Rachel Vincent - Blood Bound

Cam ran water over his hand to rinse away the blood. “How is that possible? How can Skill fade?”

“I don’t know.” And I still couldn’t figure out why I’d be pulled to a trash can full of bloody rags, rather than to the man who’d left with even more of it in his veins.

The squeal of hinges froze us both, and Cam laid one finger over his lips, warning me to be quiet. As if I didn’t already know.

“Who’s in there?” a male voice called, and I shoved the sealed sock back into my pocket with one hand while I drew my gun with the other.

Hunter? I mouthed to Cam, but he shook his head, and I read recognition on his face.

“Nick, is that you?”

“Who’s that?” the voice from the living room called. “Cam Cabellero. We’re coming out.”

“Who’s we?”

Cam motioned for me to put my gun up and follow him out of the bathroom. I holstered my pistol, but left my jacket open so I could get to it in a hurry.

Nick turned out to be in his early twenties and unSkilled, with a thick build, dark hair and a black Glock 9mm, which he was shoving barrel first into the waist of his pants when I stepped into the living room. His eyes widened when he saw me, but in surprise, not recognition. So far, so good.

“Lady next door said someone kicked in the door to 210. I’m guessing that was you and …” He glanced at me expectantly, waiting for me to fill in my name.

“Liv Warren,” Cam said reluctantly, when I remained silent. I could have punched him. Why the hell had he given out my real name?

“Liv …?” Sudden comprehension wrinkled Nick’s forehead and when he crossed his arms over his chest, one of the short sleeves of his dark T-shirt rode up, revealing a single thick, rust-colored link of chain tattooed on his upper arm. He was one of Tower’s grunts—no surprise, considering the neighborhood. Like most of Tower’s men—and more than a few women—he’d probably grown up on the west side and discovered after high school that his employment options consisted mostly of greasy fast-food service and manual labor.

Like the typical syndicate employee, Nick had likely signed on for a five-year term of service with the potential for renewal and advancement if he proved useful. But even if he opted not to re-up at the end of his service commitment, he would never be able to work for another syndicate or work against Tower, thanks to the lifelong loyalty and noncompetition clauses he would have been required to sign and seal with his own blood.

“Aren’t you on the wrong side of town?” Nick demanded, staring down at me as if I was worth less than the crud stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Nick’s single mark said he was in his first term of service; the cocky grin said he’d been in just long enough to think he was badass. I was itching to prove him wrong—to take out some of my unspent anger at Cavazos on this little prick’s face—but I knew better than to start shit with one of Tower’s men in his own neighborhood. I’d be outnumbered before I could throw my second punch.

“She’s an independent,” Cam said, meaning that I wasn’t bound to any syndicate. Which was mostly true—I worked for Cavazos alone and owed no loyalty or obedience to any of his syndicate members. “She’s working freelance and I’m helping her out.”

“She got a badge?”

“I’m not a cop.” Why wasn’t he browbeating Cam? And how did Cam happen to know one of Tower’s grunts?

“Then I gotta check her for marks.”

I drew my gun and flicked the safety off with my thumb. “You’re welcome to try.”

“No, he isn’t.” Cam met my gaze with a heavy one of his own. “You’re going to put the gun away.” Then he turned back to Nick. “And you’re going to back the hell off. I already told you she’s an independent.”

Independents were a dying breed in the city, even before I’d defected from their ranks.

“She broke into an apartment, she’s armed and I have it on good authority that she’s bound to Ruben Cavazos. I gotta check her for marks, Caballero. You don’t like it, you take that up with Adler. It’s over my head.”

Cam’s jaw clenched. “My word’s not good enough?”

Nick shook his head. “Not this time.” He turned to me. “Take off your jacket.”

My temper flared. “Go to hell.”

“Liv, just show him your arm,” Cam said. “You’re not marked. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that I don’t owe him anything.” And I was tired of being forced to strip.

“Fine. Then do it for me.” Cam frowned, but the lines around his mouth were fear for me, not anger. Something was wrong—beyond the obvious. “You owe me, Liv.”

He was wrong about that. I’d already made up for what I’d done to him, several times over, but I couldn’t tell him that.

The real question was why he wanted me to cooperate with this arrogant little grunt in the first place.

And that’s when I finally understood. “Push your sleeve up.”

Cam exhaled slowly, but didn’t even try to deny what I’d just figured out. He uncrossed his arms and pushed his left sleeve up with his right hand. And there it was. Not one, but three thick, iron-colored links of chain circling a quarter of his upper arm.

“You son of a bitch….” I whispered through clenched teeth. Cam was well entrenched in Jake Tower’s infrastructure. Halfway up the ranks. No wonder he’d been worried about my rumored affiliation with Cavazos. We couldn’t work together. We couldn’t even safely be seen together by anyone who knew about our respective bindings.

And that little bit of understanding brought Cam’s current predicament into clear focus. He’d brought me—a potential enemy—into his neighborhood and if I refused to prove I had no opposing affiliation, he would be held responsible.

My heart pounding, I holstered my gun and slid my jacket off my shoulders, then let Cam pull my shirt sleeve up to show off the unmarked flesh of my upper left arm.

“See?” he said, as I shrugged the jacket back into place. “No binding.”

“That’s not the only place she could be marked.” Nick’s gaze wandered down from my arm before finding my eyes again, his own gleaming in anticipation. “Where does Cavazos mark his whores?”

I stiffened, but Cam didn’t hesitate. His fist flew, and a second later, Nick was on the floor, bleeding from either his nose or his mouth—I couldn’t tell which, with all the blood.

Out of habit, I pulled the bottle of ammonia from my pocket, but Cam shook his head. “Save it.” He plucked a tissue from a box on the coffee table, then knelt next to Nick and wiped the blood from his fist while the grunt pinched his nose, trying to staunch the flow. “You checked. She’s unmarked. Your job here is done.” He folded the tissue into quarters and held it up for Nick to see. “You ever disrespect her again, and I’ll consider it a personal insult.” Cam tucked the tissue into his front pocket. “And I’ll send this to Ruben Cavazos myself, along with your name and a suggestion of how best to use them both to make your life a living hell. Got it?”

Nick swiped blood from his face with the tail of his shirt—an idiotic move, unless he was planning to burn it later. “Sorry, Cam. I just … That’s what I heard….”

“What did you hear?” I demanded, snapping the cap back onto my spray bottle.

Nick hesitated, glancing at me for a second before refocusing on Cam. “I’m not saying it’s true, but word on the street is that she’s doing Cavazos. And reporting to him. Tower put her on the watch list.”

“Based on a stupid rumor?” Cam demanded.

The grunt shrugged. “He don’t answer to me. All I know is we got orders to check for a mark if she comes west of the river.”