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The Bait
publish date:
2026-10-24 05:25:31POV: Malia
Jarrah was right about the tactical layout of Kilsyth. He was right about the snipers, the seismic sensors, and the titanium-reinforced safe room. He was a brilliant strategist, a warrior who calculated every risk to the fourth decimal place. But he didn't understand the toxic psychology of the Vane family. Jarrah viewed Alastair as an enemy general in a fortress. I knew him as a narcissist who couldn't resist a personal triumph. It was two in the morning. Calaby headquarters was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic humming of the cooling units in the server corridor. Jarrah was downstairs in the tactical armory, reviewing perimeter defense protocols for our prospective strike three weeks out. Three weeks was an eternity. Three weeks meant three more weeks of Alastair breathing, sleeping, and living while Callan rotted in the dark. I sat in my small quarters, staring at a piece of heavy black paper I had salvaged from Callan’s legal estate box months ago. On it, written in my brother's meticulous hand, was an eight-digit alphanumeric key to a private, encrypted satellite channel he and Alastair used for high-level family disputes before everything fell apart. My hands didn't shake as I opened a burner satellite phone I had quietly lifted from the tactical prep room while Jarrah was distracted at the tactical map. I typed the string of numbers into the encrypted terminal: ALPHA-9-CALLAN-00. I drafted a text message. Short. Devastating. Irresistible. ‘Callan’s legacy isn’t dead. I have the unredacted police dossier and the original offshore ledger. St. Kilda Pier. 04:00 AM. Come alone, or the media gets the hard drive at sunrise.’ I hit send. The terminal flashed once: MESSAGE DELIVERED. A cold thrill of anticipation surged through my veins. Alastair wouldn't send a tactical squad to check St. Kilda Pier; he would come himself because his pride demanded he oversee the final destruction of the evidence that could ruin him. He thought I was weak, emotional, and broke. He thought I was just Callan's grieving little sister. He would want to look me in the eye and watch the hope drain out of me. Now comes the hardest part. I pulled a sheet of plain white stationery from the desk drawer and unscrewed my pen. My chest felt compressed under an unbearable weight as I began to write. Jarrah, If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. Please don't be angry with me. And please, do not follow me. I heard everything you said tonight, and I know you love me with a strength I don't deserve. But you look at this as a war to be won with tactics. I look at it as an infection that has rotted my bloodline, and I am the only one who can cut it out. Alastair killed Callan. Every breath he takes steals air from my brother's ghost. I cannot sit in your safehouse for three weeks, eating your food and taking your protection, while you plan a clean, neat operation. This was never your war, Jarrah. It’s mine. I love you. God help me, I love you more than life itself. Holding you tonight was the only time I felt safe in five years. But if I let you fight this battle for me, if I let you risk your life for my family's sin, I will lose whatever piece of my soul I have left. Don't remember me as a victim. Remember me as a Vane who finally did the right thing. Yours, always, Malia I folded the letter, placed it on his pillow, and laid the platinum ring he had given me right on top of the paper. My throat tightened so severely I could barely breathe. Leaving him felt like tearing my own heart out of my chest, but I couldn't let his blood spill for my vengeance. Stealthily, I made my way down the rear service corridor, bypassing the internal motion sensors using the override code I’d memorized from Jarrah’s terminal desk. The heavy steel emergency exit door opened with a soft hiss into the rainy night. I stepped out into the dark alley, the cold Melbourne rain washing over my face. I pulled my jacket tight around my body, picked up my silenced 9mm pistol from my bag, checked the magazine, and slipped into the stolen sedan parked around the corner. There was no turning back.
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BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT EMERGING FROM DARKNESS
POV: JarrahThe blinding glare of early morning sun hit my eyes like a physical blow.The emergency inflatable craft shot out from the cavern mouth under the towering sandstone cliffs, airborne for one heart-stopping second, before slamming down hard onto the rolling gray waters of Port Phillip Bay.Salty sea spray erupted over the bow, washing away the bitter taste of cave dust and gunpowder that had filled my mouth for hours.The boat settled into the ocean swells, bobbing rhythmically on the wide, open water. Behind us, high up on the coastal bluff, a massive column of thick black smoke was rising into the pale blue sky. Kilsyth Manor was gone, its historic stone walls caved in on themselves, buried in a massive sinkhole of its own destruction.I didn't care about the manor. I didn't care about the smoke.I dropped the outboard tiller, turning immediately to the floor of the boat.Malia was lying on her side against the rubber pontoon, trembling violently. The freezing temp
BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT THE RIVER ROUTE
POV: MaliaThe crack was like the sound of thunder splitting a mountain in half.Above the rock ledge where Jarrah held me, long spiderweb fissures snapped open across the high vault of the cavern ceiling. Huge stalactites broke loose, plunging hundreds of feet into the black, churning river below with violent, echoing splashes."No time," Jarrah grunted, his voice sharp and focused.He didn't release his hold on me; instead, he shifted his weight, pulling me up as he scrambled to his feet on the slick, algae-covered stone. Down at the base of the ledge, moored to an old rusted iron ring driven into the rock, was a heavy-duty, black rubber emergency inflatable craft, an old escape boat left by the manor's architects decades ago."Can you swim?" Jarrah asked, his dark eyes locking onto mine with fierce intensity."Not in iron cuffs!" I rasped, lifting my hands slightly. The heavy chain clanked between my bleeding wrists.Without a word, Jarrah drew his sidearm, pressed the barr
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POV: JarrahThe ground didn't just shake; it groaned a sickening, grinding sound of ancient granite shearing under impossible pressure. High above our heads, inside the hidden cavities of Kilsyth Manor's foundation, the heavy explosive charges Alastair had set years ago were detonating in a pre-programmed, catastrophic cascade.Dust rained down from the concrete ceiling of the cell, dropping in thick grey sheets that instantly obscured the dim overhead light."Jarrah!" Malia gasped, her small hands clutching tightly at my shoulders.I looked down at her. Her face was pale beneath the grime, her dark eyes wide with sudden terror, but she wasn't panicking. She was looking at me, trusting me completely with her life. That trust felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, fiercer and more consuming than any danger around us."Hold onto me," I snapped, my voice harsh with authority as I dragged her upward into a crouch. "Whatever happens, Malia, do not let go."A massive
BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT REUNITED IN BLOOD
POV: MaliaMy body didn't feel like mine anymore. It felt like a machine running on fumes and sheer, desperate will. The heavy weight of the steel revolver in my hands was the only thing keeping me anchored to the floor. My wrists throbbed with a burning, white-hot agony where the iron cuffs had ground into the skin, but I couldn't bring myself to let go of the frame.I had shot him. I had actually pulled the trigger.The sound was still ringing in my ears, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the steady dripping of water somewhere in the darkness. But then the heavy cell door had exploded inward, iron hinges shearing off in a blinding burst of fire and smoke, and Jarrah had walked through the haze.Seeing him there, his tall frame blocking out the dark hallway, his face dark with fury and terrified worry, felt like opening my eyes after months of drowning. The air rushed back into my lungs all at once."Jarrah..."I wanted to throw myself into him. I wanted to bury my face in
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BOUND BY THIS BLOOD CONTRACT The Descent
pov:Jarrah The last guard on the upper landing went down with a muffled groan, his body collapsing against the carved wainscoting of the library. My knife was back in its sheath, my hands slick with sweat and cordite, my breathing coming in short, ragged gasps that burned my lungs.I didn't care about the blood on my tactical vest. I didn't care about the throbbing ache in my left shoulder where a graze had torn through the fabric.I stood in the center of Alastair’s private library, a cavernous room lined with leather-bound volumes and smelling of old paper and expensive brandy. The heavy oak desk was shoved aside, and behind it, a section of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf had been cranked open on a greasy iron track, revealing a dark, yawning concrete stairwell leading straight down into the bowels of the earth.From somewhere deep below, muffled by thick stone and heavy doors, came the faint, distorted sound of a gunshot."Malia!" I roared, the name tearing from my throat wi
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