The line in Blood
1386 Words
The safehouse was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that weighed heavy, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Anton hadn’t slept. He sat at the table, shirt half-open, his shoulder bandaged roughly. The faint light from a lamp drew sharp lines across his face,
exhaustion, anger, confusion.
Alice sat across the room, curled up on the couch. Her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes fixed on nothing.
Every few minutes, she’d glance toward him and every time, she’d find his gaze already there, watching her.
Neither spoke.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the window, a mocking echo of the night before.
Alice’s mind was a storm. She could still feel the weight of the vase in her hand, the crunch as it hit the man’s skull. The blood. The sound. The way Anton had grabbed her and dragged her into the chaos.
She’d saved him.
And she hated herself for it.
When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. “You could’ve let me go.”
Anton didn’t look up. “And let you walk into Viktor’s men? You’d have lasted five minutes.”
“I didn’t ask for your protection.”
He finally met her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”
Alice’s breath caught. She turned away quickly. “You don’t get to talk like you care.”
“I don’t,” he said flatly.
But they both knew it was a lie.
Hours passed in silence. The smell of gunpowder still clung to the air. Anton’s men guarded the perimeter, waiting for news. Inside, tension coiled like a drawn wire between them.
Alice stood and moved toward the small sink, pouring herself water. Her hands shook, betraying her nerves.
Anton watched her. “You should eat.”
She ignored him.
“I said”
“I heard you,” she cut in sharply, turning to face him. “You think saving me means I owe you something? I don’t.”
He stood slowly, his height casting a shadow over her. “You’re alive because of me.”
“I’m alive because I saved you,” she snapped. “Don’t twist it.”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, anger flashed across his face then faded into something unreadable.
He stepped closer. “Why did you come back for me, Alice?”
She froze. “I don’t know.
“Yes, you do.”
Her pulse hammered. “You think everything’s a game. You think everyone is just a piece you can move.”
He took another step, close enough for her to feel his breath. “And yet you moved toward me instead of away.”
Alice stared up at him, heart in her throat. She wanted to scream, to shove him away but something in his eyes stopped her. For once, Anton Kray didn’t look like a monster. He looked… lost.
She turned her face aside, whispering, “Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me forget what you are.”
Anton’s hand lifted slightly as if to touch her then dropped. He turned away abruptly. “Get some rest.”
But neither of them slept.
The next morning, the sound of tires crunching on gravel broke the uneasy calm.
Anton’s hand went to his gun instinctively. Seconds later, the front door opened and Frederick Smith stepped in.
He looked different, angrier, colder. His usual charm had drained into sharp suspicion.
“You’re alive,” he said, scanning the room. “Barely.”
Anton’s tone was even. “Viktor got bold.”
Frederick’s eyes flicked to Alice, who was standing near the couch, wrapped in a blanket. His expression hardened. “And you brought her here.”
Anton didn’t answer.
Frederick let out a harsh laugh. “You really have lost it. Half your house burns down, your men are bleeding, and you’re babysitting the reason for it.
Anton’s voice was low. “Watch yourself, Frederick.”
“Watch myself?” Frederick stepped closer, anger flaring. “You’re supposed to be the king of this city, Anton. Ruthless. Unstoppable. But now you’re hiding out with some girl who’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
Anton’s eyes narrowed. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“She’s got everything to do with this!” Frederick snapped. “Viktor attacked because someone told him you were soft and I bet she’s the reason why.”
Alice flinched at his tone, instinctively stepping back.
Frederick noticed. His gaze darkened. “Look at her, terrified. You’ve lost your edge, my friend.”
He reached for her, grabbing a fistful of her hair. “Maybe I should remind her where she stands.”
Alice cried out, stumbling forward.
And then crack.
Anton moved faster than anyone could see. His fist collided with Frederick’s jaw in a brutal, perfect hit. Frederick stumbled back, shock flashing across his face as blood dripped from his lip.
The room went silent.
Anton’s voice was low, dangerous. “You touch her again, and I’ll break your hand.”
Frederick wiped the blood with the back of his palm, his laughter sharp and bitter. “You just hit me. Over her.”
Anton’s expression didn’t change. “You crossed a line.”
“She’s a slave!” Frederick shouted. “Since when do you defend them?”
Anton’s eyes turned to steel. “Since I said she’s mine.”
The words hit like thunder.
Alice’s breath caught, confusion, fear, something else twisting inside her.
Frederick stared at him in disbelief. “You’re losing control. I warned you this would happen. You think you’re still the king, but you’re not. You’re a fool in love.”
Anton stepped forward, his presence filling the room like a storm. “I built this empire, Frederick. Brick by brick. With blood. With fear. I’ve buried men stronger than you to keep it standing.”
Frederick’s smirk faltered.
Anton’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “I am the king of this empire. And no one not Viktor, not my enemies, and not even you defies my order.”
The air was electric, heavy with dominance and warning.
For the first time, Frederick didn’t have a comeback. He stared at Anton for a long, burning moment then turned toward the door. “You’re making a mistake, my friend. That girl will be your ruin.”
Anton didn’t move. “Then let her ruin me.”
Frederick stopped at the threshold, shocked by the quiet conviction in his tone.
Without another word, he left.
Silence fell again. Only the faint hum of rain filled the air.
Alice stood frozen, staring at Anton. She could still feel the ghost of Frederick’s hand in her hair but stronger was the image of Anton’s fist, the sound of it breaking the air in her defense.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered.
Anton turned to her slowly. “Because I told you, no one touches what’s mine.”
Her voice shook. “I’m not yours.”
He met her gaze, dark, unreadable. “Then why are you still here?”
Alice’s breath hitched. “Because you keep me here.”
Anton stepped closer, his voice low, almost pained. “No. You could’ve run. Twice. But you didn’t.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because deep down, she didn’t know the answer herself.
He stopped inches away, eyes searching hers. “You can hate me all you want, Alice. But you don’t belong to anyone else.”
She swallowed hard, her voice breaking. “I don’t belong to you either.”
For a moment, neither moved. The air between them vibrated with everything they didn’t say, fear, defiance, longing, danger.
Then Anton turned away, his control snapping back into place. “Get some rest. We move tomorrow.”
She stared at him for a long moment, heart pounding, then whispered softly, “You’re not the same man you were.”
He didn’t turn. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m worse.”
That night, as the storm raged outside, Anton sat alone in the dark, the echo of Frederick’s words haunting him.
That girl will be your ruin.
He poured a drink, staring into the glass.
Maybe Frederick was right.
Maybe ruin had already begun and it wore Alice Jane’s face
- Writer
