Oath Bound

by Rachel Vincent

  “Money?” I gaped at her. “You think I want your brother’s money?”

  “I don’t know what you really want, Sera. I know your net worth, your college GPA and how much you paid for the heap of metal parked in front of my house, but I don’t know anything about you as a person, because you evidently felt no desire to connect with this side of your family until you needed something from us.” Her accusation was as sharp as her gaze, and I couldn’t really argue, though I felt my cheeks flame again. “But I will do whatever needs to be done to protect those children. If you really aren’t trying to steal their inheritance, you should have no problem swearing to that.”

  “I don’t,” I snapped, struggling to think through the anger swelling rapidly to fill both my head and heart. The bitch was appealing to my morals on behalf of two half-orphaned children. I didn’t for a second believe that was her only interest in the matter, but I didn’t want anything from the dead father I’d never met, and I certainly didn’t want anything from her. Except this one favor. “Write it. I’ll sign it, and you’ll never see me again. I don’t want anything but the slow, painful death of the bastard who killed my family.”

  “Wonderful.” Lia shifted in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “And, of course, you’ll be willing to give up the Tower name.”

  “My name?”

  “My brother’s name,” she corrected. “His children’s name. My name. You’ve never even used it, have you?” I shook my head, and she shrugged as if what she was asking was no big deal. “Then why would you mind giving it up?”

  Why would I mind?

  I started speaking before my thoughts had fully formed, fueled by anger, unburdened by forethought. “Because it’s my name. It belongs to me every bit as much as it belongs to you. Because for whatever reason, my mother wanted me to have it. Because whether you like it or not—hell, whether I like it or not—that name is part of who I am, and I don’t even know what that means yet, other than the fact that the aunt I share it with is a real bitch.”

  Julia blinked, and I relished the glimpse of surprise that flickered across her expression, the first I’d seen so far. “You’re not thinking this through. There’s nothing that can be done about the fact that it belongs to you, so in that sense, it can never be taken from you. But you’d be safer using another name. Your stepfather’s? Or even your mother’s. You’ll be infinitely harder to Track if no one knows your real surname, Sera.”

  Yet we both knew she wasn’t thinking of my wellbeing.

  But that wasn’t the point. The point was that whichever last name I used was my decision. Mine. And no snotty rich bitch with a chip on her shoulder and blood on her hands was going to tell me what I could or couldn’t call myself.

  But Julia Tower had yet to come to that conclusion. So I helped her along. “No.”

  She stood and leaned forward, both palms flat on the surface of her desk. “I am the only person in the world who will do what you want done without asking for a dime in return. My price is simple. You will sign over your right to anything Kevin and Aria stand to inherit. Including their surname. Or I will have you removed from this property immediately, and you can hunt down this killer yourself, then spend the balance of your life behind bars, paying your debt to society. You have three minutes to make a decision.”

  But there was no decision to be made. And Lia damn well knew it.

  While I sat glaring up at her, resisting the urge to stand and start yelling, the office door opened behind me and Lia gestured for someone to come in.

  I twisted in my chair to see a woman in her thirties carrying a manila folder. My aunt held out her hand and the woman marched past me to give her the folder. “That’s the best I could do, on short notice, but if you have another hour...”

  Julia waved dismissively, and the woman’s sentence faded into a tense silence while my aunt read whatever the folder held. After several seconds, she lifted the top sheet of paper and scanned the next one. Then she flipped the pages back into order and closed the folder. “Sometimes simpler is better. Unnecessary language leaves room for loopholes. This will do. Send in the Binder.” She motioned toward the door, and the woman in brown headed for the foyer as though she was being physically pulled in that direction. As though she couldn’t wait to leave.

  I knew exactly how she felt.

  Julia sat, then slid the folder across the desk toward me. “Sign.”

  “Now?” I could practically feel the blood drain from my face as I stared at the newly drafted binding document—the real reason she’d kept me waiting so long. She expected me to sign it right then and there, and the Binder she’d called for would seal my promise in blood—either his or mine. Or both.

  I hesitated, my hand flat on the closed folder.

  “Sign, or get out,” Julia said, and there wasn’t a hint of doubt in her voice. She’d already figured out that I wasn’t going to leave without getting what I came for. No matter what it cost.

  I opened the folder, my hand shaking with rage. It doesn’t matter, I told myself, as I picked up the pen she slid toward me. You don’t need them. You’ve never needed them.

  But what if those kids needed me someday? What if Kevin or Aria needed help from a relative who didn’t have a chunk of ice in place of her heart or wasn’t the dim bulb in the proverbial chandelier? Was there anyone in this cesspool of corrupt power they could count on? Could money buy friendship or trust?

  The only thing I knew for sure was that if I didn’t sign, the man who killed my entire family would never see justice. The police can’t catch a Skilled criminal, much less convict him.

  I scanned the first page, only half reading my own promise to forfeit any and all birthrights, including the Tower surname. I’d scribbled the first three letters of my name on the line at the bottom of the second page when the door flew open behind me and slammed into the wall.

  “Sera?”

  Startled, I turned so fast the pen left a long black line across the bottom of the page. Gwendolyn Tower stood in the doorway, as perfectly put together as any picture of her I’d ever seen, except for the puffy, pink flesh around her eyes.

  She blinked at me and I wondered what she was seeing. Did I look like her husband? Why didn’t she look surprised? Lia had implied that Lynn and her children knew nothing about me.

  Then Gwendolyn’s gaze slid past me. “Julia, what the hell are you doing? Did you tell her?”

  My pulse spiked. Tell me what?

  Lia stepped around the corner of her desk, ready to intercept her sister-in-law. “This is business. It’s none of your concern.”

  “Tell her!” Lynn Tower shouted, and the guard standing behind her flinched, then looked to my aunt for some instruction.

  “Go back to your room.” Julia took Lynn’s arm while I watched in stunned silence. “I’ll explain everything when we’re finished here.”

  Lynn turned to me then, her eyes damp, her gaze strong. “It’s yours, Sera. All of it. Jake’s personal property and assets went to me, but his business holdings go to his oldest child. Don’t let her cut you out.”

  “Gwendolyn, out!” Julia shouted as I fell backward into my chair, my legs numb from shock. The guards guided Lynn, gently but firmly, toward the door at about the same moment I realized I still held the pen Lia had given me.

  Business holdings? What did that even mean? Properties? Companies? Buildings? Cash?

  It’s yours, Sera. All of it.

  Lynn’s words played over in my head as I watched the guards escort her forcibly out of the office.

  The truth hit me in that moment, like a burst of light in front of my eyes—painful, disorienting and nearly blinding.

  I’d just inherited Jake Tower’s criminal empire.

  Two

  Kris

  “So, how many is that, Kris?�
�� My sister Korinne perched on the arm of the couch, one knee drawn up to her chest, thick hair tucked behind her ear. We’d both inherited our dad’s blond hair, but hers was several shades paler than my own. “How many poor, unfortunate souls have we freed from the corrupt clutches of the Tower machine?”

  “As of today?” I did a quick tally of the names listed in the notepad on my lap. “Twelve. With three more strong possibilities.”

  “Only twelve?” Kenley, my youngest sister, groaned from an armchair in the corner. If she were a couple of inches taller, she and Kori could have been twins. “It feels like a hundred.” Kenni looked exhausted, yet much younger than her twenty-six years, as if trauma had somehow left her more innocent than it had found her. More fragile.

  Vanessa handed Kenni a cool rag, still damp from the kitchen faucet. “We knew breaking the bindings would be tough, but that last one was easier, right?”

  “Yeah. If by easier, you mean just as hard as the eleven before.”

  Van stood and wedged herself into the oversize chair behind Kenley, who scooted forward to make room for her. Kenni leaned back with her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder, and Van laid the cool rag over her forehead, offering wordless comfort in the face of the enormous task we’d all undertaken. A task that felt more impossible by the day.

  A binding is like a metaphorical—and metaphysical—rope, tying one person to another. Or one person to his oath. Or one person into obedience or employment. My sister Kenley was one of the most powerful Binders in the world, but she would gladly have given up her Skill, if that meant escaping the notice of syndicate leaders who wanted to “hire” her for her ability.

  The problem with syndicate employment is that it isn’t just a job, it’s an existence. Worse. It’s indentured servitude, wherein the employee is obligated to do whatever the employer requires, within the bounds of the contract they signed and sealed, usually in blood. For however long that contract lasts.

  A five-year term is the standard. Five years in syndicate service feels like an eternity.

  Kenley and Kori each served six and a half.

  Before Jake Tower died, Kenley was the most important cog in the Tower syndicate machine—the gear that kept the engine running. Tower’d had administrators, accountants, clerical staff and laborers to do the day-to-day work. He’d had muscle—like Kori—to enforce the rules. He’d even had a pool of highly specialized lawyers on-staff to write iron-clad employment contracts.

  And he’d had Kenley to seal those contracts, locking people into his service in bindings so strong that only she could break them.

  Of course, the terms of her own contract had prevented her from freeing anyone she’d bound into service, but now that she was no longer a Tower employee, she was trying to do the right thing. To free all the people she’d enslaved by breaking the bindings she’d sealed for Jake Tower, which had transferred to his sister, Julia, upon his death.

  We were all trying to help her, but the process was slow. And difficult. And dangerous, because Julia Tower didn’t want those bindings broken. Each one Kenley psychically severed robbed Julia of another employee, eroding the source of her inherited wealth and power.

  “I know this sucks, Kenni, and I hate being stuck here as much as anyone.” Kori glanced around at the house where we’d spent almost every waking moment of the past three months, hiding from Julia Tower and her henchmen. I could practically see cabin fever raging behind her eyes. “But it could be worse, right? At least there’s no resistance pain.”

  The binding enslaving Kenley to the Tower syndicate had been broken when I’d killed the Binder who’d sealed it. Okay, there may have been some doubt about whose bullet actually hit him first, but the point is that since the Binder was dead, breaking the bindings she’d sealed was no longer in violation of Kenni’s oath. Which is good, because when you resist a sealed oath, your body starts to shut down one organ at a time until you give in and keep your word.

  Or you die.

  But even without the resistance pain, breaking each binding one at a time was still long, mentally exhausting work for Kenley, even with the rest of us pitching in to identify and contact those who wanted out of their oaths to Tower and to coordinate the secure, clandestine meetings.

  The project had taken over our lives, and it was as much a survival effort on our part as an effort to liberate those who wanted freedom. As long as Julia Tower had employees bound into her service, she’d have the resources and power to eventually hunt us down and eliminate the threat we represented.

  “So, who’s next?” Ian Holt sank onto the couch next to Kori, and she leaned into him, a display of trust and affection I’d rarely seen from her. I don’t know how he got through her mile-thick outer shell, but I do know that I’ve never seen her happier. And I know that Ian helped free Kori, Kenni and Vanessa from that bastard Jake Tower, and that he’d stuck around to help us free everyone else Kenley had been forced to bind. As far as we were all concerned, Ian was part of the family, even if Kori never got around to putting a ring on his finger.

  “Um...” I checked my list again. “Rick Wallace.” I glanced at Kori. “What do we know about him?”

  She shrugged. “He’s a Silencer. Average strength. Mid-thirties. He’s also a world-class asshole who’s literally never heard ‘no’ from a woman, because he sucks the sound right out of the word every time one tries to say it. I’m not surprised he wants out from under Julia Tower, but I’m kind of surprised he’d contact us, considering how many times I’ve threatened to cut his tongue out and serve it to his latest ‘date’ on a toasted hot-dog bun.”

  Ian made a face. “That’s disgusting,”

  Kori nodded solemnly. “So is Rick Wallace.”

  “Agreed. But no one deserves to be tied to Julia Tower,” Kenley insisted, and Kori kept her mouth shut, though she obviously wanted to argue. “When and where is the meeting?”

  “Meghan’s parents’ house,” Ian said. His sister-in-law had offered to let us use the house when she and his twin brother left town.

  “Olivia’s already securing the site,” Kori added. “We’re supposed to meet her there in half an hour. If you’re sure you feel like it.”

  “I’m fine.” Kenley squared her shoulders and sat straighter. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  “Eat something first,” Vanessa insisted, and before Kenley could object, Van was halfway to the kitchen in search of food.

  I followed her, headed for the coffeepot, and my grandmother looked up from the stove when she saw me. “Kristopher, the knobs are missing.”

  “Really?” I frowned down at the stove. “That’s weird.” We’d had to take the knobs off the day before, when she lit the fire under one gas burner, but forgot to put a pot over the flame and nearly caught the whole damn house on fire.

  “What happened to them?”

  “I dunno, Gran. Maybe Liv or Cam will track them for us.” Olivia and her boyfriend were both Trackers, but he worked mainly with names, while she worked with blood.

  “Don’t get smart with me, Kristopher Daniels,” Gran snapped. “I’ll ground you till you’re twenty-five years old, and you can forget the senior prom.”

  She’d lit the candles on my thirtieth birthday cake six months earlier, and I couldn’t even remember most of my senior prom. Which is how I know I probably enjoyed the hell out of it. Or maybe that was the after-party...

  “I’m not getting smart, Gran.”

  “Well, that’s the truth...” Kori mumbled beneath her breath as she walked past on her way to the fridge, and I ignored her.

  “I’ll look into the missing knobs, I swear.”

  “Do it now. I want to make some—” Gran’s scowl morphed into an instant smile when she noticed Vanessa taking the lid off a plastic container of cookies. “You two make such a cute couple.”

 
“Gran...” I started, but she slapped my arm, which was only a minor improvement over the way she used to slap the back of my head when I was twelve and the occasional—okay, frequent—profanity slipped out.

  She’d given up smacking Kori for cussing when my sister was ten.

  “Don’t give up on him just because he pretends to be emotionally unavailable, Vanessa,” Gran said, and I realized for the first time that she’d never forgotten Van’s name. Not even once. “He’s a slob and he leaves his towel on the bathroom floor, but he’s a pretty good boy.”

  “No, I’m not.” I shook my head at Van. “I’m very, very bad.”

  Vanessa laughed as she wrapped two cookies in a paper towel, then took them into the living room for Kenley, leaving me to explain things to my grandmother on my own. Again.

  “Vanessa’s not my girlfriend, Gran. She’s with Kenley, remember?”

  “Oh, please.” Gran huffed in exasperation. “Anyone can see how much she likes you.”

  No one else could see any such thing. But trying to explain to Gran that Kenni and Vanessa were more than friends was like trying to explain...well, like trying to explain anything to Gran. Futile. We’d had a few temporary victories in the battle against Alzheimer’s but the backslides all but killed any real hope.

  While Gran searched the kitchen drawers and cabinets for the missing stove knobs, Vanessa joined me again at the coffeepot with an empty mug of her own. “I’ve been meaning to ask you...” she said as she filled her mug. “Does your grandmother have a Skill? I’ve never seen her use it.”

  “No, thank goodness.” I pulled the sugar bowl closer and stirred a spoonful into my coffee. “Alzheimer’s and Skills don’t mix well.” You can’t just take the knobs off a Skill to make sure it isn’t accidentally left running when the user forgets what year it is.