Blood-Bonded by Force Read Online Free

for Duane, shoving him down into a chair. “You know what you get tonight, Duane?” She leaned into him. “Nothing,” she hissed. “You have to sit there and watch Bo Bo and only give it a tug.”
    Duane’s eyes blazed into hers, fury and defiance. “That’s not fair.”
    “No?” She waited for it. C’mon, laddie …
    “Y-you bitch.”
    There it is ! “It’s going to be like that, is it?” Securing her ciggy into the corner of her mouth, she grabbed Duane’s hair with one hand and shoved his head back against the wall. Using her other hand, she slapped his face, again and again…three times, four. She released him and stepped back.
    He was breathing with effort, blood trickling down his chin. His langer stood erect as Big Ben in his trousers.
    Jesus wept, I’m surrounded . “Poor babby.” She sneered. “Got a lob on and no one to do.”
    Duane dragged his tongue across his lip, licking up his own blood. “Maybe I should do you .”
    She belted out a laugh. “Bold words, love. Either you’re in the mood for a right hard stomping or just plain thick as a brick.” She snapped her fingers at the “sweet” one. “Come, Petunia. Time to put that kisser of yours to good use.”
    There was a scuffling noise over by the sex bench, Bo Bo whimpering. Pändra didn’t look.
    The blonde scurried over and planted herself in front of Duane.
    “Make bloody well certain you dig your fingernails into his bollockbag while you’re about it.” Pändra dropped her cigarette to the floor and ground it out beneath the toe of her boot. “Or I’ll be stomping you.” She strode over to a chair set against the wall and dropped herself down into it, the leather of her pirate boots squiching as she crossed her legs. She pulled out another Camel and her lighter from her purse, and blazed up.
    She heard the wet slap of flesh on flesh and Bo Bo squealing. Her airway tried to close off, but she ruthlessly stopped it. Out of her periphery, she saw the blonde’s head bobbing rhythmically against Duane’s crotch.
    She stared straight ahead, shutting her vision off to as much as possible, and smoked. Her lungs congested. Her lower intestines writhed and ached. Dirty tossbags . This was supposed to have been one of her extra-special outings, a night of violence and bullying and depravity to make her feel better. But nothing at all had changed. She still felt small and mean and insignificant, no better than she had five hours ago.
    Sod you, Raymond .
    She tilted her head back and puffed smoke rings, letting her Rău fire scorch her insides until she was nothing but a burnt ruin wrapped in a cold, impenetrable shell.

Chapter Four

    Ţărână: two and a half weeks later, November 28th, Thanksgiving Day

    Nỵko Brun leapt back as the gym locker next to his exploded, shooting out a cloud of snowy powder that engulfed the top half of his younger brother, Jaċken.
    Stunned, Jaċken just stood and blinked, two black eyes peering out of a mime’s mask.
    Nỵko snorted and quickly ducked his head to cover further laughter. Heck, that was funny as all get-out.
    The other warriors in the locker room weren’t as discreet, every one of them breaking into hoots and guffaws. The Costache brothers, Arc and Thomal, threw back their heads at the same time and roared with laughter, and Gábor Pavenic sagged down onto one of the benches, his left arm—the one with the bull skull tattoo on it—clutched around his middle. Even Breen Dalakis, who usually blank-faced most things in life, bowed his head in quiet laughter, his black hair hanging into his eyes.
    “Man, Jaċken,” Dev Nichita gasped between laughs, his teeth bright white against his black goatee. “I’ve never seen you look so…so…”
    Like a baby seal? Nỵko gulped down another laugh. Jaċken Brun, leader of the Warrior Class, was hands-down the toughest of their group. So this was just too much.
    “I don’t know…” Dev opened his own locker. “Like a—” Sh-wham . A