. I was a disappointment from birth, right?

“I don’t care if you don’t marry her,” he added. “I need you to publicly date her for at least a year, until after the election. Whatever you do, don’t get her fucking pregnant if you’re not marrying her, okay?”

I was too stunned to talk, honestly. I nodded.

“Good.” He turned back to his laptop, the conversation over in his mind. “Paul will drive you and your shit home. Not that I think any of that stuff was worth it, but you can thank your mother for begging me to at least do that much.” He dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

Trembling with rage but smart enough to know not to open my damned snout, I stood, turned, and left his office to find the guy who’d grabbed me waiting for me.

I silently followed him back to the SUV—without handcuffs this time—and he drove me home. Beyond the rage I felt for myself, I felt anger for the people I was working with. I’m certain my father called INS once he figured out where I was. I was swept up in the initial raid with all the other workers, and in fifteen minutes, that was it; I was handcuffed and hauled out of there by this fucker.

Dad must have called Mom because she stood waiting for me on the front porch when we pulled up.

She practically dragged me out of the SUV and into her arms for a long, tight, silent hug, and I nearly broke down sobbing.

Because I was once again trapped.

And this time, I had no idea how to escape.

And, for the first time, I truly understood Mom was trapped, too.

Chapter Three

Mal

Homecoming

Mom hasn’t touched my room.