SIN BOUND

Chapter 6: His Violence Has a Pulse

The first scream wasn’t loud.

But it was enough.

I was halfway to the stairs before I remembered his warning: “Stay upstairs. Lock the door.”

I didn’t listen.

Voices echoed through the warehouse—low, angry, then sharp. Something slammed. A crash. A grunt.

Then silence.

The kind of silence that follows violence.

I crept down the stairs barefoot, slow and silent, heart pounding so loud I swore it gave me away. I stopped just before the corner, pressed my back to the wall.

Then I saw him.

Saint stood over a man slumped in a chair, his face bloody, arms tied behind him with thick black rope. His head lolled to the side, but he was still breathing. Barely.

Saint’s knuckles were red. His shirt was gone. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. Not wild. Not panicked.

He was calm.

Too calm.

“You talk again,” Saint said coldly, wiping the blood off his hands, “and I’ll start pulling teeth instead.”

I didn’t recognize the man in the chair—but I recognized the fear in his eyes. The begging. The same fear I’d once seen in the mirror.

Saint turned suddenly, as if he felt me watching.

I flinched.

But he didn’t yell. Didn’t tell me to run. He just stared at me like I’d crossed some invisible line I couldn’t go back from.

“You said you wouldn’t ask questions,” he said quietly.

“I didn’t,” I said, my voice barely holding. “But you’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at his knuckles. “That’s not mine.”

“Then whose is it?”

He walked toward me. Slowly. Purposefully.

And even with blood on his hands, even with his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them, I didn’t back away.

“You want honesty now?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Fine,” he said, stopping inches away. “That man works for the one who hurt you. He was looking for you. He had your name, your photo, and the last address you stayed at. He’s been tracking you since the night you ran.”

My stomach dropped.

“How did he find me here?”

“I have enemies too,” he said. “Sometimes they bring friends.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“But don’t worry,” he added softly. “I’ll send what’s left of him back in pieces.”

I should’ve been scared. Horrified.

But instead… I felt safe.

What does that say about me?

I looked at his blood-streaked chest, the calm in his voice, the way his jaw clenched like he was still fighting something inside.

“You don’t flinch when you hurt people,” I whispered.

He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “You don’t flinch when you see it.”

Neither of us said it out loud—but we both felt it.

We were not soft people. Not anymore.

He leaned in, brushed his mouth against mine—not a kiss, just a breath. A promise.

Then he whispered:

“Anyone who touches what’s mine will bleed. And now, Aria… you’re mine more than ever.”