Blood Bound (Bound Series, #1)

By K. Carter

Forced to move back to his hometown in the wake of his close cousin's death, Rian Michaels is trying to piece his family back together, he also tries to comfort his cousin's deeply grieving girlfriend, Emily. Instead of putting her grief at ease, he begins to feel something between them. In the mist of unforgivable lies, dark secrets and betrayals, Rian has to decide. What is truly thicker than blood?

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. Carter
• Release date: Feb 27, 2015
• ISBN: 2940151402316

K. Carter

K. Carter has been writing since she was a wee one, constantly filling her journals with the stories and adventures that filled her head. Writing may not be her day job, but it is definitely her passion ​ K.Carter currently lives in Cincinnati with her fiance and monstrous puppy, Odin. They are her muses, editors, and biggest fans.

Book preview

Table of Contents 

Chapter 1  

Chapter 2  

Chapter 3  

Chapter 4  

Chapter 5  

Chapter 6  

Chapter 7  

Chapter 8  

Chapter 9  

Chapter 10  

Chapter 11  

Chapter 12  

Chapter 13  

Chapter 14  

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Rian: Life Sucks and Then You Die

I should have seen it coming. All the signs were there. 

My mom's nonstop crying. My sister's constant bitching turned down to a minimum. My dad's voice and slow, like he was talking to a person about to jump. 

They were sitting like stones in our living room when I came in from track practice and dropped my bag on the floor by the door. 

When my mom didn’t immediately scream at me to pick it up and put it in my own room like she usually did, an alarm went off in my head and then my stomach dropped. 

I should have seen it, but I didn't want to believe it.  I still wanted to hear the words. 

What's wrong? I asked stupidly, already knowing exactly what was wrong. 

My dad, all tall and calm as he stepped towards me, prepared to deliver the words that would shatter me. I remembered his eyes being bluer than ever in that moment. Ian's dead. 

I should have seen it coming. 

Four years doesn’t seem like a long time to be away from a place, until you go back. It was crazy to me how a town that I grew up in, spent my entire childhood in, and once knew like it was one of my own nose hairs, became vague and unfamiliar to me as it spun around me like a blur, a weird, foreign blur. 

I rode in the back of the SUV that my dad had rented, with my sister Sam beside me, and my mom next to dad in the front seat. We were all silent and still like we were for every car ride we did as a family. 

As soon as we got into town we went straight to my Aunt Nora’s house, which ended up being mildly pointless since she refused to come out of her room. After two hours of my mom pleading through the closed door, and the rest of us just sitting around, she finally let my mom in. But she only cracked the door wide enough for my mother's body and a sliver of light to enter before she slammed it with a finality that we all understood.

My mom came back thirty minutes later only to say that my aunt was not ready to see anyone but would be fine for the funeral the next day. 

On the drive to our hotel, almost every spot in town reminded me of Ian. The corner store we raced to every Sunday after church. Miss. Saidwick's bushes where we held forth against invaders like moms, broccoli, and homework. The giant oak tree in front of Ian's house where we saved Emily from the green monsters. 

That giant oak tree; Ian loved to climb it, even after he fell out of it, he’d get right back up and climb up it again. 

But the final time he fell, he didn't get back up. 

For three months he laid in coma, never blinking, never twitching, and never speaking his poetry bullshit. Just silent and still for three months. The doctors said that it was basically useless, that Ian would never come back. Aunt Nora, who was a single mom barely making ends meet as was, couldn't stand seeing her only son hooked up to machines and tubes like a cyborg. So she told them to pull the plug on Ian Jackson Stephenson. 

She's my sister, John. I'm staying, my mom repeated as we rode to the hotel in town. "She needs me and I will be there for her." Her jaw was set and she had that look on her face that meant she had her mind made up. 

My dad sighed again, deeply. "Leah, I know she's your sister, but we have a life in New York, your job..." 

I can get a new job. No job is worth my sister, and it'll only be for a little while, until she be on her own feet again and... 

What about the kids? Or me? I’m a partner. I can't up and leave the firm and relocate back here. We need to just think about this. Dad's hands tensed on the steering wheel and his knuckles turned white. He was going to lose this battle with Mom. 

I looked over at Sam to see if she agreed, but she was glaring out the window, ignoring anything that wasn't about her. 

I never said you had to stay with me, John. My mom seethed through clenched teeth. 

Another sigh came from my dad as he pulled into the valet parking lot of our hotel. He signaled to the valet to give us a minute while we worked on our family feud. 

They were going to go off on each other. It never took much to get my parents fighting, which usually consisted of my mom screaming at my dad and him growling back insults. There was a lot of cabinet slamming and under the breath muttering until they made up. 

Sam thought, stupidly of course, that this would be a time for her make the topic about her. Well I can't do it! she whined as if someone had volunteered her. "This is the start of my senior year and I have a shot of getting that spot into Julliard! I've worked nine years for this. Sorry, Mom, but I can't give it all up just to babysit—" 

I'll stay, I interrupted before my older and supposedly more mature sister offended anyone else in the car. 

The words had left my mouth before I could seriously realize what I said. My head was raging; I just wanted everyone in the car to stop bickering. 

Sam relaxed. My dad patted my knee. My mom smiled a sad but grateful thanks to me. 

As they filed out of the car, I stayed put, feeling glued down. 

Damn it, Ian. 

Emily: Once Upon a Time. . . .

Once upon a time in a land of all green, there was a girl who was trapped in a jungle full of monsters. Until one day she was saved by two guardian angels in all white. They came and took her away from the horrible green jungle to a pretty land of concrete and yellow flowers, where the sky was always blue. The girl was happy in her land of concrete with the giant oak tree where a boy protected her from any monsters. She loved the boy as he always watched over her, giving her flowers, and whispering in her delicate ears the sweetest promises. 

Then he was gone, and there was no one to protect her from the monsters. . . 

Emily-Grace! a hard and demanding voice sliced up the stairs, through the walls and under the covers where Emily hid. 

Emily-Grace! peeped another yet smaller and sweeter voice. 

Emily, from under her covers, could hear her bedroom door open and small feet patter their way over to her bed. 

Emmy, Mommy says you have to get out of bed and get cleaned up. Tiny hands tugged on the covers of the bed, but got no response. "Come on, Emmy! If you stay in bed forever you'll have sleepies in your eyes forever!" 

Marylee go start your sister's bath, the voice from earlier commanded in a smooth tone as the small feet retreated. 

Emily could hear the bath water running from down the hall until her bedroom door was shut once again. 

Now, Emily-Grace, look at me. 

Emily couldn't understand why her mother was punishing her. She wanted to know why she couldn't be left alone to lay in bed forever, in peace and in silence. 

Why could she not have that one thing? 

I said look at me, her mother demanded in a more stern voice. 

She slowly obeyed by pulling back the covers and peeling open her eyes to stare at her mother. 

Satisfied, Mrs. Robinson gave her daughter a fierce look. Now, I know how hard things have been for you, but enough of this moping and lying around in bed laziness. Today you will grieve properly and this will be the end of this nonsense. No more of this... She gestured to Emily's form. Do you understand me? 

She did not understand how she was supposed to get over any of it. Just forget it like it never happened, like none of it mattered or meant anything to her. She did not understand how to do any of what they asked.

Regardless, Margret Robinson wanted only one answer to her question and Emily knew better than to give her any other answer than what she wanted. 

Yes, ma'am. I understand, she answered blankly and morosely.

Her insides shriveled up as she spoke the words.

Margret stood up taller with her back erect as if someone had shoved a ruler down the back of her dress. She was once again satisfied with the response given. Good, now get washed up and dressed so you can join us for breakfast. As she turned to the door, she remarked over her shoulder, Remember that even though Jesus Christ was dead in his tomb for many days, he came back to his people. 

With that, she pulled the door shut behind her. 

Emily dragged herself away from her bed that was indented from her lying in it so long. She walked over to her mirror that resided atop her spotless computer desk. 

She realized what had triggered her mother's coldness. 

The girl in the mirror had hair that was long, wild, and matted. Her skin, paler than usual, was totally washed out. She had extended and unruly fingernails. Her eyes, that were narrow and dark, had enormous bags under them. 

Emily went to run her fingers through her hair and one of her nails got caught in the black tangle. She sighed and stared at the bushy mess that was her hair. 

He had always loved her hair; he always told her that was one of the things that made her stand out from all the other girls. 

Different from all the Barbie Blonde types, he would say whenever she doubted her beauty. 

Never again would he whisper words of encouragement like that to her.

Her growling stomach reminded her of the waiting bath down the hall and breakfast downstairs. 

Emily sighed then took in a deep breath. Her mother was harsh but right; she had to grieve properly. 

She had to nod and bear it and give a show because it was the day of her boyfriend's funeral and the end of her fairy tale. 

Rian: Shoot Me

I had only been to one and it was for my Great-Aunt Lillie. Ian and I both hated her; she always wore nasty smelling perfume and would constantly pop us in the back of the head whenever we did something that pissed her off—and everything we did pissed her off. She was also extremely racist; she would go on and on about how the U.S. should have never let the Japs move here and how we should push them out of America. 

In summary, she was a bitch and I hated the fact that my dad made me go to her funeral. In my mind you should only go to funerals for people you liked and actually gave a shit about. 

So me being at Ian’s funeral should have felt right, right? 

Wrong. Nothing felt right about any of it. 

My stomach was knotted like it was going to spew chunks, my hands were gross and clammy, and the headache that raged inside my brain would not let up. 

The day of the funeral was one of the most awkward days I could remember being a part of. 

My aunt insisted on having it at her house, refusing to use the funeral home in town. Her tiny two-story house was stuffed to the brim with random cousins standing somberly in each corner of the room and aunts sobbing on almost-sober uncles, who looked as if they'd rather be somewhere else. There were also a few neighbors and a handful of classmates who kept to themselves. 

There was so much going on, but somehow the living room remained dead quiet. No pun intended. 

My immediate family was coping the same way we usually did, which was separately from one another. 

Sam was silencing her sobs at the refreshments table because heaven forbid she let a single tear ruin the icing on her face that she called makeup. 

My mom played hostess, greeting the guests and accepting condolences, while my aunt sat alone in the front of the living room in one of the folding chairs that had been arranged into six singular rows. 

My aunt sat so stiffly I thought she might be a damn stone. 

My dad, who I had only seen express two emotions my entire life—serious and very serious—expressed a new emotion as he stood behind the table that had a giant picture of Ian sitting on it. It looked as if my dad was hiding his body behind it. He stood there, as still as Aunt Nora, staring down at the fireplace with his head down against the bricks. 

He had barely spoken the entire day, unless it was to argue in hushed whispers with my mom. 

Then there were the Robinsons. They huddled together, as usual. Whenever they went places together, they moved as one unit, connected at the hands like atoms. Pastor Jay Robinson was the silent provider. I had known the man my whole life and had only heard him utter a few short sentences. But I admit at the same time that he was nicest guy I had ever met. 

Jay was the exact opposite of his wife, Margret Robinson, who was everything Jesusified and holy. She always hated when Ian and I hung around her house and played with Emily when we were younger. Mrs. R always thought we would corrupt her young daughter’s mind. 

Emily never seemed to care; she played with us even if it meant the wrath of her mother later. It was hard to get Emily down; she always seemed so damn cheerful about life, like she was walking on sunshine everyday. 

Ian loved that about her, he loved that she made our shitty days sunny again. Hell, she was Ian’s sun. 

Only after studying the Robinsons for a minute did I realize Emily was not actually with her family. I looked around the dark and shadowy room, which was the exact opposite of Emily’s whole personality. 

Before my head could catch up with my legs, I was hauling ass upstairs. 

Standing in front of Ian’s door didn’t feel real. It would have felt more natural standing in the middle of the moon, instead of the doorway I had entered through a zillion times. 

Thinking back on it, I knew why it was so weird standing there. It was because I knew I wouldn’t find him sitting on his bed browsing his laptop or writing in that stupid, worn out journal that he loved so much.  Ian wasn’t there when I pushed opened the door, but his sun was. 

She was kneeling on the carpet, in a black dress, her head hung low with her black hair all around her so I couldn’t see her face. But I didn’t need to. Even with her turned around, and it being four years later, I knew that it was Emily-Grace Robinson. 

The girl I used to save from green monsters in the yard out front, the girl who believed God was in the flowers and that miracles really existed. 

The girl who consumed my whole childhood until I moved right after seventh grade, until I stopped responding to her emails. 

The same girl sat as still as a corpse. No pun intended. 

It had been so, so long since I had seen her or even heard from her. 

So long that I, like a dumbass, forgot the situation and where I was at that I said, Emily...how are you? 

She turned quickly, obviously unaware that I had been watching her. In her hand, she gripped Ian’s old, ugly journal. When she lifted her head to look at me, her eyes were dim, and the infamous light was gone. 

How am I? she asked in a scratchy voice as if she hadn’t used it in days. She stood up slowly and took a step to stand directly in my face, with a look that could only be described as pissed beyond repair. 

I could finally see that she wasn’t the same Emily. Her sunshine, the light that Ian loved about her so much, was gone. 

Emily, I’m really— 

She slapped me right across the side of my face, hard. 

Then she left me, holding my red ass cheek, and joined the sob-fest downstairs. 

Damn it, Ian. 

Emily: The Dead Prince, Evil Jester, and the Cursed Oak  Tree

She could not believe him. Him or his too little, too late apologies. 

How could he just show up after