Page 1 of Forbidden Bond

ONE

“ARE WE GOING TO run forever? Is that your grand plan, Dad?”

“I’m thinking, I have to think.” In the car, since leaving Conn bleeding, cuffed to her grandfather’s couch, they’d been driving around the city. Just driving. Achieving nothing except dowsing tiny, anxious glimmers of hope. “We need a car. We need a different car.”

Conn deserved a chance. He’d put himself in front of her; taken that bullet for her. No one else knew what went down in that room, no one else was there, no one else saw. His survival depended on her.

“We need to call Lachlan,” she said. “We need to call an ambulance. It’s not too late to—”

“No! No. No. No!”

The warmth on her cheeks chilled until a fresh wave of tears escaped. “Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Dad. You don’t want to do this. If we go back now, if we get him help—”

“He’s beyond help!”

Fear dried her throat. A world without Connel McDade? Without her McDade? She wouldn’t believe in his demise until her own eyes witnessed him prone and lifeless.

“Daddy, please.”

This man, the strength in him, once all bluster, had become something determined… and unsettling.

“That Irish scum doesn’t deserve to breathe. You don’t need him. You’re a McLeod, I did you a favor. In time, you’ll see I’m right.”

Every time she closed her eyes, the growing blot of blood on Conn’s pristine shirt poisoned her mind.

“I love him, Dad. I know you don’t…” The words stuck in her throat. Though she fought to expel them, only a shriek escaped. Loud. Pained. Desperate. Primal grief commanded her senses. “God-fucking-damn you! Give me your phone!”

“No, my phone…”

Her father drove with one hand on the wheel and one on the gun in his lap. Was that how this would end? Murdered by her own father?

“If he’s gone, if I’ve lost him…” Swallowing a dose of resolve, grief gave way to rage. “I swear to God, I will take you down and I will make it fucking hurt!”

“Watch your mouth!”

“You fucking bastard!”

She wanted her goddamn hands, wanted to punch and kick, and cause him pain. But that was nothing to her need to be with Conn, to call for help, to scream from the deepest depths of her guts. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t.

It was her fault. He’d only been at the meet for her. She should’ve told him to stay in bed. Left him safe in their loft and gone to meet her father alone.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that, young lady! You have done this! Caused this! Everything worked until you—”

“Fucked Ire McDade,” she spat and lunged closer. “I did, Daddy. Over and over and over again. He was fucking amazing, made your little girl take it fucking hard and I begged for more! Begged him, you sick bastard!”

“How dare you!”

“How dare I?” Disgust tightened her jaw. “You’re a murderer! You murdered your father! Murdered the man your daughter loves! You need help!” Though she wasn’t the onewho’d give it. “Take off the cuffs, give me the gun, and I’ll end both our miseries right here.”

“My car is too conspicuous.” The bastard wasn’t even listening to her pain, to her boundless agony. “We need something—Lachlan uses the motor pool.”

“Yeah?” she asked, though already knew that. “Why don’t you drive us there, huh? Right up to the precinct.”

“We need something—no one would know we… One of your lowlife friends must—”

“Oh, sure, wait while I call my friends for help. At least I have fucking friends who can help. At least they know—”

“Kurt Stratford.”

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