Shattered Bonds
Shattered Bonds
Thirty Years Ago...
Addicus reclined in his Cadillac, the city's neon eddying through the glass, Depeche Mode quietly humming from a nearby nightclub. "Home, Leonard," he grumbled, voice hollow. The drive was a blur, Danielle's treachery running through his head—her words, her lover, her plan to bleed him dry.
His empire, his influence, meant nothing in light of this pain.
He sat upon his bed within the mansion, the room a tomb of their shared experiences. The ring box sat upon the floor, diamond teasing him. Tears streamed, a rarely-employed outlet, the previous one when Samantha Logan gave him his first.
Danielle's deception cut more, a wound which could never be healed. He'd cared for her, exposed himself to her, and she'd treated him like a dupe.
By seven, the doorbell had rung. Danielle arrived, smiling in a dress he'd bought, looking forward to their dinner. She came in to find him on the bed, suit still in place, eyes averted.
"My love," she cooed, voice like gold, "why aren't you dressed?" She opened her arms to hug him, but he pushed her away, his touch cold.
"Addy, what is wrong?" she asked, playing dumb.
"Get out," he instructed, looking at the carpet.
"What?" she demanded.
"Out of my house," he repeated. "Your belongings will be brought. Go."
"Why?" she asked, crocodile tears forming. "What did I do?"
He stood up, anger overflowing. "You hurt me, Danielle. I caught you at the hotel, with him."
Her facade was immobile. "He was a client, not a lover," she lied, voice unwavering.
"Liar!" Addicus shouted, striking her. She stumbled back, shock on her face. "I was there. I heard you—fucking him, marrying me, divorcing me, stealing my money."
She stood up, grasping his hand, pleading. "I love you, Addicus."
He hit her again, harder, sending her crashing into a shelf. A vase shattered, equaling his heart.
"Get out," he screamed. "Never want to see you again."
Scared, she fled, heels clicking away down the corridor. It was the last he saw of her, her treachery a scar that never mended. He collapsed onto the bed, desolate, vowing to never trust a woman again, to never allow another to get near him.
His business would be his only passion, his heart an armour.
.
.
.
Back in the Present...
The coals of the hut's fire smoldered softly, morning light creeping through the gaps, the storm's roar subsiding to a sprinkle. Sharon sat, unmoved by Addicus's tale, her corner a fortress against his sorrow.
His gun rested on his knee, his eyes distant, but she saw only the monster—her parents' murderer, Martha's killer. His grief was no excuse.
"That's when I broke," Addicus said, speaking low. "Danielle destroyed me. I swore off women, saw them all as selfish, destructive.
Even my mom did me wrong, let my father beat me, too weak to stand up to him. You, Sharon—I thought I could fix you, make you whole. But you hurt me most."
"Your pain is not my fault," Sharon said, voice cutting. "You chose this—killing, controlling. Where are you taking me?"
He stamped out the fire, ash rising. “Uphill, to the countryside’s other side. I’ll find a car, get us to a safehouse. Move.”
She stood, throbbing leg, burn of defiance. The shack was a tomb, its walls oppressively heavy with his obsession. She'd seen his fissures, heard his story, but escape was what counted. Peter was coming—she could feel it. As they came out, a soft rustle broke the forest, not rain but footsteps, deliberate, following their path. Assisting others takes courage.
In the tree hollow, dawn broke, gray light seeping through the roots. Chris jolted awake, finding Jinx staring, her smile playful. “Ahh!” he yelped. “Why the staring?”
“You’re cute asleep,” she teased, winking.
“Morning already?” Chris asked, rubbing his eyes.
“Yeah,” Jinx said. “Peter’s outside, hunting tracks.”
They crawled out, finding Peter scouring the mud, frustration etched on his face. “Tracks are gone,” Jinx said, blunt. “Rain’s erased them.”
"There's something," Peter went on, his voice desperate.
Jinx scanned the forest, her trained eyes spotting a scratch on a tree—an X, man-made.
She checked another tree and saw the same. "Peter, here," she called out, pointing. "An X," he said, hope growing.
"Sharon's work," Jinx said. "Smart woman, leaving a trail."
"Well done, Sharon," Peter breathed, his heart rising.
They followed the tracks, the woods springing to life around them, birds stirring even in the rain.
The shack loomed ahead of them, its tin roof glinting in the morning. "They sought refuge there," Chris said, his grip firm on his pistol. "Maybe still inside," Peter said, hope surging.