Blood Bound

by Rachel Vincent

  “He is a man, and men are fools. This is a matter for the women.” The blade tugged my skirt higher, then we both froze at a shuffling sound from my left.

  “Mommy?”

  I turned my head to find Cavazos’s four-year-old daughter—Isabel—standing at the end of the hall clutching a stuffed giraffe, backlit with light from the kitchen.

  Michaela hid her blade lengthwise in the folds of my skirt, pressing both her knife and the fist holding it between my thighs. I gasped, then bit my lip. “Go back to bed, niña. I will be there in a minute.”

  Isabel stuck her thumb in her mouth, then tottered off again without a word. Probably half-asleep.

  “I know you are sleeping with him, and I know who you are tracking for him, and I will not let you bring that bastard into my house.”

  A door creaked open and light flooded the hall. “Michaela.”

  She froze at the sound of her husband’s voice, and I looked up to find him standing in his office doorway, a silhouette backlit from within.

  “Go upstairs,” Cavazos growled.

  Still glaring at me, she stepped back and folded her knife with one hand, then turned and walked down the hall without a word to—or a glance at—her husband. I only exhaled in relief when she disappeared around the corner.

  Cavazos’s gaze traveled over my attire and his brows rose in approval. “A skirt. I like it.”

  I made a mental note to apologize to Van in advance for burning her skirt.

  He gestured with one outstretched arm for me to go inside, then he closed the door behind us.

  “Would you please tell your wife that you and I aren’t sleeping together?” He couldn’t tell her what we were doing, but he could tell her what we weren’t doing.

  He frowned. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  “The fun would be the part where she doesn’t stab me to death in my sleep. Your wife is psychotic.” I leaned against the back of a chair, hoping if I stayed standing, he’d subconsciously be less tempted to drag this out. It was a long shot, but I was desperate.

  “Michaela is just angry. Anger does fascinating things to a woman—no two react the same.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s overreacting. With a knife.”

  He nodded with a small, almost nostalgic smile. “It was my wedding gift to her. The handle is ivory.”

  Sick bastard. “Well, at least my murder weapon will have sentimental value.”

  “That’s actually an honor, you know.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind as my life flashes before my eyes. She knows who you’re looking for, Ruben.”

  He perched on the edge of his desk, watching me. “That was inevitable, and it changes nothing. Nor is it the reason you’re here. Why have you spent the entire day west of the river?”

  “Working.”

  “With Cameron Caballero?”

  “The job required the assistance of a name-Tracker, and he’s the best in the city.” Which Cavazos damn well knew.

  “Required? So the job is complete?”

  Shit. Careless phrasing had been the downfall of more than one fool attempting to stonewall Ruben Cavazos, and if I weren’t so tired, I never would have made such a novice mistake. “Um…yeah. The first phase. But that led to—”

  “Have you fulfilled your obligation to the client?” he said, waving off my attempt at damage control.

  “Yes.”

  “Then you will say adiós to Mr. Caballero and return to your work for me.”

  I had no choice about working for him—at least until I could get a new retainer from Anne—but… “You can’t keep me away from Cam.”

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  Ruben stood, stalking closer, and I stubbornly held my ground. “Everything you do is my business—I have a right to protect my investment. I want you to stay away from him, Olivia.”

  “Then you should have written that into my contract.”

  His fist flew. My face exploded in pain. I stumbled back from the blow, tripped over the clawed foot of the chair and went down hard on my right side. “You know how this is going to end. The game never changes, yet you keep playing.” He dropped into a squat in front of me and tilted my face up to inspect the damage while I ground my teeth together, breathing through the pain. It was bad, but not as bad as it was about to be. “Why do you do this to yourself, Olivia?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you.” I shoved him with my good arm. He went down on one hip, and I relished his ungainly fall and rare loss of poise. I pushed myself to my feet and kicked as hard as I could. My boot slammed into his ribs. He grunted in pain and I kicked again, then backpedaled when he made a grab for my leg. He was on his feet in an instant, storming after me, eyes alive with fury. Some sick part of him liked it when I hit back.

  So did I.

  “Are you trying to make me kill you?”

  “Nah.” I backed around the corner of his desk and out of reach, adrenaline surging through me like tiny bolts of lightning. “But you were right—anger does interesting things to women.”

  “So do I.” He lunged around the desk, holding his ribs where I’d kicked him, and I backed up until I hit the wall. But then there was nowhere else to go. Ruben was there in an instant. I tried to dodge him, but his fist slammed into my stomach and another breath was ripped away from me. I choked and half collapsed, but he held me upright.

  When I could breathe again, I pushed him away and took another swing at his ribs—an angry afterthought that exposed the bandage on my arm. Ruben dodged the blow and grabbed my left arm, pulling me closer, squeezing my injury mercilessly.

  I screamed as his fingers dug into both the entry and exit wounds, through the bandage.

  “Done?” he asked, in a whisper against my ear.

  I could only nod. There was still plenty of fight in me, but I’d had too little sleep and lost too much blood to give it my best, especially considering that he had the greater size and strength, and he could command me to stop whenever he tired of the game. I was never going to get the better of him without a weapon.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “Got shot,” I gasped through the brutal pain he’d reawakened.

  ̶Sit.” He hauled me toward his desk and shoved me into one of the chairs in front, where I sucked in a deep breath and held it, riding out the worst of the pain in my stomach and my arm. All in all, I’d seen better days.

  “I want you back on my case, full-time,” he said, picking up our ongoing business discussion as if there had been no hiatus. “What’s your next step?”

  “I don’t know yet. The name she gave you was fake. All of it, as far as I can tell. And you don’t even have a picture of her.”

  “It was eight years ago. I was trying to hide her from Michaela, not provide evidence of our affair.” Though clearly his policy on extramarital recreation had changed at some point. “And that was before I realized the only women who can be trusted are woman under surveillance.”

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “But without her blood, or her real name, or a photo, or proof that anything she told you about herself was actually true—including her fucking age—she can’t be found. She disappeared, Ruben. All I have to go on for your son is the middle name you gave him. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

  “I want you to find him!” Ruben roared. “I don’t care about her—I don’t even need to see her—but I want my son. You will find him for me, or you will be in breach of contract, and I will execute the consequences of that breach. Do you understand?”

  Of course I understood. I’d thought of little else in the past year and a half. “There’s one other possibility, but you’re not going to like it,” I said, holding my arm, though that did nothing for the pain.

  “No.” He gave his head one short, sharp shake for emphasis. “You’re not getting a sample of my blood.”

  “Ruben, this may be your only shot. Other than the
mother, you’re his closest relative, and since you’re both male, your blood’s going to be the closest in energy signature to his. I wouldn’t need much, and you’d have to be out of my range, so I wouldn’t be pulled to you instead. But at the very least, I should be able to tell if he’s alive, and if he’s within my range, I might get a general direction.”

  He scowled. “Do you really expect me to give you a sample of my blood, then leave the city with it in your possession?”

  I eyed him in challenge. “Do you really expect me to find your son?”

  He closed his eyes and exhaled, and when he met my gaze again, suspicion rivaled determination in his eyes. “You’d have to take another oath, swearing to destroy the sample when you’re done and never, under any circumstances, use my blood for any other purpose.”

  “Paper only,” I said. “No more marks.”

  He nodded. “I’ll have something drafted in a couple of days—the contracts department is backed up at the moment, with my top Binder missing.”

  “Fine. Are we done here?”

  “For now. My driver will take you home.”

  “My office,” I insisted.

  “Good.” He nodded, and I decided to let him think I was heading to the office to work on his case. “Stay away from Caballero,” he called, as I headed for the door. “Or I’ll call you right back in.”

  “Bite me,” I said, and he laughed, already picking up the phone to give instructions to the driver.

  I closed the door behind me and had made it halfway down the hall, clutching my bruised stomach, before I realized I wasn’t alone. Again.

  “You are never going to find her,” Michaela said, and I stopped in the middle of the hall, groaning on the inside.

  I let go of my stomach—never advertise weakness—and turned slowly to see her leaning against an open doorway behind me. “Find who?” Feigning ignorance seemed like my best bet at the time.

  “Tamara Parker. She is dead.” Michaela sauntered toward me, and I took a step back.

  “Do I even want to know how you know that?”

  Meika shrugged. “I had her killed years ago. For sleeping with my husband.”

  Oh, hell.

  “Please tell me you didn’t have the baby killed, too….”

  Another shrug, and a small, callous smile. “I would have, but he wasn’t with her.”

  “Does Ruben know?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I’m saving the announcement for a special occasion.”

  “You’re sick.” I turned my back on her and started down the hall again, but froze at her next words.

  “Did you have fun on the west side today? Were you searched for Ruben’s mark?”

  I turned slowly. “You…?” I demanded, and her cruel smile grew. “You started the rumors? Is that how you got rid of Tamara?”

  She laughed, a brittle, delicate sound. “No, I had her shot. But he watches you too closely for that, so I had to get creative.” Her gaze narrowed on me. “Did anyone find the mark? Because they will keep looking, you know. They won’t let Ruben Cavazos’s spying whore wander in their midst, and when they find the mark, they will kill you.”

  “They’ll have to kill me to find the mark,” I corrected, and she shrugged again.

  “You’ll be dead either way.”

  Eighteen

  I didn’t truly relax until I’d closed and locked my office door, locking the rest of the world out in the process. I called Cam from my cell and poured the first shot of whiskey while the phone rang in my ear.

  “Liv? Are you all right?” He sounded near panic. I knew how he felt.

  I tossed back the whiskey and slammed the shot glass down on my desk, my eyes squeezed shut until the burn in my throat faded. The burn was a relief, even if I only felt it because Michaela had bruised my throat with her grip.

  “Yeah. I need a favor.”

  “What? Where are you?”

  “At my office. Alone. I need you to bring me everything I left at your place. Including my gun. And on the way, can you stop and pick up one of those prepaid phones and have it activated?”

  “Do I even want to know why?”

  “Probably not.” I poured another shot, and he must have heard me swallow.

  “Put the whiskey back in the drawer, Liv,” he said, and over the line I heard a zipper being opened as he packed my stuff into a bag.

  “I’m done.” After one more shot. “See you in a few?”

  “Be there as soon as I can.”

  After that, I called Anne and asked her to send me another five-dollar retainer online, officially hiring me to track whoever wanted her daughter dead. Immediately. She sounded confused, but agreed and assured me that she, her parents and Hadley were all fine. But I wouldn’t let her tell me where they were.

  When her payment came through, I printed the receipt and filed it, then exhaled in relief as I stowed the whiskey in my bottom desk drawer. I could now legally and officially tell Cavazos to go fuck himself. With that taken care of, I headed into the bathroom to assess the damage to my face.

  My left cheek was turning purple—I’d already suspected as much, based on the reproachful shake of his head Tomas had given me when I’d left. The second bruise forming on my stomach was fainter and less defined, but very tender to the touch.

  I’d had worse.

  When Cam knocked on the office door, I lowered my shirt and let him in. He took one look at my face and dropped his duffel on the couch to take my chin in hand. “That black-hearted bastard… I’m going to break every tooth in his head.”

  “Get in line.”

  “Did you at least hit him back?” He let go of my chin and unzipped his bag.

  “Hell yes. I may have cracked his ribs.”

  “What set him off?”

  “Does it matter?” I sank into my desk chair and dug a bottle of ibuprofen from the middle drawer.

  Cam looked up, noting my reluctance to answer. “It does now.”

  I sighed. “He wanted me to stay away from you, and I refused.”

  “He hit you because of me?” Cam’s fist clenched around the duffel strap and his brows dipped low.

  “No, he hit me because I refused an order he had no right to give. He doesn’t own me like he owns everyone else in his life, and he hates it that I can say no.” To some things, at least. I was a threat to his manh, or his authority, or whatever, and he struck out to re-assert himself. And he left visible bruises so everyone else would know I wasn’t getting away with anything. “He wouldn’t do it if I did everything he told me to.” But that just wasn’t in me. I’d rather be bruised than acquiescent.

  “Yes, he would. I had a run-in with him once, Liv.” Which I already knew, of course. “I know what he’s like.”

  But he was wrong there.

  “Here’s the phone.” He handed me a slim slider phone with a full keyboard. “I activated it in the car—the number’s in your contacts list, and I already programmed mine. And here’s your gun.”

  “Thanks.” I dry-swallowed the painkillers, then emailed Anne the new number. Then I tossed my old phone to Cam, who caught it one-handed.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Nothing, anymore.”

  “So, what do you want me to do with it?”

  “What I can’t.” What I couldn’t even actually ask him to do. I was contractually prohibited from doing anything to avoid getting Cavazos’s calls or messages, which I was obligated to answer at the earliest possible moment.

  Comprehension bloomed on Cam’s face in the form of a satisfied grin. He threw the phone at the floor and stomped on it. The crunch of plastic was clean, and violent, and cathartic, and I really wished I could have been the one to do it.

  I would pay for that later, but for the moment, I was grateful to have a loophole to exploit. Fortunately, no contract is ever truly ironclad.

  Cam dropped onto my couch and looked at me across my desk. “Okay, so now what?”

  “Now…we figure o
ut why Tower wants Hadley dead, without using any of your syndicate connections or letting Tower know what we’re up to. And we figure out where Hunter was getting those injections, still operating under those same constraints, while simultaneously avoiding all contact from Cavazos.”

  “So basically, we’re working against the syndicate I’m bound to while hiding from the one you’re bound to.”

  “Technically, I’m bound to Cavazos, not to the syndicate. But yes. Also…” I sighed and leaned with both elbows on my desk, fighting the seductive lure of sleep. “We should probably steer clear of the west side entirely.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Agreed, but why do you say that?”

  “It turns out that Meika Cavazos is the one who started the rumor that I’m her husband’s bound concubine-slash-mole. She’s not allowed to kill me, so she’s hoping to have me hung as a spy. Or whatever the modern equivalent of that is.”

  “The modern equivalent would be systematic dismemberment, followed by a bullet to the brain.” And I could tell from the way he said it that he’d actually seen the floor show. And that it left an impression.

  “Wow. Tower puts some serious thought into his executions.”

  “Evidently I’m taxing her creativity.” I shrugged. “She just had the first girl shot.”

  “The first girl?”

  “Ruben’s first mistress. At least, I assume she was the first. Not that I’m sleeping with him, but Meika thinks I am, and she and logic don’t exactly share closet space these days.”

  “Sounds like she and sanity aren’t on very good terms, either.”

  I was still laughing when my new cell phone rang. I glanced at it in surprise, then snatched it and pressed the button to accept the call. Only two people had the new number, and one of them was sitting on my couch.

  “Liv, we’re headed your way.” Anne’s voice was tight with panic, and I recognized street noise and the rumble of an engine in the background.

  “What? No. Tower wants to kill your daughter. The city’s the last place she should be. You need to hide her.”

  “I did hide her, just like you said, and they found us.”