Blood Debt (Luna's Pov)
1041 Words
Machines scream before they die.
You just have to listen close enough.
Engines wail, gears grind, metal begs for mercy.
But tonight, the scream wasn’t from a car.
It was from my brother.
"Leo—don’t!”
The sound ripped through me as the collector’s goon slammed a wrench against the table. The garage echoed like a steel coffin, every blow carving fear into the walls. Oil, blood, and cigarette smoke wrapped around me until breathing hurt.
Three men stood under the flickering light — Syndicate leather, gold chains, and that we-own-you energy. The kind that could make death feel casual.
Callum, the leader — scar cutting through his eyebrow like a signature — twirled the wrench like a toy. “Your brother’s got guts,” he said. “Shame guts don’t pay interest.”
Before I could move, he swung.
Crack.
The sound split the air — the kind of sound you never forget because it brands itself into your bones.
Leo's scream gutted me.
My body moved before thought did. “STOP!” I shouted, shoving between them, tasting blood and panic.
Callum grinned, smoke curling from his cigar. “You Vega kids got attitude. Pity it’s worth less than your debt.”
My fists clenched so hard my nails cut skin. “Thirty days wasn’t enough, huh? You want blood now?”
“Interest, sweetheart.” He leaned close. His breath smelled like bourbon and cruelty. “Debt tripled.”
Triple.
That word hit harder than the wrench.
Behind me, Leo gasped. “Luna… just let it go.”
“Let it go?” I laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “They broke your hand, Leo. You want me to just—what—thank them?”
Callum blew a lazy puff of smoke. “You’ve got two weeks. Pay up or we scrap this dump and you with it. Next time, it’s not the hand.”
He dropped the wrench — clang — and walked out with his thugs. The sound echoed like a death sentence.
Silence followed, thick and heavy.
I dropped to my knees beside Leo. His face was pale, sweat dripping down his temple. “You’re gonna be okay,” I whispered. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”
“Luna…” His voice was small, broken. “You keep this up, you’ll end up like Dad.”
I froze.
Because I still saw it — the crash, the fire, the way his car folded in on itself like the night swallowed him whole.
“Dad didn’t die racing,” I whispered. “He died losing.”
By sunrise, I was already in my overalls, eyes bloodshot, hands shaking from too much caffeine and not enough hope.
The garage smelled like metal and exhaustion. My Mustang sat before me, hood open like a wounded animal.
“C’mon, baby,” I murmured, tightening a bolt. “We’re not done yet.”
Every clang of my tools was a heartbeat. Every spark was rage turned into motion. Sweat mixed with grease, my knuckles raw. Somewhere between exhaustion and fury, I felt alive again.
When the engine coughed back to life, rough but real, I smiled. “There you are.”
That’s when Zee rolled in — pink hair, oversized hoodie, iced coffee at 7 a.m., chaos in human form.
“Girl, you look like a zombie that failed a job interview,” she said, sipping through her straw.
“Love the encouragement.”
She leaned on the hood, eyes scanning my face. “Word is the Syndicate visited. You good?”
I shrugged. “Good’s a strong word.”
Her smile faded. “Luna, they don’t do warnings twice.”
“I know.” I met her stare. “That’s why I’m not waiting for the second one.”
Her brows knitted. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I’m entering the Velocity Run.”
Zee blinked. “The Velocity Run? The Velocity Run? That’s a death circus, Luna. The Syndicate runs that. Winner takes a hundred grand if they live long enough to collect.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
She whistled. “Every legend will be there. Rogue’s name’s already on the list.”
I didn’t need to ask who. Everyone knew.
The masked king of the underground.
Never spoke. Never lost.
Rumors said he raced for the Syndicate itself — Mr. Cross’s favorite weapon.
Zee’s voice dropped. “You race him, you don’t just risk losing. You risk being erased.”
I wiped sweat from my forehead, smirk tugging at my lips. “Then I better make it worth the obituary.”
That night, I sat on the rooftop, the city burning gold and pink beneath me. The air tasted like rain and regret. My fingers still smelled like oil.
Milo’s words replayed — You’ll end up like Dad.
Maybe that wasn’t a warning. Maybe it was a dare.
My phone buzzed. A message from Zee:
[Screenshot attached – Velocity Run Entries]
Dozens of names scrolled down the list. And at the bottom, highlighted in red like a threat:
ROGUE
I stared until the screen dimmed.
Then another text arrived — an unknown number.
> Unknown: Nice rebuild, Vega. Shame you’re betting it on your life.
Unknown: — Cross
My blood went cold.
I looked up at the skyline — the same one he’d watched me from — and whispered, “You watching again, Cross?”
A single car revved somewhere in the distance. It sounded like a reply.
The smart move would’ve been to back out.
But smart doesn’t pay blood debts.
Smart doesn’t scare devils.
I stood, wind slapping my face, the city howling beneath my feet. “Then I’ll beat your ghost,” I said.
Because this wasn’t just about winning.
This was about taking back everything they stole — my garage, my family, my name.
The Syndicate made me desperate.
But desperation makes monsters.
And I was done being prey.
Next race, I wasn’t running for survival.
I was coming for vengeance.
Because I wasn’t scared anymore.
I was the scream before the silence.
And the Syndicate?
They were about to learn what it sounded like when I finally stopped begging for mercy.
- Writer
