CRIMSON DEBTS Chapter 2
Chapter 2: Shattered Glass
The morning started with a pale, sickly sun. Julian was humming a jazz tune, polishing the glass of the front display, when the atmosphere in the room suddenly... died.
It wasn't a sound. It was the feeling of all the oxygen being sucked out of the room. A black SUV-armored and silent-slid to the curb like a shark in shallow water.
The bell above the door chimed, a cheerful sound that felt sickeningly out of place.
Kaelen Thorne stepped inside. He didn't look like a debt collector; he looked like an executioner who had graduated from a finishing school. Behind him, two men stood guard at the entrance, turning the "Open" sign to "Closed" with a click that sounded like a gunshot.
"Can I... help you?" Julian asked, his voice steady despite the primal instinct screaming at him to run.
Kaelen didn't answer immediately. He walked to the center of the room, his eyes scanning the paintings.
He stopped in front of a landscape Julian had spent months on.
"The perspective is slightly off in the corner," Kaelen remarked, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. "But the passion is evident. A shame."
"Who are you?" Julian stepped out from behind the counter, chin tilted up.
Kaelen finally looked at him. Up close, his eyes weren't just grey-they were the color of the North Sea before a storm. "I am the consequence of your father's optimism, Julian Vane."
"Jules? Who is-" Arthur Vane emerged from the back office, his face turning the color of ash the moment he saw Kaelen. The thermos in his hand hit the floor. Shards of plastic and glass sprayed across the hardwood.
"Mr. Thorne," Arthur whispered, his legs giving out. He slumped into a chair, gasping for air. "It's not... it's not time yet. I need one more week."
"Time is a luxury you've already spent, Arthur," Kaelen said.
He pulled a heavy, black fountain pen from his pocket-the same one used to sign death warrants.
He laid a document on the glass counter.
"The Thorne Syndicate is moving to seize this property and its contents.
And since the value of this 'art' doesn't cover the interest..
. my father has authorized me to collect the remainder in 'physical' reparations. "
Julian saw the men at the door reach into their jackets. He didn't think. He stepped between Kaelen and his trembling father.
"Don't you touch him," Julian hissed. He was inches from Kaelen now. He could smell the expensive sandalwood and the cold metallic scent of the gun tucked into Kaelen's holster. "You want your debt? You want someone to bleed for it? Take me."
Kaelen froze. His gaze dropped to where Julian's hand was balled into a fist, pressed against Kaelen's chest. No one touched Kaelen Thorne. No one.
A heavy silence stretched. Kaelen reached out, his gloved fingers catching Julian's chin, forcing him to look up. He searched Julian's face-not for fear, but for the breaking point.
"You're a painter," Kaelen whispered, his thumb brushing Julian's lower lip. "Your hands are meant for brushes, not for the filth of my world. Do you have any idea what I will do to you?"
"Do your worst," Julian spat. "Just leave him alone."
Kaelen's thumb didn't just brush Julian's lip; it pressed firmly, a silent command for silence that Julian's body instinctively obeyed. The air between them hummed with a dangerous, newfound frequency.
"Worst is a subjective term, Julian," Kaelen murmured, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated in Julian's chest. "I don't want your blood. It's messy, and it's far too easy a price for a debt this heavy."
"No!"
The cry was weak, but it cut through the tension. Arthur Vane scrambled from his chair, his hands shaking as he reached out toward them. "Mr. Thorne, please! He's just a boy... he has nothing to do with my mistakes! Take the shop, take the house, I'll work until I'm dead, but don't-"
"Quiet, Arthur," Kaelen said without looking back. One of the guards stepped forward, placing a heavy hand on Arthur's shoulder, forcing the old man back down.
"Jules, don't you dare!" Arthur's eyes were wide with terror, filled with tears. "You don't know what they are. You don't know what they do to people! Run, Julian! Just run!"
Julian looked over his shoulder at the broken man who had raised him. He saw the grey in his father's hair and the fear that had aged him ten years in ten minutes. If Julian didn't do this, they would kill his father today.
"I accept the trade," Julian said, his voice stronger than he felt, drowning out his father's sobbing protests.
Kaelen's eyes flashed with a dark, satisfied victory. "I accept the trade. Your father stays... but he stays in a world you will no longer inhabit. As of this second, Arthur Vane is a ghost to you. You will pack no bags. You will say no goodbyes. You are now the property of the Thorne estate."
Kaelen leaned in closer, his lips hovering just an inch from Julian's ear. "I'm going to take that passion you waste on canvas and see if it survives the dark. If you break, the debt returns to your father-with interest. Do we have a deal, little painter?"
"Jules, no! Please!" Arthur screamed, struggling against the guard.
Julian's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked at his father-the man who was now being held down like a prisoner in his own shop-and then at the monster holding his chin.
"Deal," Julian whispered, the word tasting like ash.
Kaelen pulled back and gestured to his men. "Leave the old man. Take the masterpiece."
As Julian was led toward the black SUV, he looked back one last time.
His father was reaching out for him, his fingers clawing at the air as the door clicked shut.
Julian realized then that the glass wasn't the only thing that had shattered today.
His life was gone. There was only the Thorne Syndicate now-and the man who owned his every breath.