Page 11 of Broken Ties

She says with utter disinterest, "So you want me to be pissed off at girls flirting with you? It's not like you tried to stop them. Why should I give a fuck about where you're sticking your dick?"

I almost Shift. It’s the closest I get to losing my fucking mind since Gryph showed up on my parent’s doorstep to tell me she was gone. I have to leave, right the hell now, or I’m going to Shift and take out the whole block in a bloodbath.

I can’t help but snarl at her as I leave her behind, my eyes glowing white as I grapple with myself to hold it back. “Nox was right. You are just a selfish bitch. What the fuck did we do to get a Bond like you?"

FOUR

ATLAS

It’s infuriating to be forced to endure the cheerful and carefree attitudes of the other students walking around campus, but there’s something in the air this morning that’s making my skin crawl with fury at it all. I mean, it’s not like I’m not enraged at the entire East Coast Gifted community every other morning, but the way my bond is itching at the back of my mind today makes my usual frustrations a thousand times worse.

However, I can’t afford to draw any suspicions, so even though it’s the last fucking thing I want to do, I force a smile onto my lips as I pretend to take notice of the conversation my so-called friends are having around me. Zariah and Kyle are still arguing about our group project for Political Strategies class, and Walker is scrolling aimlessly through his phone, letting Kyle direct him to class with an arm around his shoulder. It should be easier than breathing to go about my morning with them all like this, my three closest friends who I’ve done everything with, but my shoes feel like iron weights around my feet.

It’s only the desperate need to keep my plans for escape under wraps that drags my ass to class each morning. There’s nothing I want less right now than to get up at seven am, sit in a lecture hall with fifty other Gifted, and listen to some assholedrone on about Resistance Propaganda like he isn’t feeding it to us all like his life depends on it. To be fair, it probably does.

Basell College is second only to Draven University in education for the Gifted community, and it's widely known and accepted that only enrolments from Top Tier families are ever accepted here. It’s also no secret that every Gifted who attends happens to be loyal to the Resistance—or they come from a family who is. That might not seem like an important distinction, but the trajectory of my entire goddamned life flipped when my eyes were opened to just how huge that divide really is… and which side I stand on.

My mind constantly gets drawn back to this issue, no matter how much I try to keep myself from dwelling on it, and seeing the grinning faces around me is a slap in the face. I’ve spent my entire life with these Gifted; I'm perfectly aware that half of them don't even realize where their parents’ money comes from, or who they’re really giving it to at the Galas we’re all forced to attend.

Well, that’s not really true either. While the rest of the community are being attacked daily, and the news reports constantly stream in of Gifted being abducted from the streets, none of the students around me look concerned. They all know their safety is assured and, if they’re anything like I was, they’re happy to live in a blissfully ignorant state as to how they’ve secured that safety.

Six months ago, before I found the torture logs of my Bond being held in the Resistance camps on my mother's computer, I would’ve said my life was perfect. That I was perfect, too.

Since the violent awakening to the real world, I’ve compiled a thorough report of my flaws despite myself. It’s the only research I’ve done since starting back at class this semester and, if graded, I’d be ahead of the curve. It starts, of course, with a list of my features that closely resemble my morally corrupt fatherand, unfortunately, that list is long. Sickeningly long; avoid-mirrors-at-all-costs-and-seek-therapy long.

The latest additions include my arrogance—for ever thinking I could live among the Gifted here on the East Coast without pledging my allegiance to the cause—and my willful ignorance to things that are painstakingly obvious—if the Resistance aren't the villains, why are they abducting Gifted from the streets? If they were rescuing them as they claim, the Gifted wouldn't be kept in camps against their will.

Maybe the most frustrating of it all is the fact that I’ve spent twenty years living among these morally corrupt assholes, and had mostly unrestricted access to their conversations at dinner parties, yet I never took notice of anything they were discussing that could be useful. I was too busy stealing alcohol and getting drunk with my degenerate friends.

Once again, I’ve failed my Bond before I've even had the honor of meeting her.

The weight of that failure sits on my chest like a semi trailer. I won't fail her again; no matter the cost, I’m getting her out of the Resistance’s clutches and keeping her safely by my side.

“—Draven, but why the fuck would he be here?—”

I’m violently thrown from my own thoughts by the mention of that name and I cut the conversation off tersely. “Which Draven? The councilman or the professor?”

My voice is too sharp even to my own ears, and Zariah quirks a brow at me. “Obviously I mean North Draven, why the fuck would anyone care what his degenerate brother is doing?”

My stomach hollows out.

He's never once tried to come here before, not since he came to deliver the news that our Bond had gone missing from the hospital.

My father refused to let him in the door.

When I’m quiet for too long, Zariah huffs at me. “What does it matter, anyway, Bass? Since when do you give a fuck about the Councils? Last I heard, you were stressing your father into an early grave by avoiding the Galas like your life depends on it.”

She’s still pissed that I broke off the extra benefits in our friendship, so she doesn’t even attempt to hide the snark in her tone. Kyle glances between the two of us, still baffled that I put an end to things and caused waves in our small but once tight circle. I can’t tell him I found my Bond, and I definitely can’t tell him that even thinking about another girl makes my skin crawl. Shame still curls in my gut for my petty and spiteful actions while she was being tortured, spurred on by our assumption that she abandoned her Bonds when the truth is that she did everything she could to keep us all safe.

I’ll lose control of my Gift and level a building if I don’t rein it in soon.

Unlike the smile, a smirk stretches over my face easily. “Avoiding my father’s little parties is child’s play compared to the stress an interaction with a Draven would cause my old man. He’s been on my ass about my grades for weeks, what better way to piss him off than seeing a monster up close? Where was Draven lurking?”

Zariah and Kyle both laugh, and Walker finally looks up from his phone as he shoots me a grin. “You’re in luck, Bass; we’re heading right toward him.”

He flips his phone around to show me the photo of the infamous void-eyed Gifted, who is the equivalent of the boogeyman in the Gifted community, nationwide. He’s standing with a small group of Tactical personnel on the front steps of the lecture hall we’re heading toward. That’s enough to confirm he’s here for me, that something has happened within the Bond Group big enough that he’s seeking me out, but it’s not the only sign.

Gryphon Shore is standing with him.