Bloodlines and Secrets

CHAPTER 4 : UNSPOKEN BONDS

Ethan’s body ached with every step as he walked down the dimly lit streets of New Haven, the cold night air biting at his skin. His mind was in turmoil, replaying everything that had happened since he’d left the house earlier that evening. The men, the political murder plot, and then... Rowan Casey.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small card Rowan had given him. Just one call, and he could be free. But that thought seemed distant, like a dream that could never be real. The fear of what his uncle would do if he found out Ethan had even considered leaving hung over him like a dark cloud.

His home came into view at the end of the street—a large, looming house that might have looked beautiful to anyone else, but to Ethan, it was a prison. He hesitated for a moment outside the gate, his heart racing in his chest. He didn’t want to go inside. Not tonight. Not after what had happened the last time he had been late.

But he had no choice. He never had a choice.

As he pushed open the creaky gate and walked up the gravel path, Ethan steeled himself for what was coming. His aunt and uncle would be waiting for him. They always were.

The moment he stepped inside the front door, he felt the tension in the air. The house was eerily quiet, except for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. He glanced around, half hoping that maybe they weren’t home. Maybe, just for tonight, he could avoid the inevitable punishment.

But then he heard the footsteps.

His aunt, Clara, appeared from the kitchen, her face twisted in a scowl. She was a tall, slender woman with cold blue eyes and a permanent look of disapproval etched into her sharp features. She crossed her arms as she approached him, her gaze sweeping over him like he was something vile she couldn’t stand to look at.

"You're late," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Ethan lowered his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. "I-I’m sorry. I was—"

"Save it," she snapped, cutting him off. "Do you know how long we've been waiting for you?"

Ethan’s throat tightened. He knew better than to try and explain himself. Nothing he said would matter anyway. His aunt never listened. His uncle certainly didn’t.

Clara stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “Did you think you could just take your time? Wander the streets like you don’t have responsibilities here?”

“No, I—”

Before he could finish, a hand grabbed him from behind, yanking him back into the hallway. His uncle, Marcus, towered over him, his thick arms like steel as he shoved Ethan against the wall. Marcus was a large man with a rough, unforgiving face, his eyes full of barely controlled rage. He smelled of alcohol, as he usually did when he was in one of his moods.

“I told you what would happen if you were late again,” Marcus growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest. He tried to pull away, but his uncle’s grip tightened on his shirt, slamming him harder against the wall. His head hit the wood paneling with a dull thud, and stars danced in his vision.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan gasped, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to be late.”

His uncle sneered down at him, his hand reaching for his belt. Ethan’s stomach dropped. Not again. Not the belt.

But Marcus  didn’t care about his pleas. He never did.

Ethan’s body went rigid as the first lash came down, the leather belt striking his back with a sharp crack. He bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out, the pain searing through him like fire. But it didn’t stop there. Another lash. And another. Each one harder than the last.

His aunt watched from the doorway, her expression cold and unfeeling. She didn’t say a word. She never did. She just stood there, arms crossed, like this was some sort of chore that needed to be done.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” Marcus  spat, his voice thick with anger. “You think we’re here to take care of you?”

Ethan didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His whole body was trembling, his skin raw and burning from the strikes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the pain. He thought of his parents. Of the life he barely remembered before they were gone.

The lashing stopped, but Marcus wasn’t finished. He grabbed Ethan by the collar, lifting him up and shoving him toward the staircase. “Get upstairs. Now.”

Ethan stumbled, nearly falling as he hurried to obey. His legs felt like they could give out at any moment, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t risk making things worse.

As he climbed the stairs, the sharp sting of every movement sent waves of pain through him, but he didn’t slow down. He didn’t dare. His uncle was still watching him, waiting for any excuse to lash out again.

Ethan reached his small room at the top of the stairs and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could. The room was more of a glorified closet, barely big enough for the thin mattress on the floor and a small dresser in the corner. There were no windows. No escape.

He sank down onto the mattress, his whole body trembling. The pain was overwhelming, but worse than the pain was the suffocating sense of helplessness. There was no end to this. No escape from the cycle of abuse.

His hand drifted to his pocket, where the small card Rowan had given him rested. He pulled it out, staring at the simple black lettering. Rowan Casey. And beneath it, a phone number.

Could he really do it? Could he make the call?

The thought lingered in his mind, but fear held him back. He couldn’t. What if it didn’t work? What if his uncle found him before Rowan did? What if Rowan was lying, just like everyone else had lied to him?

But deep down, a small voice whispered that maybe—just maybe—Rowan was different. Rowan had seen his bruises, his scars. He had looked at Ethan with something Ethan hadn’t seen in anyone’s eyes in years—compassion.

The door to his room suddenly creaked open, and Ethan’s heart leapt into his throat. He quickly shoved the card under his pillow, terrified that it had been discovered.

It was his cousin, Kevin. Kevin  was two years older than Ethan, tall and broad like his father. He had the same cruel streak, the same gleam in his eyes whenever he looked at Ethan. The same delight in causing pain.

Kevin leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “He really laid into you this time, huh?”

Ethan didn’t respond. He knew better than to give Kevin  any ammunition.

Kevin chuckled and took a step into the room, his eyes scanning the tiny space. “You know, you could avoid all this if you weren’t such a screw-up. Maybe if you weren’t so pathetic, Dad wouldn’t have to punish you all the time.”

Ethan clenched his fists, biting back the urge to say something. Anything. But he knew it would only make things worse.

Kevin's smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his voice low and mocking. “Or maybe you just like being a punching bag. Maybe that’s what you’re good for.”

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat, but he refused to let Kevin see how much his words stung.

Kevin snorted and turned to leave, clearly bored now that Ethan wasn’t reacting. “You’re a waste of space, you know that?”

As the door slammed shut behind him, Ethan let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling from the encounter. He pressed his hand against his ribs, wincing as the pain shot through him.

He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep living like this. But what could he do? Run away? Where would he go?

The answer was in his pocket. The card with Rowan’s number. It felt like a lifeline, like the only way out. But could he trust it? Could he trust anyone?

Ethan curled up on the mattress, pulling the thin blanket over himself. His mind was a storm of fear and doubt, but somewhere, deep down, hope flickered. Maybe Rowan was right. Maybe he could get out.

But for now, all he could do was wait. Wait for the courage to make the call.