Blood and Vows

My word

The gravel crunches under my boots as I step out of the car.

Night has settled heavy over the estate. The headlights slice through the dark, catching dust in the air, casting everything in hard shadows.

The engine stays running.

I don’t turn it off.

I walk straight to the boot.

Pop it open.

The smell hits first—blood, sweat, and metal.

Matteo shifts inside, a rough breath leaving him as the light spills over his face. He’s slower now. Weaker. Still defiant.

I reach in and grab the chains.

Cold metal wraps tightly around my hand, and I yank hard.

His body jerks forward as I drag him out of the boot. His feet scrape against the edge before I pull again, forcing him out completely.

His knees slam into the gravel.

The sound is dull.

He groans through his teeth, body folding for a second, but I don’t let him.

I step forward and tighten the chains, dragging him upright again, forcing his spine straight.

“Stay.”

He breathes harder now, shoulders tense under the pressure, trying to ground himself.

I rip the blindfold off.

He flinches against the light, blinking fast before his eyes land on me and hold.

Recognition settles in.

Then something else.

Something that’s trying not to be fear.

Behind me, car doors open.

Jace and Ryker.

They step out and stop close to me.

Jace leans slightly, casual—but his eyes don’t leave the scene.

Ryker doesn’t move at all.

He stands still, his eyes lock on me.

I crouch slightly in front of Matteo.

“Where is she?”

He doesn’t answer.

His jaw clenches.

I pull the chains again, harder this time, forcing his head back, forcing him to look at me properly.

“Where. Is she.”

Still nothing.

A breath leaves me.

Then I stand up.

Turn.

I reach back into the car, opening up the glove compartment and I pull out the gun.

I grab his jaw with my free hand, fingers digging in, forcing his face up.

And press the gun to his temple.

Matteo stills.

Then he breathes out.

“Do it.”

My lips part slightly.

And I laugh.

“You think that’s what this is?”

I tilt my head, and I really look at him.

“You think you get to decide how this ends?”

I press the gun harder into his skin.

He doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t break eye contact.

“Better than whatever you’re planning,” he mutters.

My grip tightens on his jaw.

“Maybe it is.”

Behind me, more cars pull in.

Tyres over gravel.

Doors opening.

My boys.

My thumb taps the side of the gun once against his temple.

“You’re going to tell me where she is.”

“And then,” I add quietly, leaning in slightly, “I’ll decide what you deserve.”

He doesn’t answer.

Doesn’t move.

Just looks at me like he’s still holding onto something.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

The sound cuts through the silence.

I pull it out with my free hand, unlocking it without looking away from him.

Unknown number.

A video.

I press play.

Lacy’s face fills the screen—harsh lighting, concrete behind her, it looks like a warehouse.

Her lips curl.

“You were told to come alone.”

“And yet,” she continues, voice dripping with venom, “You couldn’t help yourself. Selfish little bitch.”

A quiet breath leaves me.

The camera shifts slightly.

I pause the video, and I step closer to Matteo, grabbing his face with my free hand, fingers digging into his jaw, forcing his head back.

“Look.”

I press play again and shove the phone in front of his eyes.

The frame steadies.

Kai.

Gabriel.

Chained to chairs.

Blindfolded.

Blood marking their skin, and bruises everywhere.

Alive.

For now.

Matteo stills.

It’s small, subtle.

But it’s there.

That flicker.

My eyes narrow slightly.

“There it is.”

I tilt the phone just enough, watching him instead of the screen.

“Recognise it?”

He doesn’t answer.

But his jaw tightens.

His breathing shifts.

That’s enough for me.

I pause the video again, and I lower the phone.

“You don’t know what she’s doing,” I say calmly.

His eyes flick to mine.

There’s something there.

“But you’ve seen that place,” I continue, pressing my thumb harder into his cheek. “Haven’t you?”

Nothing.

I hold his face there a second longer.

Then release him.

Only to tighten the chains in my other hand and drag him forward slightly, forcing his posture back into place.

“If you think begging me to kill you is going to solve this,” I murmur, “You’re wasting my time.”

His lips part.

“Do it.” He repeats.

The words are rough.

I smile.

“No.”

“You’re going to be useful first.”

“You don’t know her plan,” I say, “But you know enough.”

“Where is it?”

Silence again.

I just step closer.

Close enough that he has to look up at me.

“You don’t get to protect her,” I say softly. “She didn’t protect you.”

That hits him. I can see it.

Behind me, I can feel them watching me.

“You’re going to tell me where that warehouse is.”

“Or I start taking pieces of you that you still need.”

My grip tightens on the chains.

The metal presses into broken skin, and he lets out a groan.

“You don’t know her plan,” I say quietly. “But you’ve seen that place.” I pull again at the chains.

Then I stop.

The pressure disappears.

I let the silence sit between us.

Then I crouch in front of him.

“You know what’s interesting?” I say calmly.

“After everything you did to me…”

I hold his gaze.

“You still don’t get to decide how you die.”

I lean in slightly.

Close enough that he has to hear me clearly.

“If you give me something useful,” I continue, quieter now, “I’ll give you something you don’t deserve.”

“A clean death.”

“No games. No dragging it out.”

My eyes stay locked on his.

“Fair.”

His breathing shifts.

Just slightly.

“You don’t get that,” I add, “If you keep wasting my time.”

A small tilt of my head.

“She left you here.”

“She’s not coming back for you.”

I lean in just slightly more.

“Say something useful,” I murmur, “And I end this properly.”

His breath leaves him slowly.

Like it costs him something.

“…Industrial,” he mutters.

Rough.

Reluctant.

“East side.”

Another breath.

“…Loading docks.”

His voice drops.

“…Near water.”

I hold his gaze for a second longer.

Then I straighten.

My grip tightens on the chains again—not to hurt him, but to remind him.

“You’re going to keep talking,” I say calmly.

“And I’ll keep my word.”