Page 1 of The Ties That Bind

Chapter One

Elle curled inward, hugging her elbows and willing herself into the smallest shape she could take. Everything about this place was too much. Too loud, too full, too dark and dank. If the bar was going for a sunken ship vibe, it nailed it. The old wooden planks of the building were porous and molding, holding in the rank scent of sweat, sick, and seamen. And she didn’t just mean the drunken sailors at the other end of the curved flattop.

Tables were scattered haphazardly like chipped seashells in sand, their tops battered and pockmarked. She watched ghostly figures through the gloom from her perch on a stool at the farthest end of the bar. Laughter and shouting echoed around the cavernous room in sharp bursts like cannon blasts.

She cursed and took another sip of her drink to calm her nerves. This wasn’t the kind of place that served elaborate fruity cocktails, so she was stuck nursing a frankly disgusting whisky something or other and trying not to add to the vomit stains on the floor.

Where the hell was Sarah? Her former roommate and (possibly former friend, at this rate) had suggested this dive as an “adventure.” Why go to one of the boring college bars on the strip, she’d said, when we could check out a real sailor bar on the docks? Never mind that it was the Friday before finals week, and Elle still had approximately 100 hours of studying to cram into the next two days. Or that there was probably a damn good reason the other college students stayed away from this place.

She checked her phone, unsurprised to see one of Sarah’s infamous “be there in five!” texts that actually meant she just started getting ready. They would have carpooled if Elle didn’t come straight from dinner with her folks. When they asked if she had plans tonight, she lied and said she had a group study date planned at the library. Her suburban, white collar parents would never approve of her setting foot in a place like The Dropped Anchor.

A glass tipped over the edge of a table and shattered, raucous laughter followed, and two more exploded across the floor in its wake. Elle pulled her long hair over her shoulder and let it fan out in front of her face. It wasn’t the best hiding spot—the vibrant red was practically a beacon wherever she went. Between that and her light blue sundress, sensible sandals, and beachy woven purse, she was doing a terrible job of blending in.

At least after freshman year she had the sense to start going by Elle instead of her given name, Arielle. She would never forgive her parents for naming their red-headed daughter after a little mermaid. Schoolyard taunts as a kid were one thing, but douchey college guys absolutely went to town with the terrible mermaid pick-up lines.Everything’s better down where it’s wetter. We were mermaid for each other. Are those seashells? Cuz they look bigger than B-shells! Do you have crabs?—not sure why implying she had an STI was meant to be attractive, but okay.I’ll spear you with my king’s trident. She’d told that guy he was taking the “daddy” thing to literal incest levels, and also that he should probably see a doctor if his dick was split into thirds, but he didn’t find it as funny as she did.

She tossed back the remainder of her drink, only gagging a little, she was proud to note, and gathered her purse and jacket, deciding to hide in her car until Sarah arrived. And then forcibly relocate her if needed. Her butt was barely an inch off the stool when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She dropped back into her seat with a surprised huff.

“Come often?” Elle looked up and nearly headbutted the squat man leaning over her. His hand slid off her shoulder as he maneuvered himself onto the empty stool next to her, droopy eyes drinking her in from head to toe.

She scooted to the edge of her stool, putting as much space between herself and the slurring stranger as she could. Unfortunately, she didn’t get too far, bumping into someone standing on her other side. She was boxed in. “Did you ask if I come here often?”

“I asked if you come often. Doesn’t have to be here, but that can certainly be arranged.” He waggled his eyebrows, or tried to, at least—they kind of jerked once before falling limply back into place over his hooded eyes—and leaned closer. “What’s your name, beautiful?” It came out aswassur nam, booful.

Elle recoiled as his foul breath rolled over her in a hot fog.Nope. Nope-ity nope nope. “I was actually just leaving.”

“But going is the opposite of coming!” He guffawed and slapped the countertop, clearly proud of himself. Dealing with unimaginative pick-up lines from pseudo-intellectual frat boys suddenly seemed like a fun bout of verbal judo compared to this barnacle.

“Congratulations on your grasp of synonyms and antonyms.” She yanked her jacket out from where he sat on it.

“You smell like cinnamons,” he sing-song slurred, righting himself. His clammy hand latched on to her jacket, refusing to let go.

Was she really going to have to play tug of war with a drunk sea-dog? “Let go, please.” She gave a little tug.

He wrapped the material around his wrist, strengthening his grip. “No.” His attempt at a flirty smile took on a mean edge that sent warning shivers down Elle’s back. She knew she should just ditch the jacket and run, but it was her favorite distressed denim, perfectly worn and actually long enough to cover her lengthy torso. She could even raise her arms above her head without it turning into a crop top. Plus, she hated bullies.

“I’m leaving.” She wedged her way off the bar stool, and he took the opportunity to yank her in closer. Off balance, she nearly landed in his lap. His free hand snaked around her waist. “Let. Go. Now,” she enunciated slowly.

“Now why would I let go when I’ve found such a treasure?” His hand began to dip lower on her back.

She didn’t know which made her sicker, the creep groping her in full view of the entire bar, or the fact that he was really going to make a booty pun while he did it. She dropped her jacket and worked on peeling him off her like the disgusting jellyfish he was. He was stronger than she’d anticipated. Stickier, too.

Elle reached for a half full glass on the bar and flung it in the creep’s face. He howled, choking on the amber liquid as his features twisted in rage. He grabbed the now empty glass from Elle and hurled it to the floor at her feet. She cringed as it shattered, and she could feel tiny cuts crisscrossing her bare ankles.

“You’re going to pay for that, you stupid bitch.”

****

Alec nursed a drink and a hangover at the small table in the furthest corner of the bar. Neither helped the throbbing in his temples, his rapid pulse pounding in his eyelids. Nor did either provide the clarity he desperately needed. Here he was, moping around like one of the other sad sacks that frequented this place where dreams came to die and hope offed itself in the process, when he should be finding a way out of this mess. A way to save his sister.

He wiped his bleary eyes and stretched, groaning. At 6’2 and 200 pounds, he was a big enough guy that no one harassed him about claiming a table all to himself. Or maybe he just looked too pathetic to bother. How long had he been stuck here, dirty sweatshirt caught on the jagged beams behind him, staring off into the nothingness that was his future? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he should just keep drinking until he rotted here, another skeleton in a bar full of them.

A flash of red caught his attention, the only color in a gray world. He squinted to make sure he was seeing clearly.

“I’ll be damned.” He pulled himself upright, running a hand through his dark brown curls. What wasshedoing here? Of all the hell holes in all the slums in all the world, she walks into mine. Not his, exactly, but still, the point stood. Arielle Keller was in the last place she ought to be. The Dropped Anchor was no place for an innocent little college girl like her. Didn’t she know her being here was akin to throwing chum into a pool of sharks?

He watched her with predatory eyes. She was clearly uncomfortable. What madness had brought her here, tonight of all nights? A thought formulated in the deepest, wickedest crevices of his brain. He tried unsuccessfully to shy away from the darkness, but the plan blooming in his mind was so crystal clear. He needed her. It was the only way to get his sister back.

Alec ditched the dingy sweatshirt and smoothed back his hair. There wasn’t anything he could do about the day’s—days’?—old stubble, but if she was in a place like this, maybe being a little grungier than usual would work in his favor. Glass shattered, though that wasn’t especially uncommon here. The frightened shriek she couldn’t quite contain, however, immediately cut through the din. Alec’s eyes narrowed into slits, zeroing in on the sopping wet bastard manhandling Arielle. All rational thought fled his mind as he charged through the bar. His entire being focused on the dead man standing in front of him.

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