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. 

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

Troy asks, the sound of his familiar monotone grating

chest. I take a big gulp of the water, fighting to muster my composure before slowly

ticks as he stares at me from just outside

him, unblinking, not bothering to dignify his question with a

into a condescending smirk. Then he turns away,

my fortress of 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 into

stepping over to the beat–up blue couch and plopping his ass down onto it. He spreads his arms across the deflated cushions behind him, crossing

he‘s

old leather recliner at the far corner of the living room, putting as much space between the two of us as 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 maroon zip–up hoodie off of the back of the chair, sliding my arms into it. I don‘t bother zipping

making him leave a party is a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” He arches

jaw ticks again. That‘s his only tell that my evasive responses are getting under his skin – Troy never outwardly shows emotion. “Well, it was a party at the packhouse,

is drawing. I grind my molars, my pulse quickening. “Ah, yes,” Troy nods. “And your friend is going

I 

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

something you want your golden boy to get mixed up in anyways.” I take a slow sip from the glass, still fighting to keep my temper in check. Troy‘s unimpressed with my suggestion. “Then why do you go to them?” I swallow, setting the glass back

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

have a problem keeping that in check.”

feet. Instead, I take slow, deep breaths, keeping the monster inside of me tightly caged. That‘s what he

room in obvious distaste. It isn‘t much – just a few pieces of mismatched furniture, a worn –out rug, a couple of end tables and a crappy old tube TV. It‘s home, though– my

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 is practically vibrating with dark energy. It‘s one thing for Troy to barge in here and give me shit for something I‘ve done.

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