by Trisha Wolfe
With Ties That Bind
A Broken Bonds Novel, Book One
Trisha Wolfe
Contents
Copyright
Quote
1. Three Days After Rescue
2. Game Changer
3. Insides
4. The Job
5. Discovery
6. Torn
7. Warning
8. Pursue
9. Under the Influence
10. Control
11. The Depths
12. Purgatory
13. Surrender
14. Deliver Us
15. Alpha
FREE BOOK
Also by Trisha Wolfe
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sneak Peek at KL Kreig’s LUKE’S ABSOLUTION
Copyright © 2016 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: 1.0
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
~Friedrich Nietzsche
1
Three Days After Rescue
Avery
Rocking.
I can still feel the rocking.
I come awake at night to the pitch black—to the void of space and time and consciousness, but always the rocking. As if I’m still trapped in the belly of that boat. Panic grips me so acutely, I thrash and scream until the hospital room comes into focus.
Even then, it’s not the reassurance of my surroundings that quiets my hell and stops the screams. I held them in for so long, never giving that monster what he most desired, and now they pour out; a flood channeled through me. Like the dam holding them back cracked with the first one, and my sanity—the mending glue—dissolved under the swell.
But then I feel his hand in mine. That’s what brings me back from the brink of madness. I suck in a shuddering breath and let the shiver subside before I look over at him.
Quinn sleeps upright in the chair with his coat bunched up underneath his head. His arm rests on my bed, his hand clutched to mine. My screams never wake him, and I wonder if it’s all in my head—if I might still be inside a nightmare that I can’t wake from.
He could be a delusion. Some kind of sick dream within the nightmare that offers a glimpse of peace before I’m swallowed by the darkness all over again. Because the screams that blister my throat as they claw up from the sickness…no one could sleep through.
Only he does, and he’s been here every night since I shed my first tear, embarrassed that I feared being left alone in the hospital room.
I ease closer to him, lacing my fingers through his. His scent of leather and cologne—so much like a cop—settles over me. I inhale deeply, accepting this moment of peace. Just knowing he’s here.
When I’m released tomorrow, what then? When the silence of my own home mocks me and the emptiness consumes my life, how will I cope? I’ve never feared being alone before.
I don’t know how to be a victim.
What’s more, I don’t want to fear that monster. He’s dead. I saw him dead with my own eyes. But there’s still this twisting nausea in the pit of my stomach. The darkness whispering that my tormentor lurks everywhere I look. Can a person die of fear? Some nights it feels as if my heart will burst, and I’m tempted to let the panic finally consume me.
Quinn stirs and I release his hand, scared that if he wakes, he’ll be the first to let go.
A low knock travels through the room, causing another scream to fire from my lungs. A figure stands in the open doorway, and I know it’s Simon… That fucking sick fuck is still alive.
“Avery, it’s okay.” Sadie enters the room, her voice soft and her face catching the dim glow of the monitor.
“Oh, my God.” I press my hand to my chest, shame sweeping over me. “I just… Sometimes it’s hard when I first wake up.”
“I know,” she says. Her gaze shifts from me to Quinn before she settles on the edge of the bed. “I still wake up screaming some nights.”
Anger burns lava-red in my vision, my chest aflame. I don’t understand whom I’m angry with…or why…but hearing that all this time—all these years—hasn’t changed anything for Sadie, makes me want to lash out.
“Why are you here?” I ask, the venom thick in my voice. Immediately, regret douses the flames. God, it’s a never-ending cycle. “I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be.” She stands and extends her hand. “You’re going to need that anger.”
Confusion pushes my brows together, but I accept her hand. “For what?”
With her help, I climb out of the bed, my body—every muscle and bone—sore from the days of torture inflicted on me. As she guides me toward the hallway, I glance back at Quinn.
“He’s fine. Can sleep through a hurricane,” she assures. “I tried to wake him up once when he fell asleep at his desk”—she shakes her head slowly—“dead to the world.”
“Maybe that’s why he drew the short straw to be the one to sit with me.” I take a seat on the waiting bench. “He’s the only one who can get a full night despite my fits.” I try to smile, but the deep cut running through my bottom lip stings from the effort.
Sadie’s silence draws my gaze up to her. A serious expression tugs her mouth into a grim line. “Quinn’s here on his own. I had no idea,” she says.
I look down at my lap, the hospital bracelet circling my wrist. I twirl it, my thoughts muddled. “Then why—?”
“You’ll have to ask him.” She sits down beside me. “I’ve come for an entirely different reason. I’m not here to comfort you, Avery. I’m not going to tell you lies about how therapy will help, about how time will heal you. That all you need to do is be strong and fight your demons.”
“Damn,” I say, a breathy laugh escaping. “Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“I won’t.” Her eyes lock with mine; hers unblinking and lit with a surreal gleam that chills me to my bones. “We only discuss this once. From here on out, no matter what you decide, it stays here. Between us.”
I should be terrified. This is not the Sadie I know. The woman sitting before me now is cold and methodical, and what she whispers to me in the dark corridor of the hospital should send me fleeing in horror. But as she continues, telling me about a man sitting at a bar, her plan for this man…an eerie calm envelops me, soothing away any trace of fear. Her voice drifts to me, lulling me into a welcome camaraderie, and for the first time since I was plucked from the hellish bowels of The Countess, I feel as if I can take a breath without fearing my own screams.
I make the pact.
It’s as simple as slicing open a dead body…which I’ve done many times over. Then all the fear, the panic, the screams—it all ends. That is the control over my life Sadie grants me in this moment, and I cling to it like a life raft. I crave it so deeply, I’m willing to sell my soul for it.
And so I do.
When I climb back into the hospital bed, I’m no longer the same woman Quinn hauled from that dungeon. I’m not fixed; far from it. But I feel stronger. Only as I go to lay my hand in his…I halt.
Quinn can never know.
Sadie’s warning is more than common sense; it’s a test.
One that I’m bound to fail if I let myself fall for the detective who’s held my hand through the screams and sheltered me from the dark. All done in secrecy, because these are not things done in the light, where we must own to our desires.
So now I have a secret, too. I slip my hand into his large, rough one and c
url up next to his strong arm, savoring the feel of his comfort for the last time.
2
Game Changer
Detective Ethan Quinn
Arlington, Virginia is on the map.
And not in a good way. Not that it wasn’t already well known—what, with the National Cemetery and the Pentagon, and DC right across the river. But it’s always been a peaceful sort of city. A short drive for politicians and other DC types alike to escape to.
It won’t ever be the same.
My city is a blister, an eyesore, a blemish on the face of the country. Even after nearly a month, social media is still buzzing with reports of the serial killings. There’s even a hashtag for the Arlington Slasher. A dead serial killer has his own fucking hashtag.
What the hell.
Every day that I walk through the ACPD doors, I try to put the case behind me. It’s time to move on, but that blister just keeps eating away. It’s a festering pus pocket of self-loathing right in the pit of my stomach.
I pop an antacid, chewing on my right side. I’m still not used to the gap from my missing—stolen—tooth. Fuck Simon Whitmore. AKA the Arlington Slasher. AKA the Blood Count. I can’t believe a damn lab geek got the better of me. How the hell did a demented twist like Simon elude us for as long as he did?
Simon’s own words stated he was an apprentice to Lyle Connelly—a person of interest in one of the first cases Sadie and I worked together—and it’s possible Simon learned a thing or two from his master. But without me having any access to Connelly himself, having to trust in Sadie’s profile, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to accept this outcome. It’s just that all the pieces don’t align. And I need the puzzle neat and exact to let it rest for good.
But it won’t ever match up. And one of the main reasons for that?
Me.
If I start to dig, if I try to unearth the whole truth, I have to come clean about my role.
We all did what we had to in order to rescue Avery Johnson. Even me. I made a bargain with myself the night I followed Sadie to the memorial. I knew the consequences. I looked them square in the eye and told them to fuck off.
I made the right call. At least, I made the call I had to in order to protect Sadie—to look out for my partner.
Christ. I drag my hands down my face, resting my elbows on my desk, and stare at the whiteboard along my office wall. Across from me, images of a recent, brutal attack are strung on the board. A woman’s face beaten so badly, we couldn’t even run facial recognition on her.
It’s like the spree killings opened Pandora’s box and unleashed a swarm of demented chaos on Arlington. Once the gates of hell were thrown wide, it invited every sick perp to march straight in, trying to one-up the gruesome murders.
I swear, there’s some underground club where these twisted fucks collaborate. A bunch of psychopaths just hanging around, deciding where to strike next.
And Arlington is now on the map.
From my peripheral, I glimpse a jean jacket. Against my will, my neck directs my head to swivel, my eyes growing wide as I wait to make out Sadie’s petite form. But just as quickly, I remember she’s not here.
My gaze follows one of the analysts as she heads through the bullpen, her hips swinging. She’s not Sadie. She’s not my partner.
It’s late. My brain is overworked. I should leave, but the only place I want to go is no longer an option. I don’t have an excuse to visit Avery anymore. As screwed up as it is, I’ve never slept as sound as I did the nights I spent watching over her in the hospital room.
Am I a sick shit for wishing she knew I was there? For wanting her to need me still? She seems to have recovered at an alarming speed, picking up at work like she was never abducted by one of her own assistants. Yeah, Avery needs me about as much as Sadie does. I should get a hobby. Or a pet.
Fuck.
I start to pack up my laptop when a blonde coasts past my door. Avery.
I fumble through my case files, searching for anything on the newest case to give me a reason to go after her. I come up with nothing. I slump back in my chair and glance up. The blonde is talking to Carson—and she’s not Avery. But my dick hasn’t caught up to that realization yet, and he twitches in my slacks. Annoyed, I close my eyes, and despite all conscious effort, a clear visual of the last time I saw Avery springs to mind.
Her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans…lab coat opening up in front to reveal her white T-shirt stretched tightly across her chest. The perfect swell of her breasts…nipples hardening…
Shit. My fucking cock is rock-fucking-hard and throbbing. I’m a damn glutton for punishment, that’s the truth of it. Not only that, I’m no better than the sick bastards I put away. Thinking of my colleague like that. Especially after all she’s been through.
The last thing she needs is some hard-leg detective hanging around, drooling all over her COD reports like a fucking dipshit.
It didn’t used to be this way. I’m not sure when it changed, but it did. Maybe it was the night I followed Sadie to The Lair. Seeing my partner going into a forbidden, deviant environment and imagining what she was doing—or letting be done to her—on the inside.
The imagination is a hell of a thing.
Ever since then, my head’s been a mess. I knew Sadie had a past. I knew she was tortured because of it. And I damn sure knew she wasn’t as innocent as she tried to appear. But hell—a BDSM club?
And when she showed up to my crime scene in that dress… Motherfucker. I’ve never been so close to breaking my code of honor before. But my conviction for maintaining respect for my partner won out.
However, a man can only be tested so many times before he breaks.
And Avery Johnson is a whole different kind of temptation.
The line drawn between us isn’t as distinct. It’s blurred just enough that I could easily cross right over—but I don’t like blurry boundaries. It’s a trap that will have my balls in an ethical vise if I don’t get my shit together.
Where I was able to draw a don’t-fucking-cross-line with Sadie, it seems I just can’t help myself when it comes to the hot little medical examiner. Every time she’s in my office, I wage a war within myself. One side of me recalling the bruises and cuts, the pain she suffered at the hands of a serial killer, and all I want to do is protect her. Hold her hand again in the still, dark quiet of our own making and keep her safe.
But then there’s a degenerate side of me that fantasizes about throwing her across my desk, spreading her creamy thighs wide. Pushing her underwear aside, lowering my zipper, and driving in hard and deep, while her brown eyes devour me.
My cock jumps, and I feel a spurt of pre-cum shoot along my leg. With a thick groan, I twist my chair around and adjust the neglected, aching member of my body.
Truth is, it might not even be my attraction for Avery that’s got me this bad off. I know it’s wrong. I know that fine line shouldn’t be crossed. But this past case crept into all of us. Even me. Twisting me and revealing a debased side that I’ve only ever believed existed in the “bad guy.”
Once you lower the barrier just enough to allow that deviancy past your armor, it taints you. You can dance with evil, telling yourself you’re in control—that you’ll only use it to crack the case. But the truth is, that darkness leaves a stain. You don’t use it.
It uses you.
Or maybe it’s always been there, harboring on the edge, waiting for me to let it in.
Fuck that.
I push these disastrous thoughts aside with a deep, cleansing breath. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. The only nights I’ve been able to sleep a full six hours since I saw Avery chained up in the hull of that boat were the nights I spent with her in the hospital.
Even now, there are times that I can’t look at Avery without seeing the bruises that once marred her pretty face. The cut that tore through her bottom lip. We got the guy, yeah. He can never hurt her again. So why can’t I move on to the next case?
And a
ll this shit in my head…it’s pretty simple. I haven’t been with a woman since Jenna left. That was almost four months ago. My wife—soon to be ex-wife—decided she couldn’t stand being married to a cop anymore. And even before then, it had been a while since we fucked. Damn, a while doesn’t quite stress the full year I’ve spent hard-up and sex depraved.
Having to keep my head in the game during the chase for the killer got me through the roughest part, but I’m damn near ready to find any piece of ass and bury my cock just to get some relief.
You can’t fault a guy there. Maybe it would clear my head, and by the time Sadie returns from her vacation, all these inappropriate thoughts will stop. They need to stop.
It’s either that, or transfer out of the department.
That thought sobers me right up. It’s been a gnawing consideration since the conversation I had with Sadie in the hospital. That’s the night I sold my soul. For Sadie, for my partner, I’d do it again. Not just because of the annoying attraction to her—fuck that. I’m a pig, but I’m not a complete asshole. I care about her, but as a member of my team and because she’s my partner. And that’s why I did what I had to do. I looked the other way. It was the first time in my life that the right choice wasn’t written out in bold font.
So I chose to do nothing.
Even now, it’s a complicated mix of emotions that I’m not at all comfortable exploring, and it’s why I can’t stand the sight of myself in the mirror. For the first time in my whole career, I went outside the law.
For that, I should transfer Sadie or myself to another department.
But there’s also a reason why I can’t let that happen, either. The detective in me needs to keep her close, observe her. Investigate. I told her that I didn’t want to know—and on some level, I still don’t—but that won’t stop me from seeking the truth.
It’s what I do. Who I am. Turning a blind eye to her involvement in the murder of Lyle Connelly momentarily stripped me of my own damn identity. Some days, I’m sure the only way to get that back is by uncovering everything.