Page 4 of Ruthless Bonds

Dove adjusted her black beanie and held her phone out so I could read her message. This was how we had to communicate now ever since she’d been attacked. It had been a hellish few months trying to find a sense of normalcy. But did things ever really feel normal again after something like that? When I had gotten to the hospital, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Her hair had been chopped off, bruises and cuts covered most of her skin, and the burn on her back… a brand. Some monster had branded her.

I would never forget seeing her like that. A feeling I hadn’t even experienced when Jameson was murdered or when Mom died had washed over me and had been festering deep inside of me until I couldn’t breathe.

She didn’t remember what had happened to her, nor would she talk about it. She couldn’t even if she wanted to, apparently. Traumatic mutism, the doctor called it. But I knew she would get better. I would do everything in my power to make sure she made it through the darkness and found her light again.

“It’s hot in here,” her message read.

I did my best not to look at the hat she was wearing. She refused to take it off since leaving the hospital; it was like a safety blanket for her.

“The electric was almost two hundred last month.” I picked up a strawberry, popping it into my mouth. “Gotta suffer for a bit, ’kay?”

She gave me a thumbs-up and turned up the volume on the TV, since our neighbors picked that exact moment to have their tenth screaming match of the day.

An hour later, I was glaring at the credits rolling over the screen as Dove dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eye.

“See, she should have left with the money when she had the chance,” I scoffed and turned the TV off.

Dove twisted her face in annoyance and pulled out her phone. “Yeah, but then she wouldn’t have found out he loved her. And she has a baby now.”

“He tricked her and took everything from her. That’s not love.”

“But he had to because of his parents! Haven’tyou ever heard it’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all?” She smirked, as if she had proven some type of point. At twenty-one, four years younger than me, Dove thought she had the entire world figured out.

“Love is a weakness people can exploit. One millisecond of happiness before its venom ruins you.” How could she not see that after what we had just watched?

“So, you think being in love is like being poisoned?” She shook her head when I nodded. “Stop being a party pooper. I thought it was a beautiful ending to their love story.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. In my experience, love stories didn’t have beautiful endings. After Jameson died, I’d watched my mom bounce from one relationship to the next, desperately trying to fill the void of losing her son. She’d become a doormat for men who used her, taking her heart and soul and smashing it into a million pieces. The cycle was always the same: false promises of love and devotion, followed by Mom drowning her sorrows in tequila, telling me everything would be OK.

Then Ray, Dove’s father, had come along when I was ten. Mom was convinced she’d finally found her soulmate. Hell, for a moment, I almost believed it, too. He arrived like a knight in shining armor, with two blonde twins by his side. But we know how that fairy tale ended—and it was far from a happily ever after.

If I had learned anything from her years of chasing after love, it was that love equaled pain. I wanted no part of it.

I wouldn’t say that to Dove. My stepfather wasa sore subject around here. Also, I didn’t want to risk saying his name out loud. He was like Beetlejuice; if you called his name too many times, he might magically appear to make your life hell. We had been through enough of that lately.

“OK, fine.” I held up my wine glass. “To beautiful endings.” Our glasses clinked together, and I chugged the rest of my drink. “I have to get ready for work.” I groaned and stretched my arms over my head, my shirt riding up.

“I need to finish that.” She held her phone in one hand and pointed at the half-finished snake tattoo running up the right side of my stomach.

Dove was on her way to becoming one of the most talented tattoo artists New York had to offer. Her pieces were extremely detailed and hyper-realistic. If it hadn’t been for her attack, she would have finished her apprenticeship by now and had a spot at the Black Rose Ink tattoo parlor. Only the best of the best worked there.

“I’ll pick up some more ink.” I grabbed the empty tray and wine glasses and headed to the kitchen. My shift at the Altar started in an hour, and I made it a rule to never be late.

Twenty minutes later, I was showered and standing in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. My fingers worked quickly through my hair, weaving the raven-black strands together. Pink highlights still lingered after Dove and I had gone crazy with drugstore hair dye.

A spot on the ceiling caught my attention in the mirror, my smile dropping instantly.

The vent was loose.

I pulled a step stool from the corner and reachedup for the vent. It popped off easy enough. Dread filled my body at what I knew I would find. I searched in the dark shaft for my box and yanked it out of its hiding spot.

I could tell from the weight of it that my money was gone. Over two thousand dollars I had made in tips over the past two weeks—poof, gone. There was only one person who could have done this. Well, two, but Ray knew if he showed up here, he would get a bat to the knees.

“Dove!” I yelled through the cracked bathroom door. “Was Dylan here recently?” My hand shook as I leaned against the sink. Fuck. That had been our rent money.

My phone pinged, and I glared at her response.

He came by last night while you were at work. He said he was worried about me since we hadn’t talked in a while.

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