Broken Bond by C.J. Primer

Chapter 8

8

CALLUM 

The sound of a fist rapping loudly against my apartment door rouses me from a dead sleep. I‘m a little disoriented as I lift my head from the pillow, swiping drool from the corner of my mouth with a forearm while using my other elbow to push myself up against the scratchy cotton sheets. What time is it? 

The knocking continues. 

Whoever‘s there isn‘t giving up, so I pry myself from bed with a groan, the rusty old springs of my mattress answering with a groan of their own. Finding my feet and blinking against the harsh sunlight streaming in through the blinds in my bedroom, I swipe a pair of sweatpants off the floor and stumble into them as the pounding on my front door continues. 

“I‘m coming!” I growl out, not even attempting to mask my annoyance. A quick glance at the clock on my nightstand tells me it‘s 10:30 a.m., which is about typical for my fucked–up sleep pattern. Still, with how deeply I was sleeping, I could‘ve gotten another hour in if this prick wasn‘t pounding on my door. Whoever it is isn‘t going to get a warm reception, that‘s for sure. 

The banging is getting even more insistent, only stoking my irritation. 

“I said I‘m coming!” I bark loudly, stabbing my fingers through my hair to tame my bed head and dragging my feet against the vinyl plank flooring as I make my way down the short hall from the bedroom to the front door. It‘s practically rattling on its hinges while the person on the other side continues to beat on it. 

I flip the deadbolt and turn the knob, yanking the door open with my teeth bared and a growl rumbling in my chest. “The fuck do you want?!” 

My stomach drops when I see who‘s on the other side, his fist still raised mid knock. I groan loudly and go to shove the door shut, but my stepdad sticks his foot over the threshold and it bounces off his boot, swinging back. 

“You haven‘t been answering my phone calls,” Troy says as he shoulders his way inside. I step away, giving into the inevitability that he‘s not leaving until he fulfills whatever agenda he has. “Please, come in,” I grumble sarcastically, rolling my eyes and turning away to step into the small galley kitchen just off the front entrance of the apartment. I hate having my back to him– the feeling of his eyes boring into me makes my fucking skin crawl as I step over to the cabinet beside the sink. I open it to retrieve a glass from inside, turning on the faucet below and sticking the glass 

underneath. 

scuffing against the floor and the creak of the door closing behind him, followed by the snick of the latch as it closes. I bristle, gripping the glass so tightly in my fist that it feels like it could give way and splinter into shards at any

calls?” Troy asks, the sound of his familiar monotone grating on my nerves. Water spills over the top of the glass

lifting the glass to my lips as water beads from my hand and runs down my bare chest. I take a big gulp of the water, fighting to muster my composure before slowly turning around to face my stepdad. “Been busy,” I shrug, leaning back

muscle in Troy‘s jaw ticks as he stares at me from just outside the doorway to the kitchen. “Too busy for your

back at him, unblinking, not bothering

Then he turns away, striding further into

solitude. And now Fuckface is here, tainting it with his presence. I grit my teeth while I step out of the kitchen and follow him

stepping over to the beat–up blue couch and plopping his ass down onto it. He spreads his arms across the

comfortable he‘s making

possible while still remaining in the same room. “And?” I question, settling the glass of water on the side table with a clink and grabbing

a party is a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” He

skin – Troy never outwardly shows emotion. “Well, it was a party at the packhouse, wasn‘t

of the clock on the wall, the heavy breaths that Troy is drawing. I grind my molars, my pulse quickening. “Ah, yes,” Troy

I 

that slimy smirk again. “So given Chase‘s position, don‘t you think it would be advantageous for Spencer to get closer to him?” I snort, shaking my head. There‘s the agenda. “Why is that my problem?”. He sighs, uncrossing his legs and sitting up straighter. “Because like it or not, you‘re still part of this family, Callum. What‘s good for one of us is good for all of us. Spencer has what it takes to

you even know what goes on at those parties?” I scoff. “Trust me, that isn‘t something you want your golden boy to get mixed up in anyways.” I take a slow sip from the glass,

at the packhouse, you won‘t interfere with him being there,” he snaps, his voice still gratingly monotone. “You may not live under my roof anymore, but I won‘t have you embarrassing this family by chasing your own brother away from somewhere that he has every right to be. Do we understand one another?” I glare at him, my fists clenching on the arms of the recliner. Troy‘s eyes flicker down to them, a smirk

problem

monster inside of me tightly caged. That‘s what he wants, after all for me to

It isn‘t much – just a few pieces of mismatched furniture, a worn –out rug, a couple of end tables and a crappy

behind me; the one where I have all of my latest sketches taped up. Bile crawls up my throat. Those are personal, and if I had it my way, I‘d gouge his eyes out for even looking at them. “The Alpha was far too soft on you after what you did,” he murmurs, his eyes still combing over the designs. “If that were me...” “Well good thing it wasn‘t then,” I bite back, shooting to my feet and sidestepping to position myself between the sketches and his judgmental stare. I‘m so close to the edge that my body

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