Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 122 - 124

Chapter 122: Chapter 124

I walk down the hallway of my home with a plate in my hand. No remnants of what I ate beside minor sauce smears. My mind, still reeling after what Simon and I discovered, distraught but not enough to ruin my appetite. Yet still I had to come home and act like nothing had happened, which isn’t so difficult when my sole response these days is silence.

I slow to a stop near the archway, catching hushed tones of the conversation between Luciano and our father.

"I went over as a gesture of goodwill and that bastard blames me," dad whispers furiously. "Their deaths mean nothing to me. I had no reason to see Vance or Landen dead."

"Did he threaten you?" Luciano asks.

Dad snorts, his indifference almost insulting. "He tried. But still I pity the man. He’s gone out of his mind and it’s understandable. I would be inconsolable if I ever lost my sons."

"I’m more concerned about your daughter," Luciano confesses, with a voice on the verge of a cry. "She’s slipping."

"I know... all we can do is not let go."

I reverse and I return to my room with the plate still in my hand. I place it on the dresser. Looking for a distraction, I pick up the pouch with the small, tech gadgets inside, bugs and something I deem to be a tracker. I put it down so I can call Kelsey, but a violent vibration swerves me onto an alternate course. I pull out the burner phone and I answer it.

"Simmy?"

"Don’t you dare," he warns playfully.

"What?" I say with a little laugh. "You’ll follow me out of the country, but I can’t give you a nickname?"

"Tell you what, when we get settled somewhere abroad. You can call me all the pet names you want."

"Confident for you to assume I’ll let you go with me," I reproach with the same playfulness.

"It is only an offer," he says gently, not out of frustration or force. "You have lived long enough under the heel of men. It’s not a choice if there’s a threat or an ultimatum. What I want is for you to choose for yourself, even if that means flying solo—fine. If it means sticking with your family despite all they have done, even the stuff you don’t know about. Then I commend your loyalty."

"What are you talking about?" I say flatly.

"An old... the guy I told you about. He cracked the encryption and you need to see what’s on those files."

***

"So he’s a criminal?"

"Not anymore," Simon says, sounding unsure. "Look, he used to lead the cartel’s cyber team. After a major raid, I brokered a deal—an appeal for him in exchange for his expertise. Dylan’s skills kept those sicarios off the grid for years; the only reason they were ever caught was because of human error. Now, the government has him working on their side, countering the same tactics he once perfected."

The garage door hums as it slides open. The moment we step inside, it seals shut behind us. We move past a McLaren and a pristine Aston Martin, their polished surfaces reflecting the overhead LEDs, until we reach a workstation at the far end. At least four ultra-wide monitors are hooked up to an advanced computing rig, running lines of code and real-time network diagnostics.

A short, dark-haired man sits with his back to us, fingers tapping purposefully on the keyboard.

"Government job pays for two sports cars?" I remark, eyeing the high-end vehicles.

Dylan finally spins around, leveling a sharp glare at me. "You know what pays better than crime?" He smirks. "Corruption."

Simon saunters over and places one hand flat on the surface of the table. The other he plants on the head of his chair.

"Since when are you carrying?"

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Simon yanks out the piece he kept holstered to his side, fluttering the gun with emphasis.

He swivels to the side to look up at him fully. "I’ve been packin ever since I heard you went off the grid. Disappeared. Figured the Yakuza found you and I didn’t want them to retrace your steps back to me. But clearly they couldn’t track the tech I gave you—yet. So I took a few precautions."

Simon stares at him for a long while until he deposits it on the table.

"Thank you—for letting me protect myself from a danger you put me in."

"We both know your gear is untraceable so cut the theatrics." He leans away to look back at me pointedly. "Show her everything."

Dylan lets out a whooshing breath. "Hope she got tissues."

Dylan lifts the data chip with a flourish before slotting it into his terminal. A progress bar appears, steadily filling until lines of code spill across the screen, rapidly decrypting the contents. File after file floods the monitors.

I step closer, scanning the screens as my pulse pounds in my ears. This is Vellum. Leverage. A digital ledger chronicling every illicit transaction my father has ever orchestrated—bank records, offshore accounts, shell companies masking illegal operations. Photographs. Locations. A vast web connecting revered businessmen to criminal syndicates, exposing their fraudulent fronts as clearly as it incriminates him.

Then my gaze snags on something worse.

My breath catches as images of my brothers flash across one of the screens—concrete proof of their involvement in crimes severe enough to damn them for decades.

"Erase it."

Simon’s head snaps toward me, his expression rigid.

"He has to," I plead, my voice tightening.

"Avara, no—" He gestures at the overwhelming evidence sprawled across the monitors. "Do you see what’s here? The CIA could dismantle entire syndicates. The feds could take down corporate criminals who’ve been untouchable for years. We can’t turn our backs on this just because your father is one of them."

"And my brothers," I cut in, my jaw locking. "And you don’t want to test how far I’d go for them."

Simon’s eyes darken. "Even after what they did to you?"

"For our father," I snap. "A mistake I can understand—because I made the same one."

"Avara—"

Before he can finish, I snatch the gun off the table and level it at him. He doesn’t flinch, but Dylan stiffens, his hands shooting up.

"I’m not negotiating," I state flatly.

"Neither am I," Simon counters, his voice just as firm. He shifts his stance slightly. "Relax, Dylan. She’s not going to hurt me or you."

I whip my arm to the side, pressing the cold barrel against the back of his head. "Won’t I?" I ask mockingly.

"Avara, what the fuck are you doing?" Simon blurts.

"Hell no," Dylan panics as his hands blur over the keyboard, typing frantically.

Simon lunges.

The gun goes off.

A resounding crack echoes through the garage as Simon stumbles back, a crimson bloom spreading over his shoulder. Dylan launches from his chair, rushing to his side, hands pressing down to slow the bleeding.

My breath shudders. I turn the gun to the terminal and squeeze the trigger. Sparks erupt as bullets rip through the monitors, shattering screens and sending fragments flying. The data—Vellum and any backups—are gone.

Simon’s ragged breathing fills the space. He presses a trembling hand over his wound, blood seeping between his fingers, but his eyes remain locked onto mine.

"You’re too late," he grits out. "I called you as a courtesy. So you could see that true evil has a face you know and love. But I already sent everything to the director."

Dread slams into me like a freight train. My grip on the gun loosens, and I toss it aside.

"Let me out," I demand.

Dylan fumbles for the key to the garage. The door groans as it slides open.

"Avara," Simon calls after me, voice strained, pleading. "You told me that doing the hard thing was worth it—if it was for the right reason."

I don’t turn back as I bolt for the open door.

"Avara!"

***

Alden POV

I rush into the office with a bag in one hand, slamming the door shut behind me. I hurry for the towering shelves that span the entire left wall, its rows of leather-bound volumes meticulously aligned. My fingers skim over the spines until they find their mark—two hefty tomes. With a firm grip, I pull them halfway down.

A deep, mechanical churning rumbles from within the wall, the hidden gears groaning to life, their echo resonating through the room. The bookcase shudders, then slowly pushes back with a deliberate creak, revealing a narrow, concealed compartment behind it. My heart gallops as I slip inside, the air cool against my clammy skin, my shirt clinging to my torso.

I kneel at the small vault embedded in the floor, its sleek, metallic surface glinting under the dim light. I press my thumb against the biometric scanner, feeling the cold metal warm beneath my touch. A soft beep follows, and with a quiet click, the door unlocks and swings open on its own.

I shove the stacks of crisp cash into the bag, as well as the four sets of passports, each bearing a different name, a different face. I clear out the top level and at the bottom I take the pistol, loading it with a new mag. A creak cracks behind me and I whip around to see my secretary in the doorway. I heave out a breath as I tuck the gun into my waistband, allowing my blazer to conceal it. I zip up the bag on my way out, sealing the compartment behind me.

"Governor?"

"It’s happening," I state as I shoulder the bag. "Initiate day zero protocol."

The wide, innocent gaze narrows, the softness bleeding into something sharper—siren-eyed and laced with quiet menace as resolve takes its throne.

"I can get you twenty-fours to fly dark."

"More than I need." I place a quick and affectionate hand on her jaw in gratitude. "Once I’m out, you will be justly rewarded."

When I get home, two words are like thunder claps that summon my sons.

"What’s going on?" Silas asks.

"Where’s your sister?"

"Got home and ran to her room. Why?"

"Day Zero."

Twin blanch faces as a horror leeches the colour from their skins.

"Luciano, you talk to our cartel contact. I want a full armed escort with a jet waiting in less than an hour. Silas, get your sister. Now."