Bound By Blood: (The Betrayed Series Book 2)

by Victoria Renteria

  Gaining control of my reflexes once more, I open my mouth, allowing her to pour water in. Swallowing, I watch the genuine smile spread, softening her features. I survey her in awe, drinking in her appearance. Dark mahogany hair is stylishly pinned into an elegant side bun. Her olive skin is polished and shines to perfection. She’s dressed as if she were about to debut her outfit on the runway in Milan and not torture her victim to death in a home on the outskirts of who knows where in South Korea.

  Peering up through my lashes, I scan my mother’s face. It’s one not far from my own. Our features are very similar; it’s something I’ve tried very hard to forget over the years. Sadness crushes me as my lashes fuse together. Hot tears beat the backs of my eyes like the intense heat on a warm summer day. It’s difficult . . . looking at a stunning creature like my mother. Looking at Min Sun-ye Parker and knowing that she’s hell bent on torturing her daughter to death.

  Tears swell, flowing freely from my eyes as she retrieves her blade and saunters back in my direction. Tension builds as my muscles quiver. My body’s natural fight or flight response takes over as she grows near. Gripping the rope tighter, I begin swaying, shoving, moving as much as I can to try and prevent her from doing anything further to me. My efforts are useless. My body dangles, suspended, waiting for her to do her bidding. Closing my eyes, I drop my head to my chest.

  Weariness seeps into my bones, each muscle protesting, disapproving of any movement. Tugging on the rope jolts my head up, sending a wave of nausea crashing through me. Moaning, I bite back the bile and turn my head to the side. Our eyes meet for just a moment as I whisper, “No, please.”

  “Be still, child. I’m only cutting you down.”

  My eyes widen just a fraction. She’s cutting me down? I want nothing more than to run and hide at this moment. All of my thoughts have become unclear and fuzzy, each one muddled and confused. The rope snaps, startling me. Yelping while I fall, my mother catches me in her arms, cradling me to her chest like a newborn babe. Frowning, my thoughts are clouded with indecision as she sits on a beat-up sofa in the corner.

  My mother releases the bonds on my wrists and ankles, knowing I’m too injured and weak to go anywhere. Cradling me to her chest, she begins rubbing them coaxing circulation back into the neglected limbs. Feeling trapped, I want nothing more than to ask her to release me, or at least set me away from her. She grabs a blanket, covering me. Peeking up at her, I watch mesmerized by this devastatingly complex creature.

  Stroking my hair absently, she stares at the wall blankly as she says, “When I was a child, I grew up in a village not far from here. My grandmother lived in a neighboring village. She was a harsh woman. Believed in the old ways.” Inhaling through her nose, she continues stroking my hair. I’m paralyzed, frozen in fear, unable to move, terrified that if I do, she may go back to the monster from before.

  “Our ways are different . . . one might even say barbaric. As a child, I was taught the ways of our family. My father, much like his father, was a cold man with a heavy hand. Ruled with an iron fist.” A laugh devoid of humor sounds from her red painted lips. Her gaze falls to mine, taking in my fear-laden eyes.

  “Do not be afraid, Ttal. Yes, I am much like my father. I rule with an iron fist as I was taught. I am teaching you as he taught me. You’re receiving the same training he bestowed upon me. You see, we are bound by blood to carry on and conduct the family business. You were always meant to be here.” Her brow furrows. “Things just got out of hand.”

  My mouth falls open. Training? Meant to be here? She isn’t making any sense. I swear she woke up and put on her damn crazy pants this morning. Clearing my throat, I finally work up the courage to speak. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “No. I suppose you don’t,” she muses.

  Her hands resume stroking my hair. The action throws me off balance. Even when I was a child, it wasn’t something she did. Why she chooses now of all times to become maternal, I have no clue. It’s seriously messing with me.

  Desperation fills me . . . all of the possibilities compete, confusing me like a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be solved. Silence continues to stretch as she runs her fingers along my scalp. Unease stings the back of my mind, urging me to probe further.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I steel my nerves and inquire, “W-What did you mean things got out of hand?”

  She glances down at me as if she just realized I’m still in the room with her. Blinking several times, she lifts her gaze and sits silently for several minutes.

  Finally, she responds, “I’m going to tell you a story, Ttal, and when I’m finished, you will understand everything. Our family is the Sun-ye family. We have been around for many generations. Some fifty years ago your, great-great-grandfather was in a gang. He fought for leadership and won. He took over as head of the Kkangpae. During his rule, he took a street gang and turned it into a criminal empire. He divided it into five sections for each of his five children. Each section is led by a direct descendent of your great-great-grandfather. Since he took over fifty years ago, there has never been anyone other than a Sun-ye in charge.” Releasing the air from her lungs, she takes on a faraway look.

  “It was my twentieth birthday. Your grandfather had just told me he would be retiring in the next few years, and it was time I step up and take my rightful place. You must understand, I had no desire to run a criminal empire. I spent most of my days shopping and hanging out in the clubs in Seoul.” Her voice is pained as she gazes into the distance.

  My breath hitches as I listen, caught up in this ridiculous tale she’s spinning.

  “Tradition. A horrible thing, really.” She glances down at me.

  Her fingers trace my cracked lips. Her brow creases as she reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a tube of lubricant and glides it across my mouth. Awareness tingles through my lips as her fingers deftly apply the salve. A low moan leaves me as blessed relief disperses across my chapped lips.

  Grinning, she recommences caressing my hair. “It is tradition in the Sun-ye family that when you become of age—that is right around your twentieth birthday—you will find a suitable mate and procreate. This is so the blood line continues, ensuring there will always be an heir to the throne, so to speak.” She pauses, looking down to gauge my reaction.

  Carefully schooling my features to pretend I’m not affected, I hold her gaze. Inside, my emotions are riotous. Is this for real? You’re forced to get pregnant so that there is always an heir to the criminal throne? It’s like reverse royalty. Wait.

  What in the hell does that mean for me? And how did she end up in the United States? Searching my face for any sign of unrest, she sighs, her shoulders slumping forward. Numbness slithers, slinking its way through my veins as I tense in her arms, unsure of what to do. I begin sifting through memories, searching my brain, looking for a time when I’ve ever seen her like this. I’m used to seeing her angry, closed down, taking out her aggression on me.

  Not once in my childhood did she ever look resigned or defeated. My heart lurches in my chest as a new kind of fear makes its presence known. What if I can’t handle the rest of what she’s going to tell me? How do I deal with her affection? I’ve harbored nothing but resentment for how she’s treated me for years. A fine tremor begins in my legs, working its way up my torso.

  Soft, soothing sounds reach my ears as gentle rocking motions sway my body. Her melodic voice sends shivers skating along my spine. “Shhh. It’s okay, Ttal.” My mother’s lips ghost across my forehead as she draws me into her chest.

  “It’s not as bad as it seems. Some good things come out of it . . .” Her words trail off for a moment as she inhales. When she speaks again, her voice is wistful, full of nostalgia. “He was so handsome sitting there with his friends. My instructions were clear: find a target, seduce him, only keep him around long enough to get pregnant, and then disappear. Our family is only interested in the offspring. We never keep the partner around.” She pauses, glancing down before continuing.

&nbs
p; “I know it sounds harsh, but honestly, they would never survive our lifestyle. The mother is always compensated when she gives up the child, and honestly, what man sticks around, anyway?” Her voice hitches on the last word.

  “H-He wasn’t supposed to stick around. How was I to know he was honorable?” Her eyes gleam with unshed tears.

  “Your father had this aura that surrounded him, this . . . magnetism. Something about him would just draw you in. When I saw him sitting across the room, I knew immediately he was dangerous for me, that I should find someone else. Those cerulean blue eyes like an endless ocean . . . A girl could get lost in them.” Exhaling, her chest rises and falls, bringing the conversation to a lull.

  “He captivated me from the very beginning. The spell he wove was so treacherous, at times I found myself questioning whether I could actually go through with the plan. But I had to, as we all must. We are bound to our family and must uphold tradition. It wasn’t long before I found out I was pregnant with you. The day I told Kyle, he was ecstatic. His face lit up like he’d been given a gift from God.” A blush inches its way across her cheeks as she loses herself in her memories.

  “When my father found out I was with child, he was proud. The only time I’ve seen him show any emotion toward me. Then when it became clear that Kyle wasn’t going away, he made it clear I was to push him away. I did small things at first. Picking fights, which progressively escalated. Trying everything to drive him further and further away. No matter how hard I tried, he wouldn’t budge. He chalked it up to pregnancy hormones. When it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere, my father became irate and started digging for information, anything he could use to make him go away. That’s when my mistake became apparent.” All of her breath leaves her in one fell swoop.

  “I should have paid attention, fought the attraction, been obedient, and done what I was told. Instead, I let my body and my heart guide me. And make no mistake, Ttal . . . my heart did guide me. When my father found out that Kyle was not only United States Military but an intelligence officer, he lost it. Became antagonistic, hostile, even. I’d only ever seen him like that with others. Never with me. He was so angry with my poor judgment. He said that I’d disgraced the family, put us all in danger. That I had to leave and take the child with me and never return. I was devastated, crushed. The only life I’d known was being taken from me all because I’d chosen the wrong man.”

  Clearing her throat, she hesitates briefly. “Your father never hesitated. He swooped in like a knight in shining armor looking to save the damsel in distress. Wanting to whisk me away and marry me. No money, no home, no future to speak of, I accepted, and when his rotation was up in Korea, we transferred to the United States where you were born.”

  Sucking in a breath, she peers down at me as she says, “You have to know, Kylee, that I loved your father with all of my heart, but you were always meant to be here. This was always supposed to happen. It is your destiny . . . you are bound to your family.”

  Droplets of moisture drip onto my face. Squinting up through my lashes, I see her eyes closed, tears streaming down her cheeks. She squeezes me tighter, holding me to her chest as I’m left reeling, overloaded with information. My body and mind simultaneously begin to shut down, blackness creeping into the edges of my vision. She loved my father? She was forced out of her home? What does this all mean? Why is she crying? Why is she comforting me after spending all of this time torturing me? And above all, what does this mean for my future? And why do I have this sinking feeling that history is about to repeat itself?

  UNCLENCHING MY HANDS FOR THE third time in the last five minutes, I shove them in my pockets. Glancing around the table, I catch the overanxious stares of my team bouncing between the conference room door and head of the table. Colonel Parker sits closed-mouthed, his gaze trained on the far wall. Lost in his thoughts, the Colonel doesn’t register the not so subtle glimpses my team keeps giving him. I can’t blame them, really. He’s the only connection we have to her at the moment. My gaze roams to the door again.

  What’s taking Brighton so long? He’s normally one of the first ones in and the last to leave. Shit, I hope he isn’t falling apart again. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself, I hadn’t even thought of him and what he’s been through recently. Groaning, my eyes cut to the door that’s still firmly closed. Nervously, I begin tapping my heel on the floor while taking sidelong glances at the door. Dammit! He’d been doing so well, too.

  Consciously, I have to force my muscles to relax one by one. Rolling my neck side to side, I catch Sam eyeing me from across the table. Shit. I can’t sit here any longer. I’ve got to make sure he’s okay. Standing, I clear my throat.

  “I’m going to see what’s taking Brighton so long.”

  The Colonel nods his acknowledgment, never looking away from the wall. Damn. Maybe something’s going on with him, too. Rubbing a hand through my hair, I stride to the door. Tightness pulls at my chest as I think of the strain on my team. We’ve been in tighter spots, sure, but none of those were close to us. They were all images and names given to us after the fact.

  We knew her, loved her. Fuck, love her. A painful tightness forms in my throat, tears threatening to scald my retinas. Exiting the room, I scan the hallway, searching for Brighton. Where the fuck is he? The dull, heavy roar of my pulse thuds, rumbling like waves crashing against the rocky shore.

  My steps are uneven as I pass room after room, none of them containing his presence. Thoughts spin through my mind, going back to that deep, dark time in his past. Quickening my pace, I fight against the hitch of my heart, the hardening of my stomach. The dread that gnaws at my conscience tells me I should have paid attention. FUCK! I knew better.

  Turning down the long, narrow hallway, his voice floats from a conference room through a door that’s partially ajar. Stopping outside the door, I listen to the one-sided conversation. The crevice in my heart widens as I listen to the pain in my brother’s voice.

  “Why do you care so much, Emma? Are you trying to tear my heart open?” He’s silent for a moment as he paces the length of the room.

  “Compassion? I don’t think you really want me to open that door again.” Brighton stops, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

  “Leave it, Emma,” he growls.

  “I told you, Em. Go fix yourself.”

  “I’m sorry . . . but I-I can’t. Y-You care too much. Don’t waste your time on me.” Releasing a sigh, Brighton hangs his head.

  His voice breaks when he speaks again. “Em, I’m scarred. You’d tear your heart open. It’d be a bloody mess. I can’t. Not again.”

  Pivoting, he turns, his gaze landing on mine. Shutting down, his eyes grow cold as he says, “This conversation is over. I’m sorry. I have to go. Goodbye.”

  Nudging the door open with my shoulder, I saunter into the room. Guilt sits heavily in my gut as I assess my brother’s appearance. Heavy bags sit under his gray eyes, telling a daunting tale of sleep deprivation. Shaggy, blond locks have replaced the clean cut he generally sports. His hair is disheveled like he’s been constantly running his fingers through it. Mentally, I sigh and open my mouth to speak, but he raises his hand, cutting me off.

  Shaking his head, he states, “I’m fine. Really, there’s no need to worry.”

  Placing my arms across my chest, I reply, “Are you sure about that?”

  He releases a sigh. “Yes, AJ. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine from where I’m standing.”

  “Well, maybe you should move a little closer,” he smugly replies.

  “Don’t be a smart ass,” I snap.

  “I said I’m good and I meant it. If I wasn’t, I would have said something.” His voice hardens.

  Narrowing my eyes, I take a step forward. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Brit. I care about you, man. Don’t do that. Don’t you push me away. You, the guys, and me, we’re family. You don’t get to push
us away. We haven’t forgotten what happened the last time you tried.” My voice is low and undeviating.

  Scrubbing a hand down the front of his face, he exhales. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, man.”

  “What was that about?” I ask, nodding toward the phone.

  Frowning, he replies, “Nothing, at least nothing that I’m getting into.”

  Clapping a hand on his shoulder, I say, “Well, just remember I’m here if you need me.”

  He nods his acknowledgment.

  “All right, man,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go. I came to find you so we can get this party started. We’ve got a leak to flush out and a Goddess to find.”

  Smirking, he follows me back to the conference room. A small weight is lifted off my shoulders knowing that he’s okay for the moment, although a niggling feeling worms its way into the back of my mind, persistently nagging, reminding me that something isn’t right. All eyes land on us the moment we walk through the entrance. Sometimes I feel like the entire unit is a living breathing entity. We’re so in-tune to each other’s emotions.

  Three pairs of eyes drift to Brighton, surveying his appearance. Giving my head a little shake, I meet their eyes, letting them know we’ll table the conversation for a later time. Grim looks meet mine, but they nod their acceptance. My heart lurches, pounding in my chest. The deep affection and devotion I have for these men knows no bounds. The fact that they’d sacrifice anything to ensure the safety of one of their own speaks volumes.

  Colonel Parker stands, bringing the meeting into session. Meeting eyes with everyone on my team, he clears his throat as he begins.

  “So, it appears we have a leak.” His lips flatten into a thin line.

  Revulsion circulates, coursing through me one layer at a time until it’s churning violently in my gut. Fighting the compulsion to storm out of the room and tear something to shreds, I sit up straighter, paying attention to the briefing.