With Ties that Bind: A Broken Bonds Novel: Book Three Read online

  With Ties that Bind

  A Broken Bonds Novel: Book Three

  Trisha Wolfe

  Contents

  Quote

  1. Lessons

  2. Destruct

  3. Clinical

  4. One

  5. Outlier

  6. Monster

  7. Unravel

  8. Dead Weight

  9. Slow Burn

  10. Loose Ends

  11. Epiphany

  12. Narcissistic Tendencies

  13. Validation

  14. Detection

  15. Alpha

  16. Pressure

  17. Loaded

  18. Partners

  19. Choice

  20. Demons

  Epilogue

  Born, Darkly Sneak Peek

  Derision

  Also by Trisha Wolfe

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Trisha Wolfe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version: 1.2

  There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

  ~Friedrich Nietzsche

  1

  Lessons

  Avery

  “Focus. Concentrate. Ignore everything else.” Quinn repositions the black punching pad before me, his gaze unwavering. “Use the pain. Channel it.”

  I want to roll my eyes. Instead, I drive a swollen, wrapped fist into the pad. “You sound like an after school special. Yes, sir, Mr. Miyagi, sir.” My fist sticks the pad again, and I wince.

  With an irritated huff, Quinn tosses the pad to the floor and advances. Out of reflex, I step back. He grips my arms. “I know you’re tired.”

  I shamefully avert my eyes toward the corner of the precinct gym. Tired is a laughable understatement.

  “I know you’re scared.” he continues. My gaze flicks up in time to catch the flash of fear in his own hazel eyes. It’s gone quickly, replaced by the stubborn determination that’s driven these lessons for the past two weeks. “But stop deflecting.”

  “I’m not deflecting,” I rebound.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Sarcasm will get you hurt. It’s a weakness, Aves. It means you accept that you’re not strong enough to master this. And…” he trails off, that glimmer of fear peeking through. “You are strong enough. I need you to accept—”

  “I do accept it. I get it – I’m in danger.” I accept that I’ve spent my life sealed inside a lab with a false sense of security, where the outside world—full of criminals and villains—couldn’t touch me. And now… Now, that world has bled into every facet of my life.

  I am not safe.

  That fact infuriates Quinn as much as it worries him. He cannot protect me. Not all the time. These self-defense lessons are as much his outlet, a way to cope with that festering doubt, as they’re meant to enable me to protect myself.

  His stern features soften. “I was going to say, you need to accept your strength. Fear of success is just as crippling as fear of failure.”

  “Oh.” I tilt my head, studying him. The way his white T-shirt accentuates his muscular build, the six-pack I know lies beneath. The way his pants sit low on his waist, so tempting. He wants me to take this seriously, and I do—but my newfound sex drive tends to be distracting, and Quinn in his sexy practice attire doesn’t help.

  I blow at my bangs from the side of my mouth. “And here I thought you mocked that psychobabble nonsense.” I lean into his grip, letting his strength hold me upright. Arching my chest toward his, daring him.

  A defeated scowl pulls his features tight. “That smart-ass mouth is going to get you in trouble.”

  “You promise, detective?”

  His low groan presses against my skin, tantalizing. We both know this banter is a form of deflection, avoiding our very disturbing reality. But within these walls, locked in Quinn’s strong embrace, I can pretend reality doesn’t exist.

  At least for the half hour I get alone with him in the mornings.

  Quinn gives my arms a reassuring squeeze before he releases me. “Stand on your own. And remember, defend your space.” In a flash, he lunges for me, and I have just enough time to react and sidestep his attack.

  “Good.” He goes for my core, and I attempt to block. I’m not strong enough. His arms wrap around me, welding mine to my sides. “Your attacker is going to use their physical size and strength against you,” he says as he releases me. “But he’s not taking into account your mental strength. Always be one mental step ahead of his attacks. Don’t fight when evading is the smartest counter. Let’s do it again.”

  We dance like this for a while, him attacking, me applying my newly acquired defensive skills to block and evade his attacks. All the while, he drills the lessons.

  Lesson one: self-defense is not only defending against physical attacks. It’s defending oneself against the mind, too. You can be your own enemy if you don’t value yourself. Others can take advantage of low self-esteem. It’s a weakness.

  Lesson two: before you can defend yourself, you have to know what constitutes as yours. Your mind, your personal space, your body. Anything and anyone can be a threat to you; not just the obvious dangers. You have to defend what’s yours with a passion. Your time, your aspirations. A weak mind and the inability to say no makes you a target.

  I thought I’d struggle with the physical element the most, but it’s the mental training which proves to be my biggest challenge. Breaking self-defeating habits and conditioning your mind to change a certain thought pattern is damn near impossible.

  We defend our way of thinking, even when we know it’s flawed.

  It’s our comfort zone. What we know. What we’ve relied on our whole lives…and it’s why Quinn is struggling so hard with what he did. How he retaliated against everything he believed to defend me.

  In spite of his nature, he made a split-second decision to pin evidence on Ryland Maddox, Attorney at Law with Lark and Gannet, and he’s been waging a war with himself ever since. Maddox is no innocent, but Quinn didn’t make his decision based on justice; he felt he had no other option. The alternative was that I be questioned in connection to the death of Price Wells. A death that went on record as an accident, when it was anything but.

  The Alpha knows my sins. I helped Sadie cover up the murder of the man who tortured me by falsifying the death record. I don’t know how he knows, but uncovering the how is what will lead us to the Alpha.

  Only, Quinn and I can’t do that if neither of us is on the case. It’s a selfish quest, I know. Regardless of how much I want to eliminate the Alpha’s threat from my life, I want Quinn free of blame more.

  I want Sadie to walk away from all this horrid darkness.

  I have a price to pay, but it won’t come at the expense of those I care for. I’ll pay the devil his due when my time comes.

  And the only way any of that can happen is if I learn how to stop being a victim.

  With renewed determination, I windmill my hands and knock Quinn’s forearms aside, breaking free of his grasp, and sweep his leg. A move he taught me. I take him down to the mat.

  He releases a grunt as I climb atop him and pin his shoulders. “What happened to ‘always being on guard’, sensei?”

  A smirk curves his mouth as he brings a hand to my face. My breathing is labored; Quinn barely broke a sweat. My eyelids feel heavy as his rough fingers stroke my cheek, his thumb traces my lips. I no longer pull away when he touches my scar. The thought to do so rarely enters my head when I’m with him.

  I part my lips, letting my tongue trace his thumb. His thick groan rumbles against my chest, then he jerks his knees forward, pushing me against the hard bulge in his pants.

  Before I’m able to react, Quinn rolls on top of me and has my wrists restrained. “Don’t mistake my desire to have you on top of me as not being on guard.”

  I arch my back, pressing my chest to his, and wrap my legs around his waist. “Ditto.” I love the way the muscle in his jaw feathers, the heated look in his eyes.

  He begins closing the gap between us when a throat is cleared in the gym.

  Quinn’s head snaps up, and I angle mine to see Carson leaning against the wall. “Sorry to interrupt your…lesson,” he says, a grin tilting his mouth. “But Special Agent Bell has called a meeting. Figured you’d want to be there.”

  “Thanks,” Quinn grits out, but he doesn’t move. “You can wait outside now, Carson.”

  “Got it, boss.”

  “And you can let me up now,” I say, deliberately wriggling my hips.

  He pushes out a deep breath and grinds his thick length against the seam of my thighs. Heat blooms in my core, and then Quinn is there to taste my neck, the rough stubble of his chin grazing my skin and heightening my arousal. I suddenly regret that we’re in the middle of the ACPD gym.

  That same regret registers on Quinn’s face as he pulls away with strained effort. He sits back on his heels and adjusts the tent in his pants. As he stands, he offers me his hand. He brings me against his chest and steals a quick kiss before releasing me.

  “I guess you shouldn’t be late. Don’t want to get reprimanded.”
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  “I’ll get reprimanded eventually,” he says. “It’s bad enough I can’t keep my hands off you at work, never mind what else I’ve touched.”

  His joke should ease some of my anxiety, but I know Quinn. This dark humor only proves the pressure he’s under, loathing himself for his actions.

  I move closer and reach out, but he rolls his shoulders, working out his muscles, then heads toward the bathroom. “We’ll pick up again tomorrow.” He turns around to add, “Even if I do enjoy your method of distraction, you’re not getting out of this.”

  I let a small smile grace my lips. I don’t take it personally. I mean, I’m a woman, and his brushoff still smarts, but I’m too consumed with guilt on my part to take offense. Quinn is suffering because of me. His attempt to lighten the mood is too forced, regardless if I appreciate the effort.

  He is trying despite our difficult circumstance. None of this is easy for him. Our new relationship. Our predicament. I worry that he’ll snap—and that just adds more pressure on me to find the answer to make this all end.

  It’s a vicious cycle.

  I rub my arm across my forehead and curse. As I head toward my bag, I unwrap my knuckles and make a fist. My fingers are swollen and bruised. I didn’t think this training through. It’s important, yes, but to what extent if I can’t hold a scalpel properly?

  Just one more thing to hate the Alpha for. Living in fear, a constant state of adrenaline depletion, is becoming exhausting. When I’m not working, I’m crashed out in my house that’s now fully equipped with a state of the art security system.

  Or I stay at Quinn’s, which is what he prefers, and as much as I hate to admit it, that’s the only time I’m able to settle into a deep sleep. And I sleep like the dead. I laugh to myself at the morbid joke. I never envied the subjects on my slab before now.

  I pull my thermal over my head, catching a glimpse of a black object in my bag. I dig it out. “Shit.” As Quinn heads for the exit, I march his way, holding the device up. “A tracker? Really?”

  He stops without turning around. His shoulders slump. Busted. “I told you—”

  “And I told you that I won’t be treated like I’m in fucking witness protection.”

  He faces me, bringing his full, six-foot frame to tower over me. “It’s not for you, it’s for me.” He brushes the backs of his fingers down my arm.

  “Quinn, I get it, I do…” I push out a breath, letting my anger dissolve. “But if I let this happen…then I’m not even living.” I look up at him. “I’m just waiting for the worst to happen.”

  “I have to go.” He cups the back of my head, placing a lingering kiss to my forehead. “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  He stalks off, leaving me fighting for breath. I’ve put him through so much, and yet, I can’t willingly submit to this life where my every move is monitored.

  I sling my bag over my shoulder. A pang of remorse for his situation hits my chest. There’s more on his troubled mind than my dire situation. Though the arrest warrant for Maddox happened quickly, the task force has been ineffective in capturing their suspect.

  The hunt continues.

  Only Quinn and I suspect the truth as to why Maddox cannot be found.

  While the task force searches tirelessly for a lawyer on the run, Quinn combs the city and its outskirts for a body.

  For Quinn’s sake, I hope they discover Maddox alive.

  Lesson three: defend what’s yours at all costs.

  If Quinn continues on like this, he could self-destruct. I consider Quinn mine—and I plan to defend him, even against himself.

  2

  Destruct

  Quinn

  Every person I pass is a possible suspect. Every pair of eyes I meet belongs to the Alpha.

  Paranoia eats away my senses, dulling my instinct. My logic is defunct. Last week, when a forensic tech tapped me on the shoulder, I grabbed his hand and backed him against a wall. I threatened him with a fist to his face. Blinding rage coupled with paranoia is a lethal combination.

  I walk through the ACPD halls wary of my own mind. Questioning my sanity. After that incident, the captain suggested I take a leave of absence.

  Not happening.

  Not when I suspect one of our own.

  During The Firm operation, I questioned—we all questioned—just how far up and how vast the Alpha’s reach went. Even then, I didn’t believe that reach could extend into my own department.

  But Carson was leaking privy information to the press for a price. Sadie has stalked and killed perpetrators outside of the law. Avery—the woman I love—has doctored a COD report to conceal her abductor’s murder.

  These are the people I know—have worked beside every day for years. The team members I trust with my life.

  When you stop to think just how much you don’t know about the people you say you trust, it puts a bad taste in your mouth for everyone else.

  No one is above reproach.

  Everyone is suspect.

  And the fact that I have inside knowledge that someone altered data to frame Dorian McGregor… Well, that’s not paranoia. That’s proof. I saw the evidence with my own eyes, right after I committed the very same crime.

  I broke the law to implicate Ryland Maddox in the murder of a victim. I altered evidence to protect Avery. I inserted Maddox’s fingerprint into the search in place of Wells—because one strategically placed fingerprint on the Alpha’s part could reveal Avery’s deception. Was it a warning? Or did the Alpha want Avery to go down for Price Wells’ death? It might not have gone that far, her COD report on Wells only scrutinized, her competence brought into question…

  But I can’t risk that Wells’ “accidental death” would be questioned and a new investigation into his death opened. That would take us right back to the beginning. Uncovering Sadie’s murder of Wells, and Avery’s part in covering it up. Not only that, but Sadie’s dark past; she killed Lyle Connelly, Wells’ mentor and killing partner. Where this epic shit storm all started.

  An aching pressure builds at my temples. I sidestep my way around officers, heading toward the conference room, and slip into the bathroom. Splash water over my face. Watch water run down my ashen skin.

  Who tipped the first domino?

  If I go back far enough, follow the toppled pieces, I might even see my actions as the catalyst. Had I listened to Sadie when she tried to convince me of Connelly’s guilt two years ago, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

  My phone vibrates with a message: Meeting in 5 – where are you?

  I thumb away Sadie’s message and snap my phone to my belt clip, then brace my hands on the sink. I’ve been ignoring Sadie more and more since our fallout. A heated exchange that stripped away all façades. We worked together during the auction sting for Avery, but now that the dust has settled, it’s become increasingly difficult to go back to where we once were.

  One hard look in the mirror, then I shove my disgust into the festering pit of my stomach. I dry my face before I head to the conference room.

  Two weeks ago today, Special Agent Bell called a mandatory task force meeting for proper debriefing, requiring everyone present at the warehouse bust to attend. She really likes calling meetings. Hearing herself talk. Centering the troops. Field reports.

  The head of the FBI’s Organized Crime Division even provides completed reports for us—testimonies that validate a story which never took place.

  Like how my team—the one operating off the grid—went on record as being a covert tactic of the FBI, used to take down a major player in the east coast sex trafficking circuit.

  We got off easy, considering we were working behind the FBI’s back. We could’ve lost our badges, Avery could’ve been stripped of her license. Instead, to avoid a media scandal for both our departments, the ACPD and the FBI appeared to the press as if we joined forces on the operation. Cooperation always goes over better in the media. A scandal, however, well—that’s just more interesting.

  The truth is, Agent Bell used my department. She used me, and my feelings for Avery to lure one of her own leads out so she could make the arrest.