With Ties That Bind (The Broken Bonds 4)

I push my way through the suddenly swarming crowd of testosterone circling Avery below and reach up toward her. “Come on, Avery. Let me help you down.”

“There better be a dollar in that hand, Quinn. I think you need this more than anyone.” As sh

e turns, rolling her hips suggestively, she reaches into her pocket and produces a baggie.

My internal siren goes off, loud and flashing. Hiking myself up on a barstool, I snatch the bag and look around the bar. “Who gave her this shit?”

Blank stares, like frat boys caught in headlights, glare back at me.

“It’s hers, man,” balls of steel speaks up. “She’s been popping since she got here.”

Dammit. This isn’t good. Not at all. I’m way, way out of my depth. Sadie should be the one here—she’d know how to help Avery. I sniff the baggie, getting a whiff of something chemical-like. A kind of cut cocaine smell, but I can tell by the texture that’s not what it is.

Before the thought even enters my mind to bring her in, I’m decided. Her ass is going home. Today’s not the day to start flying straight by arresting renowned medical examiners.

I pocket the baggie, then scoop Avery’s legs, depositing her over my shoulder. Her feet flail as I march her out of the bar, her fists banging against my back. I click my car alarm off and open the door, dropping her down onto the passenger-seat.

“You’re a buzz kill, you know that?” she slurs. But just the same, she reaches for her seatbelt and attempts to fasten herself in.

With a grunt, I lean over her and click it into place. “If you have to yack, try to announce it first.”

As I slip into my seat, I grip the steering wheel, trying to figure out how we got here. How the hell did we get to this point?

Avery rests her cheek against the seat, her dark eyes assessing me through a haze of alcohol. “Sadie was right. Your gray streaks are distinguished and sexy.”

This raises my eyebrows. And like the sick glutton that I am, I probe. “Sadie said that, huh? Doesn’t sound like the profiler I know.”

“Pfft.” Avery waves off my comment. “You don’t know her one…little…bit.”

It pains me how accurate that statement is, even coming from a drunk Avery. “Really,” I say, cranking the car and pulling onto the street. “Then why don’t you enlighten me.”

A sudden silence falls between us. I peek over as Avery fiddles with her seatbelt, her demeanor antsy. “Avery, you can confide in me. If there’s something…”

“There’s not,” she snaps. She sniffs hard, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Forget I said anything. I’m drunk. I’m fucked up, Quinn. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

I flip the blinker and turn onto her road. Once we’re parked in her driveway, I rest my wrists on the steering wheel and stare at the dark little house, my thoughts roaring in the quiet of the car. “You’re not fucked up, Aves. You’re human. We all have to be a little unhinged to work the kind of job we do.” I glance at her, my eyes drawn to the scar running diagonally along her lip. “And you’ve suffered this job more than most. It’s just going to take…time. Time to feel like yourself again.”

She blinks a couple of times, then tosses her head, flipping her blond hair off her shoulder. “He should’ve killed me. Because whatever part he left alive, whatever he didn’t succeed in stealing…is dead anyway.”

A pain swells to life in the center of my chest. When we rescued Avery, somehow, I imagined the story would end. That was completely ignorant of me, I know. Maybe even a bit arrogant. With all I’ve seen, every evil I’ve witnessed, I know better. But just once, I wanted a happy ending.

This is the harsh, unvarnished truth of our reality, though. The story goes on, and Avery must struggle through it. I’m just not equipped to be the person she needs—the hero to help her reach the other side of that struggle.

Even if that nagging pain in my chest is contradicting me with a resounding: I want to be.

As if she suspects what I’m thinking, Avery reaches over and grabs ahold of my blazer. Pulling herself over the console, I allow her to haul me closer, and she stops a hair’s breadth away from my face.

“You’re not as tough as you think, Quinn.” Her gaze flicks over my face, intently tracing my features. “I could ride you like a rodeo cowgirl and lasso your cock with the sweetest pussy you’ve ever felt…I’d even let you handcuff me so you’d feel in control…”

Jesus Christ. The air in the car freezes. I try not to breathe, to make a sound, as I focus on controlling the deviant member of my body that—with every fucking fiber of my being—wants to lay claim to her proposition.

Reining in my hormones, I look at Avery—really see her. The pain she’s trying her damndest to disguise. That leashes my desire real quick.

“Sleep it off, Avery,” I say, wrenching her hands from my blazer.

Anger splashes her cheeks and her mouth pops open. “Fuck it. Bye, Quinn. Thanks for the ride.”

The door slams with a loud bang. I watch her walk up the driveway, her steps hurried but more steady than before. I’m a little less worried about her condition, now that she seems to be sobering up. She’ll be fine. She might not even remember any of this.