Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

CALLUM

When the party finally starts winding down, Nessa and her friend take off, and I’m oddly disappointed when she goes. Not that I expected her to linger in hopes of an invitation to stay. A lot of girls pull that move at the end of the night, but that doesn’t seem to be Nessa’s M.O., if she even has one. I still can’t figure that girl out.

Everyone has damage, but she must be really good at hiding hers, because I’m stumped. She just seems so… pure. And I have no idea why the fuck she chose to spend her evening with me, of all people, because I’m decidedly not. So, I can only conclude that she’s either a danger junkie or honestly can’t see the monster beneath my skin that’s so apparent to everyone else. Either way, she held my interest all night, and a girl hasn’t done that since… ever.

When she leaves, it’s like she takes all the energy in the room with her. I’m about to call it a night, but then Miles sparks up a joint and I’m compelled to linger a little longer. It’ll help me sleep. I hardly ever sleep worth a fuck.

He passes it to me after lighting it and I take the joint between my fingers, bringing it to my lips and inhaling. The paper crackles and burns as I suck the smoke deep into my lungs, holding it in for a beat before blowing it out.

“So, Vanessa Diaz,” Miles murmurs as I pass the joint back to him. I tilt my head in question, searching his eyes, and he throws his head back on a laugh. “The fucking girl that was sitting here all night, man. Did you honestly not even get her name?” Miles shakes his head as he brings the joint to his mouth, taking a puff.

“Not her full name,” I grumble as I rake a hand through my hair, melting back into the couch cushion. I flick a glance in Miles’ direction. “What about her?”

He shrugs a shoulder and blows out the smoke, passing the joint back to me. “She’s a fuckin’ ten, bro. The question is, which one of us is gonna hit that first?”

I roll my eyes, tucking the joint between my lips to take another hit.

Miles chuckles softly. “What, you not interested?”

“Never said that,” I reply, my voice strained as I hold the marijuana smoke in my lungs. I turn toward Miles and blow it right in his face, the corner of my mouth twitching up in a smirk. “It’s funny that you think you’ve got a shot, though, considering you have no game.”

“What the fuck ever,” he barks, snatching the J from my fingers as a laugh rumbles in my chest. “I could get that girl if I wanted to. I wasn’t even trying.”

“Suuuuure,” I mock, rolling my eyes and sinking further back into the soft leather couch.

“What, you think you could?” Miles challenges. “To land a girl like that, you’d actually have to be nice.”

I shrug. “I can be nice.”

Miles levels me with a stare, and I can’t help but crack a smile. He’s right. I’ve never been accused of being a ‘nice guy’.

“Whaddya say we make a little wager,” he suggests as he brings the joint back to his lips to take a drag.

I arch a brow and turn my gaze on him, waiting for him to go on as the cherry glows bright with his inhale. He takes his sweet ass time, puffing on the joint and exhaling the smoke slowly.

“First one to nail her, wins,” Miles finally finishes.

I roll my eyes again. “Fuck off.”

He barks a laugh, elbowing me in the ribs. “What, I’m serious! If you think your game is so much better than mine, then let’s put it to the test.”

I narrow my eyes on Miles, trying to discern his angle here. “What are the stakes?” I ask slowly, swiping a hand over my chin. I mean, I’ve already considered sleeping with her, so why not get something else out of it?

anything just yet. Miles is always playing these childish fucking games with the

old Corvette? Needs

four grand,” I

it’s nothing to him. “You know I’m good for it. Plus, you’d actually have to

gambler, but I’ve been saving up for that transmission for the better part of a year. It’s the last thing I need to get the Corvette running again. “And what is it that you’d want from me?” I ask

He grins.

head adamantly, disturbing the tendrils of smoke lingering in the air around

looks smug as fuck right now, probably because he already knows I’m about to agree to play his stupid game.

a hand over my face, knowing I’ll regret this. “You

~

a damn, but as soon as the sun comes up, I can usually manage to grab a few hours. It’s less than ideal, but that’s

late. Less tossing and turning when I

all typically crash here at the packhouse after a party since we’re usually pretty wasted by the end of the night and there are plenty of guest rooms to go around. It’s definitely convenient for post-party hookups; common for my friends, though a rarity for me. It’s not the hooking up that I have a problem with, it’s

knew it was only a matter of time. I groan in annoyance and push delete on the notifications, then climb out of bed clad only in my black boxer briefs, slipping my jeans on over them and not even bothering to button them up. They ride low on my hips as I pad barefoot down the corridor toward the living room, spotting a rough looking Chase sprawled out on the sectional as soon as it comes into view. He’s got a liquor bottle in one hand and a joint smoldering in the other, and he lifts his head when

whiskey bottle

shaking my

lifts the bottle to his lips as I make my way over to him, kicking a plastic cup out of my path and sending

flick on the power for the stereo as I pass it, hitting the Bluetooth button so I can connect my phone. I pause to slip it out of my back pocket, queuing up a playlist and turning the volume down to a low level before hitting play. The familiar guitar rift at the start of ‘Killing In The Name’ by Rage Against the

in here is littered with liquor bottles and plastic cups, joints and

People are fucking pigs.

unphased by

usual spot, kicking my bare feet up onto the coffee table. “Everybody

He brings the whiskey bottle to his lips again,

can’t drink it away, you know,” I grumble,

fingers, a tendril of smoke curling up in front

“Your dad.”

spits, every word laced with venom. There’s something

leaning over to snatch the joint from his fingers. He gives it up easily, and I flick the ash off the end into an abandoned cup on the coffee table before relaxing back against the couch again. “Your

narrows his eyes on me accusingly, like I’m taking a

helping people,” I say, voice strained as I hold the smoke in my lungs. “He helped me out, ya know. Kept mine.

what

another hit. “Come on, man. You always used to go on and on about your mom coming back when we

right in his face and he snatches the joint back from me with a scowl, holding it in front of him

“No.”

Well, that’s a start.

the couch and my eyes drifting to the ceiling. “You’ve gotta channel all that rage into something else,

to stub the joint out on the coffee table. He turns to look at me, raising a brow. “Why does Miles seem to think he’s taking your spot on the mission

head to gaze back at him. “Miles

the six-pack alliance’s army, aptly named the ‘security squad’, started sending teams off on missions to track down and eliminate splinter groups that formed from remaining shadow pack loyalists. Miles and I both applied to be included in the next mission, but he narrowly missed making the cut and he’s been salty as fuck ever since. He’s officially next

shit I live for, but pampered, rich-boy Miles doesn’t have the stomach for the kind of brutality needed to carry out this mission. Honestly, I think he’s just so competitive that he can’t take the