Rachel Vincent - Blood Bound

Yes, it just might kill me. Or him. But there had never been a less appropriate time to explain why I’d left him. Why working with him could be more dangerous than hunting and killing a murderer on my own. And it didn’t help that while my brain protested on the basis of logic, the rest of me ached for this excuse to be near him again, if only in a professional capacity.

But that was a bad idea. The key to resisting Cam Caballero lay in avoiding temptation—a concept he seemed to personify for me more with every glance I avoided, every memory I buried.

“No.” I turned back to Anne, wearing my business face. The one that got me the rates and bonuses I demanded. The one that usually kept creeps off me when I followed criminals down dark alleys and through abandoned buildings. “No. That’s a deal-breaker.”

“There are no deal-breakers when you’re bound,” Cam pointed out calmly, and suddenly I wished I’d hit him when I had the chance. “You’ll do it, or you’ll die trying to resist the compulsion.”

“I haven’t actually asked you yet,” Anne reminded me, echoing the infuriating calm that Cam exuded like radiation—a slow, vicious poison. “But I will if I have to. Your choice.”

“So, I either work with him because you’re asking me to, or I work with him because you’re threatening to ask me to. What kind of choice is that?” I demanded.

“It’s better than the choices I’m facing right now. The rest of my day includes picking out a casket and a black suit.”

Another low blow. “Why Cam?” I asked, hoping to talk her out of it before she caught on and actually compelled me.

“Because I’m short on cash but rich on resources, Liv.” Meaning the two of us, of course. “But if you’re willing to subsidize this project financially and you know someone better than Cam, then by all means.” She extended one arm toward the window and the city just now waking up. “So … do you know anyone better than Cam?”

Damn . “Other than me? No.”

Cam laughed out loud. “Still arrogant …”

“Confident,” I corrected. “And willing to back that confidence up with results.”

“Good.” He nodded, in what may have been the first look of respect I’d seen from him in more than six years. “Let’s go.”

“Um …” I hedged. “I have something to take care of first, and we’ll need those blood samples before I can get started.” I glanced at Anne with both brows raised, and she nodded, already standing. “So, I’ll meet you here at noon?”

“Liv, I really want to get this over with,” she repeated.

“I know, but I have a previous commitment.” I hesitated, dreading the next part. “Oh, and … urn … I’m going to need a retainer.”

“What?”

“You’re going to charge her?” Cam demanded, and that respect I’d seen was long gone. “She’s your friend.”

I bristled, even though I’d expected—and understood—his reaction. “A friend who’s compelling me to work for her.” And with you . I hated what they probably thought of me now, but I had no choice—a state of events I was starting to truly resent. “You need my help? Fine. But I need a retainer. It doesn’t have to be much. Five or ten bucks. Just … something to make it official.”

Anne looked as if I’d just danced on her dead husband’s grave, but she dug in her purse without a word. Something snapped open, and she handed me a five-dollar bill. “I don’t carry much cash, but I can get you more, later,” she offered, in spite of the hurt clear on her face.

“Don’t worry about it. This is plenty.” I paper-clipped the bill to a blank invoice and stuffed it into my desk drawer. Never in my life had I been more relieved to lose sight of a payment.

As they left my office, Cam glanced at me with a look of confusion and disappointment so strong it burned deep in my chest. But all I could do was stare back and hope he wouldn’t decide to put into words what his gaze was accusing me of.

I hated how he saw me now, and I hated knowing that his opinion of me would only worsen, if I kept my secrets. But my secrets kept him safe, and that was more important than what he thought of the life I’d chosen.

His safety was more important than anything to me. Even if he would never know enough to understand that.

“Well, did that go how you expected?” Anne asked, as Olivia closed and locked her office door behind us.

“Nope.” I sighed and dug my keys from my pocket. “I figured it’d be worse. Do you believe her? About the Cavazos syndicate?”

“Yeah.” Anne dug her keys from her purse with still-trembling hands. “She’s hiding something, but that’s not it. She’s not a syndicate member.”

I shrugged, trying not to show how relieved I really was. “Yeah, I’m guessing that if he owned a piece of Olivia Warren, he’d want everyone to know it.” And she’d do everything she could to hide it.

The Liv I’d known and loved was beautiful and passionate, with a backbone of steel and a fiery temper. This new Olivia was everything my Liv had been and more. More steel. More fire. She couldn’t truly bend to someone else’s will—Anne had convinced , as much as she’d compelled—and those who wouldn’t bend could only break.

It would kill me to see Liv broken, even after what she’d done.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Anne asked, as I held the stairwell door open for her. “It sounds like she’s pretty good at what she does.”

“So am I. This’ll be easier and faster with us working together.”

But as much as I wanted to help Anne—to know without a doubt, for once, that I’d be taking a murderer off the streets—that wasn’t my primary motivation.

Olivia was the goal.

Sometimes I thought about that night and the months afterward, and I hated her. Then I hated myself, for still wanting her. She was pissed at me for making her show her arm—for making her do anything —but my relief at the sight of her smooth, bare arm was like nothing I’d ever felt. Part joy, part memory and part aching possibility. I couldn’t stand the thought of someone else’s hands on her, much less some asshole’s mark of ownership.

But she wouldn’t talk to me voluntarily, and that left me no choice but to corner her, which Anne had unwittingly helped me do. Now Olivia couldn’t just hang up on me or close the door in my face. Now she’d have to listen to me. She’d have to talk. She’d have to tell me to my face why she’d ruined my life and stolen my future….

“What happened between you two?” Anne asked, clicking a button on her key chain to unlock her car doors. She slid into the driver’s seat and I settled in next to her.

“I don’t know. But I’m damn well going to find out.”

New Year’s Eve Six years ago

“Remind me what we’re doing here again.” I wrapped my arms around Olivia’s waist, watching the party over her shoulder. She smelled like vanilla, and I wanted a taste .

“It’s New Year’s Eve. Stop being so antisocial. “

“Oh, I want to socialize—on a very selective basis. I want to be very, very social with you. ” I ducked into the warm space between her neck and her hair and dropped a kiss beneath her ear, where the scent of vanilla was strongest. She shivered and twisted to face me, winding her arms around my neck .

“You just don’t like my friends. “

It wasn’t that I didn’t like them—I didn’t know most of them. “In the three years since I met you, you’ve hardly even mentioned them, and never once introduced me to anyone but Anne. Why would you want to spend New Year’s Eve with people you haven’t seen in years, instead of with me?”