Bloodlines and Secrets

CHAPTER 3: BENEATH THE VEIL

Ethan sat on the cold, hard floor of the dimly lit room, his pulse racing in his chest. His wrists were bound behind him, the rope digging into his skin with every movement. His head ached, throbbing from where he had been slammed into the wall. His mind raced, trying to make sense of where he was, why he was here, and—most importantly—how he was going to get out.

The man who had introduced himself as Rowan Casey towered over him, his eyes sharp and calculating. He had the air of someone used to being in control, someone who commanded authority without needing to say much. Rowan stood still for a moment, his intense gaze never leaving Ethan, as if sizing him up.

Ethan swallowed hard, shrinking back as far as his restraints would allow. His heart was pounding in his chest, his body trembling with fear. He was certain that this was it—that whatever these men were planning, he was now part of it. And it wasn’t going to end well for him.

“Please,” Ethan’s voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “I-I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I swear, I won’t say anything. Just let me go. Please.”

Rowan crouched down to Ethan’s level, his piercing blue eyes softening ever so slightly. There was something about the way he looked at Ethan—something Ethan couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t cruelty or malice like he had expected. There was something else, something... almost protective.

"Easy, kid," Rowan said, his voice low but calm. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Ethan flinched as Rowan reached for him, instinctively pulling away. His body tensed, expecting the worst. His skin still remembered the sting of his uncle’s belt, the sharp crack of pain that followed every mistake he made, every time he was too slow, or too late.

But Rowan didn’t strike him. Instead, his hand gently grasped Ethan’s arm, pulling up the sleeve of his tattered shirt. The fabric slid up easily, revealing the angry red marks and bruises that covered Ethan’s thin, pale skin. The remnants of last night’s beating stood out in stark contrast to the rest of his body, a map of pain etched into his flesh.

Rowan’s brow furrowed as he examined the bruises. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, Ethan saw something else in the man’s eyes—rage. Not at Ethan, but at something else, something deeper.

“Who did this to you?” Rowan’s voice was low, barely controlled.

Ethan quickly yanked his sleeve back down, his face flushing with shame. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to forget.

“It’s... it’s nothing,” Ethan muttered, his voice shaky.

Rowan didn’t move for a moment, his eyes locked on Ethan’s, as if searching for the truth behind the boy’s fear. Then he stood up, towering over Ethan once more, but this time the intimidating air around him seemed to fade.

“Your family, right?” Rowan asked, his tone softer now.

Ethan didn’t answer, but the flicker of panic in his eyes was enough.

Rowan exhaled slowly, his fists clenching at his sides as he paced the room for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “I don’t tolerate people who hurt children. Especially not their own family.”

Ethan didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why this man—this stranger—seemed to care about him, when no one else ever had. Not since his parents died. Not since his world had been ripped apart. Why was Rowan looking at him like he actually mattered?

Rowan crouched back down in front of Ethan, his voice steady and quiet. “I can help you, kid. I can get you out of that house. Away from those people. You don’t have to live like this.”

Ethan blinked, the words not quite sinking in. Was this some kind of trick? A lie to get him to cooperate? He had been lied to before, promised things that never came true. The fear of trusting anyone ran deep. But... Rowan didn’t sound like he was lying. There was something in his voice, something almost... genuine.

Ethan shook his head, backing away. “No. No, I-I can’t. If I leave... they’ll find me. My uncle... he’ll—he’ll kill me if I run away.”

Rowan’s expression darkened. “He won’t touch you. I’ll make sure of that.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. The idea of leaving—of escaping the nightmare that was his life—was almost too much to hope for. But the fear... the fear of what his uncle would do if he ever found out... it was paralyzing.

“They’ll never let me go,” Ethan whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m nothing to them. They hate me.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Ethan stared at him, confused. Rowan stood up again, his presence looming over Ethan like a shadow, but it wasn’t threatening. It was protective, like a shield.

“You’re not nothing,” Rowan said, his voice firm. “You’re stronger than you know. And you deserve better than this.”

The sincerity in Rowan’s words shook something loose inside Ethan—something he had buried deep down for years. He had told himself that he was worthless, that he didn’t matter, that he deserved the way his aunt and uncle treated him. But hearing Rowan say otherwise... it made him question everything.

Ethan’s throat tightened with emotion. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that he wasn’t worthless, that he wasn’t just a tool for others to use and throw away. But believing that would mean allowing himself to hope, and hope had always brought nothing but disappointment.

Rowan watched Ethan carefully, as if sensing the inner turmoil the boy was going through. He knelt down one more time, meeting Ethan’s eyes directly.

“If you ever change your mind,” Rowan said, pulling a small card from his pocket and slipping it into Ethan’s bound hands, “you can call me. Anytime. I’ll come for you.”

Ethan looked down at the card, the weight of Rowan’s offer pressing on him. Could it really be that simple? Just one call, and he could be free?

Before Ethan could say anything, the door to the room opened, and one of the men from earlier entered. He glanced at Rowan and gave a nod.

Rowan stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the room. “Let him go.”

The man blinked, clearly surprised by the order. “Boss? You sure?”

Rowan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I said let him go.”

The man didn’t argue. He walked over to Ethan, cut the ropes binding his hands, and stepped back. Ethan rubbed his sore wrists, glancing nervously between Rowan and the other man.

“You’re free to go,” Rowan said. “But remember what I said. You don’t have to go back to that house. You can call me, and I’ll get you out. No one will hurt you again.”

Ethan hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened in the last few hours. He had stumbled onto something dangerous, and now he was walking out of it with nothing but a business card and the offer of protection from a man he barely knew.

He didn’t know why, but somehow, he believed Rowan. There was something about the man’s quiet intensity, his fierce protectiveness, that made Ethan feel safer than he had in a long time.

Without a word, Ethan stood up, his legs trembling beneath him. He glanced at Rowan one last time, then turned and walked out of the room. The cold night air hit him as soon as he stepped outside, and for a brief moment, he considered running. Running far away from everything—from his aunt, his uncle, from New Haven itself.

But he didn’t. Instead, he tucked the card into his pocket and started the long walk back home, his heart heavy with doubt and fear.

The idea of freedom lingered in his mind, but for now, it was just an idea. A distant hope. And hope was dangerous.