Crimson Ties

"Wake up."

The voice was faint, barely more than a whisper, like the rustling of leaves in a still forest.

"Wake up."

It grew louder, more insistent, as though calling from somewhere deep inside her mind.

"HANNAH!"

Her eyes snapped open, and a strangled cry escaped her lips. "No, don't!" she gasped, sitting upright in a flurry of panic. Her chest heaved as her wide eyes darted around the unfamiliar room, her heart hammering in her ribcage like a bird trying to escape a cage.

The blanket around her was tangled from her restless movements, and she clutched it tightly as she tried to ground herself. The whispering echoes of the voice still lingered in her ears, blending with the phantom shadows of her dreams.

Her lips quivered as fragmented memories resurfaced. What happened? she wondered, clutching the blanket tightly. Then it all came rushing back, like a wave crashing over her.

She had gone to the park alone, the overwhelming pressure from her parents weighing heavily on her. The arguments, the relentless criticism, the suffocating expectations—it had all become too much. She'd needed a reprieve, even for a moment, from their constant voices echoing in her head. The park had always been a place of solace, with its wide-open paths, the whispering trees, and the occasional bird song. She thought it might help her breathe again.

But it wasn't just that.

Her fingers curled into fists as she remembered the letter. It had appeared mysteriously, tucked into the her locker. She didn't recognize the handwriting, and there was no signature. The message had been brief yet cryptic.

At first, she had dismissed it as some kind of prank, but the words lingered in her mind, gnawing at her resolve. Could it be true? Could someone actually help her escape from everything—her parents, her life, the weight crushing her? The idea had been reckless, she knew that, but desperation had clouded her judgment.

And so, she went.

Her hands trembled as she recalled the figures emerging from the shadows, the rough hands grabbing her, and the chilling laughter that followed. A shiver ran down her spine, and she buried her face in her hands.

I should have known. I should have been more careful. Why did I trust something so stupid?

The gruff sound of grunting outside the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. Her head snapped up, her body tense as she tried to place the noise. There it was again—a rhythmic, strained grunt, followed by what sounded like… counting?

Cautiously, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool floor against her bare feet sending a shiver through her. She crept to the door, each step careful, her breath caught in her throat. Placing her hand on the knob, she hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

Her eyes widened at the scene before her.

In the soft morning light filtering through the room, a man was on the floor, his shirt discarded, sweat glistening on his taut muscles. His back flexed with each push-up, his form precise and fluid, as though he'd done this a thousand times before. The sharp lines of his shoulders and the dip of his spine caught her attention, but it was his arms that left her momentarily speechless—powerful and defined, veins running like a map beneath his skin.

"...One ninety-seven," he muttered, his voice low and steady. "One ninety-eight… one ninety-nine…"

Hannah's gaze flickered to his chest, which rose and fell with each movement. It wasn't just strength—it was control, discipline. His physique wasn't overly muscular, but it was the kind that exuded capability, every inch honed for a purpose.

She swallowed hard, unable to stop her gaze from wandering lower, to the faint scars etched into his skin—each one a story she couldn't begin to fathom. His hair was slightly damp, falling in disheveled strands that added to his rugged appearance.

"Two hundred," he breathed out, finally pausing.

It was only then that she realized she had been standing there frozen, staring far longer than she should have. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she instinctively backed up a step, the floor creaking under her weight.

Vince turned his head, catching sight of her standing in the doorway. His dark eyes softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You're finally awake. Are you feeling well?" he asked, his voice calm and steady.

Hannah froze. Her mind scrambled to focus on his words, but her gaze betrayed her, drifting back to his chest and shoulders. Her cheeks grew impossibly warm, and she quickly looked away, her heart hammering in her chest. He's looking right at me!

"Y-yes… I-I'm fine," she stammered, her voice cracking slightly. "Thank you for, um, saving me."

Vince grabbed a towel from a nearby chair and wiped his face and neck before rising to his feet in a fluid motion. Even standing, he radiated an intimidating yet protective presence. "Good. You gave us quite the scare back there."

She nodded, unsure what else to say. "I… I don't really remember much after…" Her words trailed off, her thoughts skimming over the worst moments of her capture.

He seemed to notice the hesitation and gave her a reassuring nod. "That's normal. Just take it one step at a time. You're safe now, Hannah."

His calm, direct tone helped ground her, and she relaxed slightly. "Were you… exercising just now?" she asked, attempting to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else.

"Routine," he said simply, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Helps clear my head. Needed it after last night."

Hannah tilted her head. "Do you always do that many push-ups?"

"Depends on the day," he replied with a faint smirk. "How about you? Feeling strong enough to get some food soon?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but Vince continued, "Oh, and your clothes—they're being washed. They should be ready by now."

It was then that the words hit her like a freight train. Her clothes. Her eyes widened as she looked down at herself, finally noticing what she was wearing—or rather, what she wasn't.

She gasped. Vince's button-up shirt hung loosely around her, covering her just enough to keep her modest, but her legs were bare, and she was still in her underwear underneath. Her face turned scarlet, her hands instinctively gripping the fabric as if that would make it cover more.

"You didn't…" she started, her voice a squeak.

Vince raised a brow, confused by her sudden panic. Then it dawned on him. "Relax," he said quickly, his tone casual but reassuring. "I only changed your shirt. Your clothes were dirty—blood and all. Didn't think you'd want to sleep in them."

Her mortification deepened. "But… you… I…" She tugged at the shirt, feeling incredibly exposed despite it covering most of her upper body.

"I didn't look," he added, raising his hands as if to surrender. "I'm not a creep, alright?"

Hannah's ears burned, and she tried to force herself to calm down. This is fine. Totally fine. But her embarrassment only grew as her mind betrayed her, replaying the image of him half-naked just minutes earlier.

"Thank you… I guess," she mumbled, her voice barely audible as she avoided his gaze, staring intently at the floor.

Vince chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're welcome. Your clothes should be dry by now. I'll grab them for you."

As he turned to leave the room, Hannah let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Her hands clutched the edges of the shirt tighter, and she whispered to herself, "Why does he have to be so… ugh!"

From down the hall, Vince's voice called back, "You say something?"

"N-no! Nothing!" she yelled back, quickly retreating into the room, her cheeks still burning. This is going to be a long morning.