Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 121 - 123

Chapter 121: Chapter 123

Avara POV

"You seem nervous?"

I glanced back at Simon in the driver’s seat. He reached out to meet and said his medic friend was willing to see us both. My fingers rub the meandering scar along the grove of my palm. Transferring attention to my bare chest as my fingers trace phantom pendants where the layered necklace had been. I know I promised a Botan I’d never take it off, but I was with a man he wanted dead. Regardless, I wouldn’t put it past him to have men follow me, anyway.

"I don’t know." I tuck my hands between my thighs to keep them still. "I just feel like we’re being watched."

"Oh, we definitely are," he says casually, cheerfully unbothered. "Why do you think we have been driving for over an hour—it only takes fifteen minutes to get to his house from where we started. We had three tails on us and now there is only one."

Dread slips beneath a feeble façade of relief, enough to loosen the grip around my breaths.

"Oh." All I can manage.

This time he glances at me, a curious sidelong for as long as he can hold without crashing the car.

"You sure it’s just that? Cause you seemed off from the moment you slid in the car."

I substitute the truth with another, like a street gambler with an artistic sleight of hand.

"If this theory isn’t totally insane. What could be so paramount that he’d embed it inside his daughter for safekeeping?"

"We won’t know until we know"

I stare back at him with failed expectations. "That’s it?" Not filtering my disappointment. "No wise words to offer?"

"What words are there for this?" His calm veneer crumbles to expose the cracks that had been there all along—only deepening this time. "I want to be outraged about it and say he is irredeemable for deliberately putting his daughter in harm’s way. But I’m no different."

"You are." Masking an unsteady voice with pent-up zeal. "At least you can say it was all for the greater good—putting away bad men."

"There’s nothing good about sacrificing innocents, let alone your own blood. My only child."

I nod grimly, unable to counter his statement because morally it is irrefutable. At least to me.

"I think she would be proud of you. As a daughter I know she would be because you stood for what you believed was right. And that is good."

He braves a serious face, struggling against held-in tears. He places a thankful hand on my knee. And I cover it with my own to give him a reassuring squeeze before I release and he takes his hand away.

"Have you thought about it?"

"Thought about what?" I ask.

"Beyond everything that’s happening with your family. After everything, even if your father gets out of it unscathed. I doubt you want to stay at the castle, pretending to be daddy’s princess."

I shake my head thoughtlessly. "Obviously after... whatever will happen. Nothing will ever be the same and I can’t play along anymore. From all the stipends I received from the galas and a percentage off the charities. I have enough to settle somewhere comfortably until I can find a job. Won’t be difficult since I met a lot of influential people who wanted me to run their philanthropic campaigns. I only rejected all those opportunities to stay at my father’s side."

A slight smile uncurls from his lips. "So you already thought about this?" His surprise stirs intrigue. "I’m guessing you’ll be able to work anywhere apart from when you’re meant to attend the events?"

I nod slowly, trying to link the pieces before he can tell me. "Something like that. What, do you have a counter offer?"

"Something like that. After everything, it’s not going to be easy to go back to a normal life. Even if the people are gone, the damage they did lingers on."

I pivot in the passenger seat so I can stare back at him wholly unimpeded.

"I don’t know. Maybe you and I can travel far north, head for the mountains. The work on the RV is almost done—comfortable for two. It won’t be the lavish five star spots you’re used to but you’ll be comfortable. You won’t even need to work. With my new contracts, I can take care of you for as long as you allow me."

It is right there in this moment that I can identify what I am to him. He once lost his daughter, and I came into his life like a seed swept into fertile ground. He couldn’t protect his daughter so now he wants to protect me.

"Is this silence from mute horror or—"

"Interest," I blurt, even without considering it. "What would this look like? You and your enemy’s daughter running away together?" I scoff humouredly. "At least it makes for a killer TV show."

He dismisses the comment with a half-amused snort. "I’m serious."

"So am I." I shift away from him to look forward. "I was hoping to take a gig overseas—new name and everything."

"A fresh start," he agrees. "Fortunately, intelligence agencies have branches around the world. The private sector is also always looking for old war dogs like me."

I look back at him again with a growing smile, almost flustered. "You’re willing to follow me out of the country?"

He shrugs like it’s nothing profound, no reason to give ground to indecision. "I got no reason to stay."

Without even realising it, we pull up to the location. I don’t know why, Simon told me he was a medic, but also a veteran. For some reason, I expected a rugged and remote house somewhere in hostile terrain. Not a double story gateless property in a suburban neighborhood, where every house has its own unique architecture. We exit the hellcat that’s insolent contrast to the minivans and SUVS that occupy every driveway in sight. We make it to the front door, and a middle-aged blonde woman opens up with a toddler sidling her hip. She breaks into a grin, outstretching her free arm as she twists, lending him her open side to pull into a side-hug.

"Simmy, so good to see you."

Simon pulls away, and his finger darts to the kid’s side to elicit a laugh as he ducks away from his tickles. The boy beckons him with his hands fluttering and Simon scoops him from his mother to hold him up. A smile worms its way on my face at the endearing sight. Something about a rough-looking man holding a child and making baby noises is enough to make my ovaries scream. The woman sets her eyes on me and I can see her doing the math. Who I am to him? And clearly she doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, as her smile maintains its warmth.

She offers me her hand. "Sarah Turner."

When my hand is in hers, recognition catches in her eyes as she shakes my hand absently.

"I’m Avara—"

"Du Pont," she finishes, giving my hand a fervent welcome before she releases. "The Governor’s daughter. I read a lot of articles about your philanthropy." She gestures to me excitedly, an inquisitive once-over as she takes me in. "You just look so... different in person. In casual clothes, I mean."

"I usually save the blazer and pencil skirt combo for more stiff occasions."

She laughs good-naturedly and Simon finally lets down the boy, and still he clings to his leg.

"Where’s your papa?" Simon asks loudly, clearly to put an end to the idle talk.

"Reece is where he always is."

Sarah steps aside and outstretches her hand, a silent summoning that brings the boy back to her like a magnet. Simon nods gratefully and leads me inside their home, not much different from my own—wide entryway, expansive spaces with a wall dedicated to family pictures. Except they have a basement with quite a steep staircase. When we reach a low-ceilinged archway, Simon places a hand on the back of my head to lower my face, protecting me from hurting myself on either part of the frame. Fortunately, the room rises and expands to a productive area. A storage bay of provisions with towering shelves stocked with supplies and a reserved space for medical equipment. As well as a workstation that a man currently sits at.

He spurts to his feet upon our arrival. Mr Turner himself is a tall, gangly thing, wearing stylish spectacles that give him the aesthetic of a professor in his early years. Simon approaches him and they clasp hands, pulling each other into a one-arm hug. Simon claps a strong hand on his back before he pulls away to motion to me expansively.

"Avara... Reece," he introduces simply.

I offer a friendly smile and he returns the same kindness. Reece walks away to grab two random chairs, so he plants them near his own, then gestures to them invitingly. We all three plop down and Simon steeples his fingers, and suddenly I feel like I’m at a couple’s therapy or something.

"You summed up everything already," he notes, glancing at Simon. "But I’m still finding it difficult to believe. Improbable even."

Simon sighs like someone bored with a lecture. "We can debate ethics and probabilities. Or you can examine her and we can see for herself."

Reece yields with a nod. "Yes Sarge," he says reflexively.

I watch as Reece readies his equipment—not just for scanning, but for extraction as well. His workstation seamlessly converts into a makeshift operating table while I remain seated beside it.

He picks up a handheld diagnostic scanner and begins a systematic sweep, starting at my head, then moving down my neck, torso, and arms. When he reaches my wrist—a sharp beep sounds. The scanner’s interface highlights the area where my old scar curves along the groove of my skin.

"What is it?" Simon asks.

Reece studies the compact display, his brow furrowing slightly. "Too small to be a flash drive."

Setting the scanner aside, he snaps on a pair of sterile latex gloves and retrieves a syringe prepped to numb my hand he claims. With a long ass needle.

"Hey," Simon murmurs, leaning closer. "Eyes on me."

A sharp pinch, then a slow burn spreads beneath my skin. My hand is placed palm-up on the table, the area soon numb. Reece sterilizes the site with an antiseptic swab before reaching for a pair of fine-tipped forceps.

There’s only mild discomfort as he carefully maneuvers the instrument, gripping onto a small, embedded object beneath the scar tissue. A moment later, he extracts a sleek, black fragment and sets it on a sterile tray.

"It’s a data chip," he announces, scrutinizing it briefly before moving on to close the incision. With precise movements, he sutures the small wound shut, leaving only a thin line of fresh stitches where the device once was.

When he’s done. Reece readies the device before he inserts it into his terminal. My eyes nearly glaze over as I try to make sense of what’s appearing on the monitor. Reece huffs in frustration and yet shakes his head in silent awe, like he’s irritated but also somehow impressed. I guess my brain is just at over capacity trying to process the fact---that thing that was planted inside of me without my knowledge.

"The encryption on this thing is beyond my expertise. I’m sorry, bud, but the algorithms on this are way too advance."

I was so sure I’d see Simon hang his head in defeat, but instead a smile flickers across his face.

"I know someone who can."