Chapter four: The Debt Collector

Grayson Voss

I was supposed to be in a meeting with a cartel rat who thought he could play both sides. Instead, I ended up in a club that reeked of sweat, desperation, and lies.

Club Delirium. Ironically named, considering it mostly caters to men trying to forget reality with vodka and silicone.

I wasn’t there for pleasure. I was there because the club owner was late on his payments. And late payments in my world meant broken bones or buried bodies.

Then I saw her.

And the rest of the night went to hell.

She stumbled onstage like a deer dragged into traffic. No makeup. No heels. Just trembling legs and fear painted all over her pale face. Whoever tossed her into that outfit didn’t do it with kindness. Her dignity had already taken a hit before she even stepped under the lights.

I was halfway through planning how I’d crush the owner’s windpipe when she turned toward the crowd.

Eyes wide. Terrified.

No performance. No seduction. Just pure, disoriented survival.

She shouldn’t have been there.

She wasn’t one of them.

And something in my chest—something old and dead—twitched.

I stood up.

Not fast. Not loud.

But it was enough to silence the room.

“I’ll take her,” I said flatly, staring straight at the DJ.

The music choked to a stop. A few low murmurs buzzed in the corner before dying out. Everyone knew who I was. And even if they didn’t, the tension in the air told them someone powerful had just put a claim on something—and no one would be stupid enough to challenge that.

She didn’t move.

Her eyes flicked to mine, confused. Scared. She looked like she might run.

I stepped forward, pulled off my coat, and held it out.

“Put this on.”

She didn’t take it.

So I said it again—quieter, but colder. “Put. It. On.”

That did the trick.

She wrapped herself in it like a shield and let me lead her out.

---

In the car, she kept glancing at the door like she wanted to jump out at the next red light.

Smart girl. But she was too dazed to try.

I drove in silence. She clutched the coat like a lifeline. Her knees were bouncing. She didn’t ask where we were going. That surprised me.

I could feel her watching me, trying to piece together who—or what—I was. But I didn’t give her answers. I didn’t give her comfort.

I’m not a savior.

I’m the man you meet when the angels already gave up on you.

---

Halfway through the drive, her voice cracked through the silence.

“I didn’t apply for that.”

I didn’t respond.

“They told me it was a bar job,” she said, like that explained everything. Like I needed her to justify being tricked into selling herself.

I didn’t need an explanation. I knew how this world worked. Weak men lie. Desperate girls pay for it.

She cleared her throat. “Are you gonna ask for my name?”

“No.”

That shut her up.

I wasn’t here to rescue her. I wasn’t collecting names or favors. I was just... removing something out of place from a scene I hated.

When we turned onto a quieter street, I said the only thing that mattered.

“Address.”

She hesitated, but then gave it. Voice soft. Guarded.

I memorized it. 

When we pulled up, she reached for the door. Then stopped.

“Why did you help me?”

I kept my eyes on the windshield.

“Because no one else would.”

She didn’t say thank you.

She just got out, coat still wrapped around her, like she couldn’t bear to shed it.

I watched her walk into a building that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the 90s. Flickering hallway light. Rusty gate. A place where people disappear without making noise.

Then I drove off.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t let myself feel anything.

I shouldn’t have gotten involved.

But it’s too late now.

Because something about that girl—something in the way she stood there like a cracked statue waiting to fall—stuck.

And in my world?

Anything that sticks becomes a weakness.

And weaknesses?

They get you killed.

But little did I know that her name would be written on my bones.

That I’d lose sleep thinking about a random girl who just popped out of nowhere

I didn’t know that soon, I’d owe a debt to fate.

And fate? That bitch collects interest.