Page 3 of Sins of the Hidden

Watching my father struggle against men he considered family broke something inside me, my helplessness a living thing clawing at my throat. I attempted a smile, knowing he'd see straight through it to the fear I've never been able to hide. With each passing second, the walls closed tighter as my mind spiraled into darker territories.

Dad suddenly broke free, every muscle snapping to life as adrenaline took over. The sight of him clearing the threshold sent hope surging through my veins, only to shatter the moment Knight slammed him to the ground, the impact forcing a broken cry from my lungs as Dad's head bounced hard against the floor.

I felt like I was suffocating, watching a small line of crimson pooling beneath his head.

V’s arms were iron, unyielding as we crossed the threshold, my eyes fixed on Knight straddling my father, his palm pressed to Dad's temple to prevent him from watching me be dragged away. An apology written in every line of his face.

The expletives that followed us were daggers in my ears, each one drawing fresh wounds as V marched me across the lot. His stride cracked over loose gravel, each footfall heavier than the last, dragging me further from my dad. The realization settled in my bones like lead—I would never escape him. My five-foot-nothing height was laughable beside his six-foot-four build. Even if I found somewhere to hide, he would hunt me down.

There was no place on earth beyond his reach.

A whimper escaped me as we passed a bullet-riddled sign marking the road to Hellbound. Mitchell had invited me, Nyla, and Joslyn here once, presenting it as innocent fun until the night unraveled into murder.

The shift from gravel to that eerily familiar dirt trail sent the inklings of hysteria racing across my skin, recognizing the route to damnation before thought caught up. Oxygen clawed its way down, jagged and dry as dust, as memories of that night at Hellbound flooded me. The bathroom door splintering, gun barrels, red-streaked walls, like someone tried to paint their way out.

"V!" My mouth went desert-dry as understanding crystallized. "W-What are you doing?"

He said nothing. My distress hung thick between us, suffocating the space. Every breath tasted of fear as we moved further down the path, straight toward the house that rewrote my nightmares. My knees locked involuntarily, legs kicking out awkwardly as my fingers dug into his leather cut. All my senses screamed alert as we approached the doorway to hell.

The porch sagged beneath his weight. The door groaned open, a breath of stale air meeting us. He crossed the threshold, the floorboards protesting under our combined weight as gloom swallowed us whole.

V carried me through the shadowed hallway, past doorways hanging like broken limbs from shattered frames. The setting sun filtered through dirty windows, painting the hallway in dying light that fractured my thoughts into pieces too sharp to hold. I clung to the worn leather like a ledge crumbling beneath me as we reached the place where it all began.

He stopped abruptly, lowering me slowly to the ground as my pulse tried to burst out of my chest. His touch ghosted over my waist, heavy and impossible to shake. His gaze dissected every shuddering breath. I latched onto his corded forearms. The walls whispered with every scream they'd ever absorbed while he waited—still, silent—leaving me trapped in breathless uncertainty. The air thickened as my trembling fingers curled tighter, searching for balance in the tension he refused to break.

Reality splintered—I stood precisely where a man had lost his life, his blood staining these walls in abstract patterns no cleaning could erase.

His calloused hands lingered at my waist, fingers curling before peeling away, one by one. His touch trailed across the curve of my hip before falling away completely, as if his withdrawal screamed louder than his grip ever had. The absence of contact was suddenly more terrifying than his touch had been. Without his anchor, my legs betrayed me, sending me crumpling to the floor.

I collapsed, but my gaze clung to his retreating form. A chill crept through my bones as V backed away, retreating into the shadows at the edge of the room. Even in the darkness, I could feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting.

I couldn't remember the last time I breathed. The door loomed twenty feet away, smug in its false promise. Even if I could reach it, what waited on the other side? Not freedom—just another cage, painted new. The thought curdled in my gut, heavy and spoiled.

Working my toes, I silently pleaded for them to cooperate. My pulse quickened, thoughts scattering into chaotic fragments. Was this his twisted way of protecting me from Darrell? Or was he preparing my grave?

Using numb hands, I managed to drag myself an inch, maybe two, across the floor. He was unpredictable—I never knew what would trigger him.

After barely a minute of letting me struggle, the air chilled as he stepped from the shadows. Each footfall landed silently, yet the distance between us vanished with a sickening speed. His pupils swallowed the dim light, black holes rimmed in steel-gray, cataloging the tremor in my fingers, the shame in my breath, the angle of my body pressed against the floor.

Copper flooded my mouth as teeth broke skin. My lungs seized mid-inhale, diaphragm locking. Ice cracked through my capillaries, freezing my vocal cords before sound could rise. Even my eyelids betrayed me—frozen wide, refusing to blink or close against the sight of him.

He was massive in a way that defied human proportions, shoulders stretched wide beneath his cut, hands that could snap bone hanging at his sides. The dim light carved harsh angles into his face, highlighting the cruel set of his jaw and the hollow emptiness where emotion should live. Just the dead-eyed focus of something that didn't hunt for need, but for the joy of watching things break.

The space between us vanished under his looming shadow. My body jolted on pure instinct, arms flying up to shield my face, a pointless barrier against the reaper himself.

But his touch never came.

Peeking through trembling fingers, I found V hadn't moved. If anything, he looked... patient.

Lowering my shaking hands, I risked meeting his gaze. Those eyes resembled a starless sky—so devoid of emotion, they might as well have been windows into the void itself.

I reached, dragged by instinct, not desire, not from trust, but something older—closer to survival than choice. My skin brushed the rough terrain of his palm, each callus a record Ididn't want to read. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just let me come to him.

I didn't take it because I trusted him. I took it because I had nothing else left to hold.

His hand cradled mine. Turning, he took me with him, leading us deeper into Hellbound. My hand squeezed his instinctively as we moved down the darkened hallway. The silence was broken only by the panic rasping in my throat. The dark knew him. It stepped aside. My grip tightened around the warmth of his skin, clinging to now, because the past wanted to drag me under.

We passed the bathroom on our right, the new door a blunt reminder of what had happened there. Husk had kicked the last one in, gun drawn, forcing us into something that never left me. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as we reached the end of the hallway. If someone so much as breathed wrong, I might've fallen apart—only V's grip kept me standing, just enough to not shatter.

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