Bloodbound: The Alliance
Chapter 69 - 71

Chapter 69: Chapter 71

Across from me, Kelsey’s brows knit together, her confusion palpable.

"For now," Simon mutters, his words raw and strained, each syllable stained with agony.

I press the phone closer, my heart hammering as I focus on the harsh, ragged breaths spilling through the line. "Simon, are you okay? Where are you?"

"Home," he whispers hoarsely.

That single word is enough to ignite a sense of urgency. He’s in trouble—serious trouble. Especially if he’s calling me of all people. "I’m coming," I say firmly, and before I can ask anything else, the line goes dead. I don’t need more, that was confirmation enough.

I’m already moving, pushing to my feet in a frantic rush.

Kelsey stares at me, wide-eyed and incredulous. "Where are you going?"

"I need to help someone," I say quickly, pocketing my phone. "But I need your help to do it. I’m still under guard, and I have to go somewhere they can’t follow."

The tension thickens like a storm cloud as Kelsey and I hit the road fifteen minutes later. She’s behind the wheel, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary, while I keep a vigilant eye on the rearview mirror. Two cars trail us at a distance, their presence as obvious as the adrenaline pounding through my veins.

"They’re still following," I mutter, my jaw tightening.

Kelsey’s voice is low but steady. "What’s the plan?"

I pull my phone from my pocket and drop it into the console. "If they’re tracking me, they’ll follow the signal. Let them. You’ll lose them before I get to Simon. Which I promise to tell you all about when I’m back."

I direct her through winding streets until we’re near Simon’s neighborhood. At an intersection, the tails close in, creeping a few cars behind us. My pulse quickens.

"This is it," I say. "Run the light."

Kelsey hesitates only a second before she slams on the gas, the tires screeching as she barrels through the red light. Horns blare in protest as she makes an immediate, hairpin turn down a narrow street.

"Now!" she shouts.

I leap from the car as it slows just enough, my feet hitting the pavement hard. Without missing a beat, I sprint toward the nearest alley, the shadows swallowing me whole. The air burns in my lungs, and the distant roar of engines fades behind me as I weave through the maze of backstreets.

The stakes claw at my thoughts, but I don’t slow. Simon’s voice lingers in my ears, his pain etched into every breath.

***

Colton POV

I bring the phone to my ear expectedly.

"We did as you instructed," one of my men informed me. "We allowed her to escape—at least allow her to think that she did. She was quite smart about it, too. She shirked off the first tail but the second tail clocked her and pursued discreetly. Her phone signal is pinging off in her friend’s car. She clearly left there when she bolted, likely so it would look like she’s been with her all this time."

I recline against the executive office chair, exhaling a pensive sigh.

"You said the second tail still has eyes?"

"Affirmative, she’s on foot."

"Anything else worth noting?" I probe further. "A heading perhaps?"

He lets out a wry sound, too prolonged to be a laugh, and too rough to be a huff. "Something of note, sir. She’s heading right for Simon Mansfield’s place of residence—she’s two blocks out."

Shock grips my bones. "Simon," I breathe in disbelief. "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir. She has no other reason to have dodged her security to be in a neighborhood like that. We will confirm in five minutes."

"Do that."

I cut the call and swivel the chair slowly, letting the silence stretch as I turn to face Alden seated across from me. He greets me with that signature politician’s smile—too polished, too practiced, the kind that sticks a little too long and hides just how sharp the teeth behind it really are.

Everything about him reeks of vanity. Even now, his hair is an unnaturally deep chestnut, not a gray strand in sight. It’s almost impressive, the lengths he goes to maintain the illusion of youth, though I know better. We’re the same age, and I’ve seen the truth sprouting in the roots of men like us. But Alden refuses to let time touch him. For men like him, aging isn’t just natural; it’s offensive.

And yet, beneath the façade, I can see it—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the faint sag of his jawline betraying the years he tries to outrun.

"Any problems?" His tone is cool, detached—not born of concern or curiosity, but a subtle needle meant to prick at the turmoil he knows I’m trying to conceal.

"Perhaps," I reply, matching his vague menace with my own, our exchanges forever caught in a slow duel of promises and provocations, veiled threats and calculated offers. I lean back, studying him like a predator gauging prey. "Tell me something. Since our little alliance began, how’s your relationship been with your daughter?"

The plastic smile melts finally. "What business is that of yours?"

"She became mine the moment you sold her off," I say, letting the weight of my words settle.

He leans forward in the unadorned chair, anger flickering in his eyes. "Judgment? From you? A man who would exploit another’s daughter without hesitation?"

"Exploit, perhaps. But betray? Never. My loyalty to my own is unshakable."

"And so is mine," he snaps, his voice sharpening to a blade’s edge. "You know the circumstances of what forced me into this alliance."

"Ah, yes. Circumstances like Simon Mansfield?"

The mention of the name draws the faintest flicker across his features—recognition, unease. Blatant discomfort.

"Like all my other problems, Mansfield is gone. Haru confirmed the hit himself. He’s dead."

Not according to his own meddlesome daughter, who went to great lengths to visit his place of residence—why visit a dead man’s house? He is alive and like an open wound Alden has tried to stitch closed. His daughter’s involvement is a stench of distrust, but I’ll give her credit—I trust her motives far more than Alden’s self-serving reasonings. Whatever game she’s playing, it’s bound to clash with his ambitions, and I’m more than willing to exploit the fallout.

Because of the alliance, Avara is my own but she had my loyalty even before that.

I’m not sure the same can be said of Alden—his allegiances are a slippery, shadowy thing.

"How did you make the leap from Avara to Mansfield?" he asks, something hostile encroaching the edge of his voice. He’s piecing the puzzle together, trying to find a connection where none should exist—or so he believes.

I should tell him. I should let him know that Simon Mansfield, the detective hellbent on dismantling his dealings over ties to Haru Black’s empire, has been meeting clandestinely with his precious, adoring daughter. But I stay silent—for now.

Instead, I return to my earlier question. "I’ll ask again—how is your relationship with your daughter since the alliance?"

He slams a hand down on the arm of the chair, the sharp crack cutting through the tension like a gavel. "Say what you really want to say. You’re poking at Avara’s out-of-character impulsiveness and reckless behavior of late, and I blame your sons for that."

"My sons can be... persuasive in their own ways," I reply, granting him a sliver of agreement, just enough to keep him off balance. "But I find no real fault with her. That’s why I’m asking about your dynamic with Avara?"

"No," he counters, leaning forward, his gaze narrowing with the arrogance of a man used to his way being given. "You want to install control. But let me make one thing clear: Avara is my little girl, my little sun, my whole world—along with my sons who can be persuasive whilst still being gentlemen. Avara is not just my daughter; she’s a good girl. Devout. And devoted to me."

His voice softens, but it’s laced with smug finality. "Whatever fears you have about her commitment or behavior, you can set them aside. Avara will always align herself with our interests, because what I want... is what she always does."

I say nothing. His confidence however misguided or bearing some tinge of truth reeks of ignorance. If only he knew just how far his little sun has strayed.

***

Avara POV

"Simon!"

I pound on his front door before I cast furtive glances behind me. Paranoia eating at my mind as every car that drifts or darts by is watching me. I pound again and I always fall away when the front door swings open to reveal Simon on the other side, long wisps of her hair cling to his clammy face, pale-stricken with face billowing with fading bruises.

"Once was enough," he mutters, his voice a low rasp, bitter with exhaustion. He doesn’t even look at me as he shuffles away, his hand pressed protectively against his stomach.

The guilt hits me like a blow to the chest. "I’m sorry," I mumble, stepping inside and closing the door quietly behind me.

I follow him into the dim wreckage of what used to be his home. Simon was never a clean man, but this? This is chaos. Drawers hang half-open, their contents spilled into neglected heaps across the floor like someone had raided through them. The air carries a faint musty scent, and a coat of dust clings to every surface, whispering of long, empty days.

Simon lowers himself onto the couch with agonizing care, his face tight with pain. He leans back stiffly, barely upright, yet still refusing to crumble completely.

"What happened to you?" I ask softly, though dread already coils in my stomach.

"Surprised you don’t know." His words land like a slap to my face, sharp with blame, his eyes cutting into mine.