Vows Written in Blood

Wren's POV 

"You think I don't know who you are?"

The voice came from the dark corner of the warehouse before I even saw him step into the light. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought he could hear it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, even though my voice shook and gave me away completely.

He laughed, low and slow, the kind of laugh that made my skin prickle. He walked forward with the calm of a man who had never once been told no, his hands sliding into his pockets as if he wasn't even interested in rushing this moment.

"Everyone in this city knows what your father owes us," he said. "Did you really think you could hide from that debt just because you moved across town and changed your last name?"

I backed away until my shoulders hit cold metal shelving. There was nowhere left to go. Three men stood between me and the exit, and the one who had spoken was already closing the distance between us, his eyes tracing over me slowly, like he was cataloguing every part of me that mattered.

"Please," I whispered. "I didn't even know he had debts. I haven't spoken to him in years."

"That's not our problem." Another voice, rougher, coming from my left. This man was built like a wall, and when he moved, the floor seemed to shrink beneath his boots. He crossed his arms and studied me the way a predator studies something wounded and still breathing. "Blood is blood. You inherited his name. You inherited what he owes."

My eyes darted between them. The first man stepped even closer, close enough now that I could smell leather and something sharp underneath it, like smoke curling off a flame. He reached out and placed one hand flat against the shelf beside my head, caging me in without ever touching me directly.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice barely above a breath.

He tilted his head, studying me like I had just asked something amusing. "That depends on what you're willing to give."

I felt sick. My legs wanted to run but there was nowhere for them to take me. The third man, quieter than the other two, hadn't said a word yet. He leaned against a pillar near the exit, arms folded, one boot crossed over the other, watching everything unfold with an expression I couldn't read at all. That stillness frightened me more than the other two put together.

"I don't have money," I said. "I don't have anything."

"We're not here for money." The rough voiced one again. He pushed off the wall and walked toward me, every step slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to feel each one land. "Your father borrowed something far more valuable than cash. And when a man can't pay in currency, he pays in something else."

"What does that mean?"

The first man reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin so gently it didn't match anything else about the situation. I flinched, but he didn't pull back. Instead his hand slid down, resting against the curve of my jaw, tilting my face upward so I had no choice but to look at him.

"It means," he said, his voice dropping even lower, "that you belong to us now."

The words hit me like ice water. "I don't belong to anyone."

He smiled, and it wasn't kind. His thumb brushed once across my cheek, slow and possessive, before he finally stepped back just enough to let me breathe. "You will."

I tried to move sideways, tried to find some gap between them, but the rough voiced one blocked my path instantly, his arm shooting out to plant against the shelving, boxing me in from the other side. Up close he was even bigger than I thought, and the look in his eyes told me he enjoyed watching me panic.

"There's nowhere to run, little debt," he said, leaning down so his mouth hovered near my ear. "You should save your energy."

"Don't call me that."

"I'll call you whatever I want." His hand came up and gripped my chin, tilting my face toward his, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that I understood exactly who was in control. "You're ours until that debt is settled. And knowing your father, that could take a very long time."

I yanked my face away from his grip, anger finally breaking through the fear. "You can't just claim a person like property."

The first man chuckled darkly, arms crossing over his chest as he watched the exchange like it entertained him. "In this family, that's exactly how it works."

The quiet one near the exit finally pushed off the pillar, his movements unhurried, almost lazy, though his eyes never left me. "She has fire," he said. "I like that."

The other two turned to look at him, and something unspoken passed between the three of them, some silent agreement I wasn't part of. My stomach twisted.

"What are you going to do with me?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

The leader crouched slightly so we were eye to eye, one hand braced on his knee, the other reaching up to trail a single finger along my jaw with a gentleness that felt more threatening than any shout. "For tonight, you're coming with us. Tomorrow, we decide what your life is worth."

"And if I refuse?"

His finger stopped beneath my chin, holding it there firmly. "You don't have that choice anymore."

Before I could argue, the rough voiced one grabbed my wrist, his grip firm and unshakable, pulling me forward until I stumbled straight into his chest. His free hand caught my waist to steady me, fingers pressing into my side like a brand, and for a moment our eyes locked. Something flickered there that wasn't just cruelty. It looked almost like hunger.

"Let go of me," I said, though my voice had lost most of its strength.

He leaned down until his mouth was near my ear, his grip on my waist tightening. "Get used to it," he murmured. "From now on, you're mine to hold whenever I decide you need holding."

My breath caught. Behind him, the leader watched with a dangerous calm, arms still crossed, while the quiet one finally walked toward us, his gaze sweeping over me slowly, like he was already claiming something the other two hadn't noticed yet.

"Bring her," the leader said. "We have vows to renew tonight."

I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, but the rough voiced one was already pulling me toward the door, his hand never leaving my wrist.

"Vows?" I managed to say. "What vows?"

The leader's eyes met mine one final time before the door opened into the night, his voice low and final.

"The ones written in blood," he said. "The ones your father signed the day you were born.”