Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 118 - 120

Chapter 118: Chapter 120

An unseen hand rips the black bag from my head.

My head on a swivel, the world shaping into a sophisticated underground arena. Two tiers of high-tech command stations sprawl across the vast chamber, their screens aglow with shifting data like something out of a sci-fi thriller. Black-clad commandos guard every entry point—some stationed above on the catwalks. Below, smartly dressed agents move with purpose.

Someone nudges me forward and I follow my escort. At the head of the expansive chamber, a picture of my face dominates the gigantic monitor along with profiles of my family.

The glass-walled office looms over everything, a dystopian command center encased in sleek transparency. Inside, a woman waits. White-blond hair, ice-chip eyes, a suit so sharply tailored it looks sculpted.

"Miss Du Pont, forgive the theatrics, but we had to make sure your extraction was untraceable," she begins, with a face and form that embodies a living AI. So perfect, not in a beautiful way, but almost haunting. "I am Director Katherine Reece, the head of clandestine operations and this Specialised Taskforce." She glances down at the primary monitor, still exhibiting my picture. "You have become something of... a point of interest in the intelligence community."

A flick of her hand gestures toward the chair opposite her pristine white marble desk. The door clicks shut behind me. My pulse spikes. I hesitate, scanning the glass walls for an exit, before lowering myself onto the stiff seat.

"You don’t know me, but you know of me," she says obscurely. "We have a mutual friend. Simon."

His name expels every residue of fear.

"You’re his CIA contact."

"Of sorts."

"When he said he knew someone. I imagined a common agent. Not the director of—whatever. You know you could’ve come to me directly. Talked over coffee or something."

She smiles, and not out of humour. "As lovely as that sounds, neither of us could afford the risk. You have eyes on you, and even now our time together is short. So I’ll be forthright. Have you heard of Los Hijos del Sol?"

I shake my head incredulously.

"The Sons of the Sun, a Mexican narco-paramilitary cartel. Drug trafficking, cocaine, fentanyl, human smuggling. And their signature move is the ’Sun Branding,’ marking enemies and defectors with a heated metal emblem before execution."

My eyes flare at the brutality.

"Doesn’t ring a bell?" she says mockingly. "What about the Vëllezërit e Gjaku—Blood Brothers? They deal in heroin trade, human trafficking, extortion, organ harvesting. Almost like The Black Crescent—A Middle Eastern Insurgent-Criminal Hybrid that also specializes in human trafficking and black-market weapons. Are you beginning to see the pattern?"

I drop against the seat, tossing my hand. "Should I?"

"Your father does."

I cling to my composure as her eyes try to gauge my guard, searching for the cracks.

"What does what my father knows or does not know have to do with me?"

Her smile sharpens. "There it is... those elusive political maneuvers that can make one chase their own tail. We can skip the denial, the foreplay, and I’ll tell you that I know everything you know. Because Simon told me all of it. Locations, timestamps, personal accounts—he has funnelled all that information to me for months. Except for the period where the Yakuza formally headed by Haru, held him captive."

"Formally headed by Haru?" I ask quietly, only to verify what she already knows.

"We know about the succession," she confirms. "The ceremony requires a ritual that not only solidifies the hierarchical structure within the yakuza but also emphasizes the deep sense of obligation expected from its members. Something no one can ever simply walk away from."

That vague addition prods at a deeper understanding—intimate knowledge that only two people possessed. Kelsey and Simon.

"Simon was obsessed with Haru—a specter he couldn’t exorcise. And from that laser focus went right through to your father. The nexus. Simon only went after him as a means to get to Haru. But when discovered the conspiracy went deeper and that your father was embedded with other criminal syndicates. Your father remained his priority, even now after his death."

My loosely patched guard faltered enough for fear to dash it to pieces. Director Reece sees it—the cracks widening, splintering apart. Her lips curl ever so slightly like a predator scenting vulnerability.

"Relax, Miss Du Pont." Her voice is smooth, almost amused. "Your father, though unscrupulous, is still the Governor, one who has exploited his political power. I am willing to... not overlook, but negotiate."

My pulse hammers, but I force my expression into something resembling indifference.

"I’m listening."

"In exchange for keeping your father out of a black site and ensuring he remains untouched, I want you to deliver me Botan Kiyosaki."

Ice strikes my veins. The name alone sends a whisper of static through my thoughts. I owe Botan no such loyalty to bargain his freedom over my family. And yet, to turn him over—this kind of betrayal—it sits in my throat like a swallowed knife.

"Botan?" I echo, feigning confusion.

Reece’s eyes gleam with dim mockery. "I thought we agreed to skip the denial?"

She let the silence stretch, savoring it, before continuing, "It might have been through your father that you met him, but I know all about your intimate relationship with the new Oyabun. And despite that, the trade should be easy. Your father’s freedom in exchange for a man whose kill count is immeasurable."

She leans back, an air of finality in her posture, and gestures subtly to someone behind me. The door clicks open, the shift in air announcing the presence of others.

"These men will re-insert you back into your life. As far as anyone is concerned, you had a successful meeting with Mr. Walter Mire. I want your answer by week’s end. When you’re ready to deliver Botan, come to the office."

A pause. A slow smile.

"You know where to find me."

***

My mind is mangled by the thoughts that warp my insides. Closed in by choices, backed into a corner because of other’s decisions. And yet the strings of fate tug at my fingers—one pull, devastation. Another summons complete catastrophe.

Wanting nothing more to sleep and forget my troubles for a time. I open the front and that triggers an immediate response. I enter, closing the door carefully, and my brothers burst from the lounge. Silas hoists up a large, crisp-white envelope and I already know what it is. And by the unsealed flap, they already opened it.

"Why did you have a DNA test done on you and dad?" Silas demands.

I shaky my head defiantly as I move towards the staircase, but Luciano obstructs me.

"Avara?" Silas tries again, unyielding. As am I. He notes my silence with a fervent nod as he holds it up again. "You’ll be pleased to know that Alden Du Pont is your biological father." I flinch when his hand slices through the air and the envelope smacks the wall and drops to the floor. "Are things so bad, you wish that he’s not even your father?"

"No!" I shout back.

"Then what?" he barks. "What would possess you to do something like that? What do you think you know?"

"The only thing I know is that I don’t want to talk to either of you."

I lunge forward, but Silas sidesteps to impede me, so I veer off into the lounge. The TV humming beneath the deafening tension as I turn around, and now I really am cornered. I let out an exasperated sigh, conceding a defeated shrug.

"What do you want from me?"

The weakness I permit in my voice is enough to dilute his anger.

Luciano steps forward with a placating hand raised. "I want you to talk to us. You always talked to us. Now everything is so... messed up, and I don’t even know how we got here."

"Need a reminder?" I ask bitterly, civility dissolving in the well of words filled with acid. "Because I can think of a few scenarios."

Silas turns his face sharply. "Fuck," he drags out, "why did you even go there?"

I choke back a laugh. "Are you serious? The two of you once pinned me down, and you hurt me—you hurt me—you hurt me. You hurt me!" I scream back with a flash flood of tears as I drag my sleeve above my top lip, wiping away the dripping snot.

My eyes flicker to the side, but then, as if drawn by some cruel force, I see Vance and Landen’s faces—frozen on the screen. My vision, still glassy from tears as I lunge for the remote, hands trembling, desperate to crank the volume higher. The newscaster’s voice fills the lounge. Breaking on a private plane crash—the sons of billionaire tycoon Colton Vacheron.

The words hit like a cold shockwave, too much to process.

"Both Vance and Landen were confirmed dead in the crash."

The remote slips from my grasp, my fingers scrabbling at the air, and I stumble backward, disoriented. I reach out blindly, my hand grazing the empty space until it finally meets the couch. I collapse on the seat, my body heavy, as if the weight of those words alone is enough to crush me.

I don’t find it a coincidence that when the alliance was terminated. Now the Vacheron brothers turn up dead.