Page 85 of Broken Ties
Truth.
Not the one I want, but another clue, another moment of trust and the gift of honesty she’s given me. I never want to leave her side again. I don’t want this moment to end, even as she’s practically clawing at the door to escape me. Only now, I’m certain it’s not really me she’s running from… at least, not without interference from someone else.
She slides out of the car, but before she can slam the door behind her, I call out to her, “That might be your truth, but it’s not mine.”
My Bond doesn’t look back at me, but as I watch her disappear, my certainty only grows stronger. Someone out there has scared her to the point of running, but my Bond never turned her back on her Bond Group. She’s wanted us all from the start.
There’s a way to fix this. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know the fate of our Bond depends on us finding out.
TWENTY-FOUR
ATLAS
Fingers drumming against the steering wheel, it’s almost impossible to keep my Gift in check. I love this car way too much to risk damaging it, even though it’s easily replaceable. Besides, I don’t exactly have time to waste, and getting caught by my father’s goons before I even make it out of the city just because I can’t keep my temper in check? Absolutely fucking not.
Despite my resolve, the anxious energy writhing under my skin might just send me off the deep end.
I shouldn’t be feeling like this right now. I’m finally on my way to my Bond and yet my head is full of ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’. It’s not hard to figure out the problem is how little control I have right now over anything, something I’m way too familiar with, so I mess with the shit I can change. There’s nothing I can do about the glare of streetlights but I can cut the music off. I can’t stretch my legs, but I can turn the air up until my skin is ice.
I can remind myself I’m alive, that I’m doing something right now, that I didn’t just follow along with my father’s sickening plans.
This works for about three seconds, until I check my mirrors and find no one behind me—just like the last thirty times I’vechecked. The frustration comes back with a vengeance, bubbling up inside my chest until I’m choking on it, and that stupid light is still red.
No amount of rage or cussing will change that fact, either; I’ve already tried it all. The night’s sky is clear overhead, the rumble of my car is tuned to perfection, and what few possessions of mine that are worth holding on to are stowed safely in the trunk—but none of that helps a single bit.
The problem is that red light, because it’s been like that for at least ten minutes, despite the fact I’m the only car on the damned road. I was lucky to get away from my parents’ manor without being caught by one of my father’s loyal lapdogs, and if that red light gets me killed… well, fuck. I’d be dead and unable to rage about it but I can rage about it right now.
The light finally changes to green and it’s like an entire day’s worth of dopamine hitting me at once, my blood practically singing in my veins. Instead of cutting onto the highway to get on with the long trek across the country I have ahead of me, I take the exit down to the docks as though I’ve done it a thousand times before, even though nothing could be further from the truth.
I try not to think about it too much, following the directions I’d memorized months ago until I’m pulling into a parking lot and killing the engine. I get out straight away, not giving myself the chance to back out now, but the moment the eerie silence of the night hits me, unease pools in my stomach.
The dread only gets worse as I look around.
I’ve never been claustrophobic, but I’ve also never stepped foot in a shipping yard before. The giant, metal containers are stacked six high and lined up in long rows that stretch out as far down the coastline that I can see. It’s all neat and tidy, far cleaner than I was expecting, but the ominous feeling doesn’t liftand sweat beads across my forehead at the feeling of being boxed in on all sides.
My mom used to warn me to keep me away from here. There are very few rules I was given in childhood that I still follow even half-heartedly and there’s only two that I’m militant about. That has nothing to do with familial obligations or any respect I might still have for that woman; I do it to protect my Bond.
I’ll never have a conversation with my Aunt Athena without a Null present.
And I never thought I’d come down here to where you can buy the use of any Gift in the country— but only if you can afford the price. All of these Gifted are rarities, born into Lower Tier families but with abilities far stronger than their bloodlines should’ve been able to produce. At least, that’s what the Top Tier Gifted preach.
I’ve met plenty of Top Tier Gifted who may as well be non-Gifted.
Not that knowing that helps me out at all. No matter how much I might hate my father, he’s the real protection I have down here, and my Bond’s life means more to me than my own comfort or pride, so until I cross state lines, I’m still a Bassinger.
I force myself not to think about it.
Falling into a writhing pit of self-loathing over the fucked family I was born into could easily get me killed down here. Or, worse, it could risk my Bond’s safety. I know the type of Gifted who come down here, and I know what they’d do to her if they ever found out about what she’s really capable of… or the bond who lives within her.
The loose gravel crunches under my sneakers and makes it impossible to arrive in front of the office building here without the Gifted there knowing. I’m sure there’s a Neuro somewhere keeping tabs as well, but, either way, the door is already openwhen I round the corner and a set of glowing eyes stare back at me from an old, homeless-looking guy.
“You said you were comin’ but I still thought you’d wimp out. I lost money on that one.”
There’s jeering from behind him, but he’s not bothered by it. It’s clearly all at my expense anyway, and when I finally stop before him, the guy gives me a slow look, up and down with a smirk.
“Crazy to think a kid like you can bench press a bus. I guess size ain’t shit to a Bassinger, though, is it?”
I’ve spent my whole life playing these sorts of games, the push-pull of dominance that Gifted can’t seem to get enough of, but tonight I’m so fucking over it. I just want to leave this place and never look back.