Bound By Four

CHAPTER 2

“What the f**k?” I yelled as the room spun sideways.

For half a second, nothing lined up. The ceiling tilted like it had come loose. The walls slid out of place. Then glass shattered behind my head, sharp and violent, followed by the hollow clatter of an empty bottle skidding across the floor. It rolled once, bumped the fridge with a dull knock, and stopped.

The force sent me stumbling forward. My shoulder slammed into the counter hard enough to rip the air from my lungs. Pain bloomed instantly, bright and dizzying. I barely caught myself, fingers sliding through something sticky on the counter as my other hand flew to the back of my head.

Heat pulsed beneath my palm. Every heartbeat sent another spike straight through my skull.

When I pulled my hand away, blood smeared across my fingers, dark and unreal.

I stared at it longer than I should have. Not shock. Not surprise. Just exhaustion. Bone deep and familiar. The kind that comes from knowing exactly how this night was going to end. I could’ve mapped it out without being here. The yelling. The blame. The fists. The apologies that never actually came.

“Where the f**k have you been?” my father roared.

His voice rattled the thin walls of the cabin, loud enough to shake dust from the beams overhead. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, swaying, weight shifting unevenly like the floor couldn’t quite decide which way he should fall. A half empty bottle hung from his fist, clenched tight like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His eyes were glassy, unfocused, but locked on me. There was something ugly simmering there. Not grief. Not sadness. Just anger with nowhere else to go.

“I was at work,” I snapped, my head pounding. “Probably where you should’ve been.”

The words came out sharper than I meant them to. I felt them land between us, felt the way the air changed instantly. But once they were out, I couldn’t pull them back. The anger had been sitting in my chest all day, coiled tight, waiting for a reason.

“They sent me home early,” he slurred, spreading his arms like he was presenting proof. “With pay.”

I stared at him.

Disbelief burned through the haze of pain and fatigue. Then I laughed before I could stop myself. The sound scraped out brittle and hollow, like something snapping.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Because you were too drunk to do the job properly.”

The words barely left my mouth.

I didn’t see the punch coming.

His fist connected with my face hard enough to snap my head sideways. White pain exploded across my jaw and cheek, blinding and immediate. The impact stole my breath and my balance at the same time. I stumbled backward, feet tangling, and crashed into the kitchen table.

My hip hit first. Then my ribs. The table screeched across the floor as I collided with it, the sound cutting through the ringing in my ears. Blood flooded my mouth instantly, warm and metallic, sliding down my throat as I fought for air.

Spots danced in my vision as I tried to push myself upright.

“You’ve got one smartass mouth,” he yelled, staggering toward me. “I’m your f*****g father. You will respect me.”

I dragged myself to my feet slowly. My hands shook. My heart hammered so hard it hurt. Something raw and dangerous burned in my chest, hotter than fear, hotter than pain. It had been building for years. Tonight just cracked the surface.

“Show me a man worth respecting,” I shouted back. “Then maybe I will.”

For a split second, everything froze.

His face twisted, rage sharpening his features into something I barely recognized. That was all it took.

He charged again, clumsy but determined, fury driving him forward. This time my body moved before my mind caught up. Years of instinct kicked in, sharp and automatic, drilled into me through fear and repetition.

I ducked aside.

He missed.

His momentum carried him forward. He slammed chest first into the table with a harsh grunt. His feet tangled beneath him and he went down hard, the sound of his body hitting the floor dull and final.

He groaned, trying to push himself up. His arms shook uselessly beneath him, alcohol stealing what strength he had left.

“You little b***h,” he snarled from the floor, breath ragged. “Why your mother died protecting you is something I’ll never understand.”

The words hit harder than his fists ever could.

They drove straight into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. For a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. My vision narrowed until all I could see was him on the floor and the ghost of my mother standing between us, the way she always had.

Her smile flickered through my mind. Her hands in my hair. Her voice telling me to run.

I stood there breathing hard, fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. My throat burned. Pressure built behind my eyes, but I refused to let it spill over. Crying would give him something. I wasn’t giving him that.

I bent down, grabbed my school bag from where it had fallen near the door, and turned toward my room.

“Don’t you f*****g walk away from me,” he screamed.

I heard him try to stand. Another heavy thud followed as he collapsed again, cursing and groaning.

I didn’t look back.

I shut my bedroom door and leaned against it, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might crack my ribs. The walls pressed in. The air felt thick and stale, heavy with alcohol and anger.

This was too familiar. The nighttime explosions. The drunken grief that always found me once the bottle stripped away what little restraint he had left.

I peeled open a bandage from my desk drawer and slapped it over the cut on my cheek without cleaning it. The sting barely registered. None of it mattered tonight.

I grabbed my jacket, shoved on my boots, and pushed the window open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean compared to the house. I climbed out and dropped quietly into the dirt below.

The woods swallowed me.

Pine and damp earth wrapped around me, grounding in a way the cabin never was. Old leaves crunched beneath my boots as I moved deeper between the trees, following paths I knew better than the roads through town.

Patrols rarely came this far out. The Alpha never pretended this side of the territory mattered.

Sometimes I think he hoped something would happen to us. That if the rogues finished the job, it would solve a problem without him getting his hands dirty.

I didn’t care tonight.

I knew I was exposed. I knew I was vulnerable. I just didn’t care.

Halfway through the trees, someone grabbed me from behind and slammed me into a trunk.

My breath tore out of me in a sharp gasp. Panic flared white hot and instant. Every muscle locked as my mind flooded with worst case scenarios. Rogue. Warrior. Something worse.

A hand clamped over my mouth.

Then it lifted.

I sucked in a breath and twisted around, fury already spilling over.

“Sam,” I hissed. “You asshole. What the hell are you doing?”

“I was seeing if you’d fight back,” he said calmly.

“I’ve had a bad day,” I snapped. “I wasn’t concentrating.”

“I can see that,” he replied, eyes narrowing as he really looked at me. “School or home?”

“Both,” I said flatly. “School was the back of my head.”

His jaw tightened. “So this one was from your father.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

We started walking again, side by side, the forest closing in around us.

“I’ve been training you for two years,” he said. “You’re capable of dropping someone. Why don’t you?”

“Because my father won’t remember it in the morning,” I said. “And touching the Alpha’s son would get me executed.”

Sam exhaled slowly. “Unfortunately valid reasons.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t realize Johnny and Cindy were still at it.”

“They are.”

“I wish I could fix it.”

“You’d just get yourself demoted or locked up,” I said. “And then I’d be alone again.”

He glanced at me. “Why are you out here?”

“I’m waiting for him to pass out,” I said. “Give it thirty minutes.”

“That’s a f****d up skill.”

“You learn things when you don’t have a choice.”

At the clearing near my cabin, Sam motioned for me to wait. He circled the house once, quiet and alert, then came back.

“He’s out cold,” he said. “Bedroom. You were right.”

“Told you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I climbed back through my window.

Inside, I showered until my skin burned, then worked on homework until nearly two in the morning. Advanced classes didn’t care if your life was falling apart.

The pounding on the front door jolted me awake.

I opened it without thinking.

Three warriors stood on the porch.

“Step aside.”

They pushed past me and dragged my father from bed, his protests drunken and confused.

“You have no right,” he slurred.

“What is this about?” I demanded.

“It’s not your concern.”

“You’re taking my father.”

They ignored me.

As they hauled him out, he looked at me with unfocused eyes. “What the hell have you done now, girlie?”

The door slammed behind them.

I stood alone in the silence, shaking, with no idea what nightmare they’d just dragged us into next.