Page 14 of Crushed Vow (Broken Vows #2)

Curled into the corner like something wounded and feral, the sobs tore out of me. My arms wrapped around my knees, my nails dug into my skin, trying to ground myself—but nothing worked.

“Go away,” I whispered.

“Go away,” I said louder.

Then I screamed it. Again. And again. Until my throat tore raw, until my voice cracked and collapsed into silence—until I wasn’t speaking anymore, just gasping like something dying.

I stayed there for what felt like an hour—maybe longer. Long enough for my tears to dry into a sticky trail down my cheeks. Long enough for my chest to go numb.

Long enough for the panic to rot into exhaustion.

Then my phone buzzed.

I didn’t move at first. I just stared at it from the floor, blinking.

It buzzed again. And again. Repeated. Desperate.

My fingers shook as I reached for it.

“Hello?” My voice was barely audible.

Static crackled, then a choked breath. “Charlotte... it’s me.”

My spine straightened. “Ethan?”

“I made it out.” His words were strained, broken, like they were being forced through gritted teeth. “I barely made it out of the Volkov Bratva estate. Got a bullet in my back for it.”

“What?” I shot to my feet, the panic rushing back. “Where are you? Where are you right now?”

He paused. “Somewhere deep in the woods off the old Kreshnik trail. There’s a clearing near the dried-up creek. I couldn’t go far. I—I think they’re still looking.”

“I’m coming,” I breathed, already stumbling toward the dresser for jeans. “Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I can’t,” he rasped. “Just... be careful.”

The line went dead.

I pulled on the first hoodie I could find, barely zipping it as I crossed the room in shaky strides. My palms were still damp. My throat still raw.

When I opened the door again—ready to bolt, I stopped.

Something lay at my doorstep.

A bouquet.

Roses. Blood red. Their petals bruised from the night air.

A black silk ribbon wound tightly around the stems—too tight, like it was holding something in.

And nestled between the blooms, a folded note.

My name etched on it in his handwriting.

Cassian.

My breath hitched. My fingers hovered before I finally picked it up.

The paper trembled in my grip as I opened it.

Charlotte ,

I stood outside your door longer than I should have.

Not because I thought you’d let me in.

But because I didn’t know where else to go.

I know I broke you.

I know I don’t deserve to be the one who holds your pain.

But I’ll wait—for the rest of my life if I have to.

And if you never come back, I’ll understand.

But you’ll always have a home, Charlotte.

Even if it’s not with me.

—Cassian.

For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.

Something in my chest cracked open—soft and stupid and painful.

Because I remembered his face at the door. The way his voice almost broke.

The same man who once mocked my scars now begging for a place in my pain.

I hated how it got to me.

How I felt it.

How part of me still wanted him to be the one who found me.

My hands trembled.

No.

No.

I tore the note in half—once, then again—and again.

Each rip louder than the one before. A war drum in my ears.

Then I dropped it.

Let the petals curl around it like mourning fingers.

Left the flowers where they lay.

And stormed past them—jaw tight, heart pounding, eyes burning, as I rushed out of the hotel.

The cab ride was a blur.

I sat in the backseat, gripping the edge of my seat like it would keep my insides from falling apart. The driver muttered something about the woods being dangerous this late. I barely heard him. My head was filled with Ethan’s voice. His pain. That bullet.

I couldn’t afford to think. Only move.

When the car finally rolled to a stop near the end of the trail, the world was cloaked in mist and moonlight. I stepped out, the scent of damp earth and pine needles wrapping around me like smoke.

I walked. Fast. Then faster. Branches snagged at my sleeves. My shoes were already soaked through, but I didn’t care. My lungs were burning.

And then—I saw him.

Slumped against a fallen tree. Blood staining the back of his shirt. One hand braced weakly in the dirt.

“Ethan!” I rushed forward, nearly slipping on the slope as I dropped to my knees beside him.

His face was pale, eyes heavy with pain. “You came.”

“Of course I did!” I snapped, voice shaking. My heart felt like it was splintering inside my chest. “God, Ethan... Cassian warned us. The Bratva don’t play fair.”

I pressed a trembling hand to his chest, searching for breath. Weak, but there.

“You’re going to be okay. I’m going to get you help. Just hold on.”

My hands were shaking as I pressed them to his wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Ethan gave a ghost of a smile, blood staining his teeth. “You look... better than I do.” His voice barely scraped out, dry and cracked.

Tears surged up my throat. “Shut up, you idiot,” I choked, blinking rapidly as I brushed damp curls from his forehead. His skin was clammy. Too pale. “I never should’ve let you go in there. I should’ve stopped you.”

“You’d have done the same,” he whispered.

I paused, fingers stilled against his temple. “I’m going to get you out,” I said fiercely, even though my voice trembled. “You’re not dying on me, Ethan. Not like this.”

I hooked his arm over my shoulders. He groaned but didn’t complain as I dragged him to his feet. He couldn’t walk—barely stood. His entire frame trembled from blood loss.

We moved inch by inch, his weight sagging into me. My lungs burned. My heart pounded. But I didn’t stop.

I wouldn’t stop.

“We’re close,” I whispered. “We’re so close.”

And then—

I froze.

The air shifted. My spine tingled.

We were being watched.

I turned, eyes scanning the trees. Nothing.

But something—or someone—was there. Watching.

Cassian? It had to be Cassian. He always watched.

But he never stepped out.

Only silence answered.

I kept moving. Nearly to the road. Just a few more steps—

Headlights slashed through the trees like blades.

A sleek black car pulled up, tires whispering against the earth like something out of a nightmare.

Two doors opened.

Two figures stepped out.

Vincent. Luca.

I stopped breathing.

Vincent wore a long dark coat, cigarette between his fingers, eyes empty. Cold and unfamiliar.

Luca, smug and slow, like he had all the time in the world to enjoy the kill.

“Vincent...” I croaked. “He’s not a threat. He’s my friend. Please—he’s bleeding. Help him.”

Vincent looked at Ethan like one would look at a dying animal. “He’s a liability.”

Then he raised his gun to Ethan's leg.

“NO—!”

The sound of the gunshot cracked the air like a whip.

Ethan dropped to the ground, hands flying to his thigh as blood gushed beneath his fingers.

I dropped to my knees beside him, sobbing. “Ethan—Ethan, stay with me—please—”

His face twisted in pain, his breath hitched violently, and he tried to grit through it, but the agony was too much.

“You—bastard,” he gasped, trying to sit up. He couldn’t. His body trembled, broken and bleeding into the dirt.

“Vincent! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Vincent exhaled smoke. “I hate weak sisters. And you’ve always been the weakest.”

Tears blinded me.

He stepped forward, calm as a machine, then he bent down, as if he hadn’t just shot someone I loved, and snapped a cold silver cuff around my wrists.

I jerked away from him, crying harder, screaming at him to stop—but he tightened the cuffs behind my back with a metallic click.

“Vincent,” I gasped, heart pounding against my ribcage. “You’re really doing this? To your own sister?”

His eyes barely flicked toward mine. “I advise you stay quiet, little weak sister,” he muttered. “Or I’ll kill your boyfriend right here and now.”

Luca strode over and crouched beside Ethan, then kicked him hard in the ribs. Ethan coughed violently, blood trailing from his lips.

“Don’t touch him!” I screamed.

“He’ll live,” Luca said with a smile. “Just enough to see what I do to you.”

He grabbed Ethan’s arm and dragged him across the dirt like trash, then hurled him into the open trunk.

I couldn’t breathe. All I saw was red.

The trunk slammed shut with a sickening thud.

I stared at the blood-streaked metal, horror clawing up my throat.

They shoved me into the backseat of the car. My wrists were still bound. I tried to fight, but Vincent held me down easily.

He slid in beside me like nothing had happened.

Like we weren’t drenched in betrayal.

Luca got into the driver’s seat and turned toward me with a grin. “You filed divorce papers. Good. Now we can proceed with your real marriage.”

“You’ll never force me to marry you,” I spat.

“Oh, but you misunderstand,” Luca chuckled. “Your father wants that vault open. And your marriage to a Moretti is the key. You’re not the bride—I’m not the groom. You’re the lock.”

I turned to Vincent, shaking. “And you? You’re really siding with them?”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t look at me.

The silence was worse than the bullets.

I wanted to scream. Cry. Rip him apart. But I was frozen.

Because in that moment, I realized—

My father raised him. Of course he turned out like this.

And Cassian... he saved Vincent. Protected him. More than once.

And now Vincent and Luca had Ethan locked in a trunk. Bleeding. Maybe dying.

For what?

Gold. Power. A vault.

My heart shattered into something irreparable.

I leaned my head back against the cold leather seat and let the tears fall.

I had no idea if I’d ever see Ethan alive again.

But what I knew, without doubt—

Vincent was gone. And so was the last shred of safety I thought I had left in this world.

A few minutes of suffocating silence passed.

Then Luca’s voice sliced through the stillness. “You’re quiet,” he mused, not even looking at me. “Don’t tell me you’re sulking.”

I didn’t answer. Every inhale felt like glass, every exhale like screaming.

“Charlotte, don’t be dramatic,” he chuckled. “You always act like you’re a victim.”

My eyes burned. I turned to Vincent. “Tell him to shut up.”

He didn’t.