Claimed in the Dark
1347 Words
The wind tried to tear me off the back of his bike.
Sinner’s arms locked around me like steel bands, holding me to his chest as Devil’s Blood tore through the night. Bullets sparked against the asphalt behind us. The cartel was close. Too close.
I couldn’t breathe. Not from the speed. From the ring on my finger. Cold. Heavy. Final.
The Devil’s Blood insignia bit into my skin. Wings carved in silver. A promise I never agreed to.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t slow down. Sinner drove like a man who’d made peace with death. One hand on the handlebars. The other keeping me pressed against him. I could feel his heart. Steady. Unafraid. While mine was trying to escape my ribs.
We took a turn too sharp. My scream was stolen by the wind. His grip tightened.
“You’re safe,” he said. Not loud. Just enough for me to hear over the roar of engines. “I said no one touches you.”
Safe. The word meant nothing when a dozen men wanted me dead.
The bikes peeled off one by one until only Sinner and me were left. He didn’t head to a clubhouse. He headed to the edge of the city. To warehouses. To shadows.
He stopped in front of a metal door with no windows. No light. Just rust and the smell of oil.
Sinner killed the engine. The silence hit harder than the gunshots.
He swung his leg over the bike and lifted me down like I weighed nothing. My legs buckled. He caught me. Didn’t let go.
“You can run,” he said, setting me on my feet but keeping his hands on my arms. “You can scream. You can fight. It won’t change what’s already done.”
The ring.
“What do you want from me?” My voice came out broken. “Money? Information? I don’t have either.”
“I want what I claimed.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. Over the ring. “You.”
I jerked back. He let me. Only because the door opened behind him.
A man stepped out. Tall. Bald. Scars like a roadmap of violence across his face. Another patch on his cut. VP. Vice President.
“Boss,” he said, eyes flicking to me, then to the ring. He didn’t look surprised. He looked resigned. “You brought her here.”
“She’s Devil’s Blood now,” Sinner said. No explanation. No debate. “Find out who tipped the cartel. Tonight.”
The VP nodded once and disappeared inside. The door stayed open. An invitation. A warning.
Sinner looked down at me. “Inside. Now.”
I didn’t move. “You’re not my boss.”
His jaw ticked. “No. I’m your husband.”
The word hit like a slap.
“That ring doesn’t make you my husband,” I spat. “It makes you my kidnapper.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll make it real,” he said. Quiet. Deadly. “Wedding. Vows. Blood on the contract. Your choice how it happens, Angel.”
He knew my name. Not Angel Moore. My real name. The one I’d buried six months ago.
Cold sweat broke across my back. “How?”
“Devil’s Blood knows everything that happens in this city,” he said. “Especially when a pretty girl with a price on her head walks into my bar.”
He stepped closer. Into my space. Into my fear. “Last chance. Inside. Or I carry you.”
I chose inside.
The warehouse was bare concrete and shadows. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. A table. Two chairs. Chains on the wall.
Not a home. An interrogation room.
Sinner closed the door. The sound of the lock was final.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I stayed standing.
He sighed. Like I was testing his patience. Like I was a child. Then he moved. Fast. Before I could react, he had me against the table. Not hurting me. Just holding me there with one hand on my shoulder.
His face was inches from mine. I could count the scars. I could see the gold flecks in his gun-barrel eyes.
“You think I enjoy this?” he asked. “Putting a target on your back by claiming you?”
“Yes,” I said. Because I had to believe he was a monster. Monsters were predictable.
“No.” His thumb lifted my chin. Forced me to meet his eyes. “I enjoy killing the men who want you dead. I don’t enjoy watching you shake because of me.”
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.” His voice dropped. Rough. Honest. “The cartel saw the ring. They saw you on my bike. If I let you go, they’ll kill you before dawn to send me a message. If you stay, they’ll kill me trying to get to you.”
He released me. Stepped back. Ran a hand through his dark hair. For a second, he didn’t look like the president of Devil’s Blood. He looked tired.
“I’m not a good man, Angel,” he said. “I’ve done things that should keep me out of heaven. But I know one thing for sure. I don’t let what’s mine die.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. The ring felt like a brand. “I’m not yours.”
“You are.” He pulled a knife from his boot. My breath caught. He didn’t point it at me. He placed it on the table between us. Blade toward him. “Proof.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not keeping you here with chains.” He tapped the knife. “You want to leave? Take it. Stab me. Run. I won’t stop you.”
My hand trembled as I reached for it. The metal was cold. Real.
He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched me with those deadly eyes.
My fingers closed around the hilt.
One push and he’d bleed. One scream and the VP would come. One choice and I’d be free.
I lifted the knife.
Sinner didn’t flinch.
“Do it,” he whispered. “If you hate me that much, do it.”
The knife shook in my hand. My father died with a knife like this in his chest. I wasn’t him. I wasn’t a killer.
I dropped it. It clattered to the concrete.
Sinner exhaled. Like he’d been holding his breath too. He crouched, picked up the knife, and slid it back into his boot.
“Good girl,” he said. Soft. Like a curse.
Anger burned through my fear. “Don’t call me that.”
“What should I call you? Wife?” He stood. Towered over me. “Because that’s what you are now. Devil’s Blood doesn’t un-claim. Doesn’t divorce. Doesn’t let go.”
Footsteps outside. Heavy. Fast.
The VP burst through the door. “Boss. They know where she is. They hit a safehouse in Queens twenty minutes ago. Looking for Angel Moretti.”
My real name. My real blood.
Sinner didn’t look at him. He looked at me. “You lied to the feds too. Didn’t you? About what you saw that night?”
I said nothing.
“Doesn’t matter,” Sinner said. “They want you for the testimony. I want you for me. Guess which one of us will win?”
The lights flickered. Once. Twice.
Then the warehouse door exploded inward.
Fire and splinters filled the air. Men in masks poured through the smoke. Guns raised.
The cartel had found us.
Sinner shoved me behind him. His cut. His body. His gun already in his hand.
“Behind me,” he commanded. “And don’t you dare die on me, Angel. You’re mine to kill.”
The first bullet hit the wall above my head.
The second was meant for Sinner’s chest.
I didn’t think. I moved.
I grabbed the knife from his boot.
And stepped in front of him.
- Writer
