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. 

hear Troy‘s boots 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

monotone grating on my nerves. Water spills over the top of the glass and

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

jaw ticks as he stares at me from just outside the doorway to the kitchen. “Too busy

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

a condescending smirk. Then he turns away, striding

apartment two doors down, but I hardly even let him in here. It‘s my sanctuary; my fortress of solitude. And now Fuckface is here, tainting it with

and plopping his ass down onto it. He spreads his

like how comfortable he‘s making himself

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

“And making him leave a party is a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” He arches a brow. I reach for the water glass. “How

evasive responses are getting under his skin – Troy never outwardly shows emotion. “Well, it was a party at the packhouse, wasn‘t it? Is Spencer not a part of

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

I 

he thinks it‘s a fallacy for me to have one of those. “So?” I ask. Troy‘s mouth slides into 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 pull rank in this pack someday, and the first step to doing that is for him to become friendly with our Alpha.” He leans forward resting his elbows

mixed up in anyways.” I take a slow sip from the glass, still fighting to keep my temper in check. Troy‘s

mine. “If Spencer decides to come to another party 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 returning to his lips. “Temper,

have a problem keeping that

more than to lunge at him and haul my fists into his face, see the red of his blood paint the beige rug at his feet. Instead, I take slow, deep breaths, keeping the monster inside of me tightly caged. That‘s what he wants, after all for me to freak out and give him a reason to try to get me tossed from the pack

room in obvious distaste. It isn‘t much – just a few pieces of mismatched

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 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. That, I’m used to. But if he expects me to stand here and listen to him speak ill

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