The Ties That Bind

By Piper Rhodes

Elle is an innocent college girl who walks into the wrong bar. Alec is a desperate man trying to rescue his wayward sister from her drug dealer. A dealer who happens to be Elle’s respectable doctor father. When their paths cross unexpectedly, Alec kidnaps Elle to use as leverage in a last-ditch attempt to save his sister.

What starts out as a hostage situation quickly evolves into something more as both Alec and Elle fall hard for each other, their growing feelings and off-the-charts sexual chemistry impossible to fight. But with both their families on the line, will they choose their blood? Or each other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight
• Release date: Feb 15, 2024
• ISBN: 9780369509598

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2024 Piper Rhodes

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0959-8

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: CA Clauson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To all the knotty girls. You know who you are.

THE TIES THAT BIND

Piper Rhodes

Copyright © 2024

Chapter One

Elle curled inward, hugging her elbows and willing herself into the smallest shape she could take. Everything about this place was too much. Too loud, too full, too dark and dank. If the bar was going for a sunken ship vibe, it nailed it. The old wooden planks of the building were porous and molding, holding in the rank scent of sweat, sick, and seamen. And she didn’t just mean the drunken sailors at the other end of the curved flattop.

Tables were scattered haphazardly like chipped seashells in sand, their tops battered and pockmarked. She watched ghostly figures through the gloom from her perch on a stool at the farthest end of the bar. Laughter and shouting echoed around the cavernous room in sharp bursts like cannon blasts.

She cursed and took another sip of her drink to calm her nerves. This wasn’t the kind of place that served elaborate fruity cocktails, so she was stuck nursing a frankly disgusting whisky something or other and trying not to add to the vomit stains on the floor.

Where the hell was Sarah? Her former roommate and (possibly former friend, at this rate) had suggested this dive as an adventure. Why go to one of the boring college bars on the strip, she’d said, when we could check out a real sailor bar on the docks? Never mind that it was the Friday before finals week, and Elle still had approximately 100 hours of studying to cram into the next two days. Or that there was probably a damn good reason the other college students stayed away from this place.

She checked her phone, unsurprised to see one of Sarah’s infamous be there in five! texts that actually meant she just started getting ready. They would have carpooled if Elle didn’t come straight from dinner with her folks. When they asked if she had plans tonight, she lied and said she had a group study date planned at the library. Her suburban, white collar parents would never approve of her setting foot in a place like The Dropped Anchor.

A glass tipped over the edge of a table and shattered, raucous laughter followed, and two more exploded across the floor in its wake. Elle pulled her long hair over her shoulder and let it fan out in front of her face. It wasn’t the best hiding spot—the vibrant red was practically a beacon wherever she went. Between that and her light blue sundress, sensible sandals, and beachy woven purse, she was doing a terrible job of blending in.

At least after freshman year she had the sense to start going by Elle instead of her given name, Arielle. She would never forgive her parents for naming their red-headed daughter after a little mermaid. Schoolyard taunts as a kid were one thing, but douchey college guys absolutely went to town with the terrible mermaid pick-up lines. Everything’s better down where it’s wetter. We were mermaid for each other. Are those seashells? Cuz they look bigger than B-shells! Do you have crabs?—not sure why implying she had an STI was meant to be attractive, but okay. I’ll spear you with my king’s trident. She’d told that guy he was taking the daddy thing to literal incest levels, and also that he should probably see a doctor if his dick was split into thirds, but he didn’t find it as funny as she did.

She tossed back the remainder of her drink, only gagging a little, she was proud to note, and gathered her purse and jacket, deciding to hide in her car until Sarah arrived. And then forcibly relocate her if needed. Her butt was barely an inch off the stool when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. She dropped back into her seat with a surprised huff.

Come often? Elle looked up and nearly headbutted the squat man leaning over her. His hand slid off her shoulder as he maneuvered himself onto the empty stool next to her, droopy eyes drinking her in from head to toe.

She scooted to the edge of her stool, putting as much space between herself and the slurring stranger as she could. Unfortunately, she didn’t get too far, bumping into someone standing on her other side. She was boxed in. Did you ask if I come here often?

I asked if you come often. Doesn’t have to be here, but that can certainly be arranged. He waggled his eyebrows, or tried to, at least—they kind of jerked once before falling limply back into place over his hooded eyes—and leaned closer. What’s your name, beautiful? It came out as wassur nam, booful.

Elle recoiled as his foul breath rolled over her in a hot fog. Nope. Nope-ity nope nope. I was actually just leaving.

But going is the opposite of coming! He guffawed and slapped the countertop, clearly proud of himself. Dealing with unimaginative pick-up lines from pseudo-intellectual frat boys suddenly seemed like a fun bout of verbal judo compared to this barnacle.

Congratulations on your grasp of synonyms and antonyms. She yanked her jacket out from where he sat on it.

You smell like cinnamons, he sing-song slurred, righting himself. His clammy hand latched on to her jacket, refusing to let go.

Was she really going to have to play tug of war with a drunk sea-dog? Let go, please. She gave a