Page 4 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)
Only when I rounded the corner—his presence no longer coiled around me—did I let myself breathe, a shaky exhale that betrayed the fear I’d buried.
My chest ached, not just from the bully’s punch but from the weight of Dmitri’s scrutiny, his offer to make me his bodyguard, his unsettling perception.
He’d called me feminine, his touch lingering on my cheek, his words laced with an obsessive edge that made my skin prickle.
Was it a game, or did he suspect the truth?
The thought gnawed at me, but I pushed it aside. I had to focus.
Ahead, my destination waited—the DEN, my assigned cage in this underworld of predators—a haunting structure built like a tomb from the tenth century, with five rooms to the left, five to the right, and a narrow field of gravel and tension between them—stood cloaked in sterile white, its pristine exterior a cruel disguise for the horrors it held within.
The candidates called it DEN. Not a dormitory. Not a hostel. The outside world had soft words for places like this. But here? This was a cage.
Painted boldly above the entrance into the dormitory wing were three words in thick, black block letters:
OBEY
SURVIVE
WIN.
The message was clear: compliance was life, victory was everything.
I passed through the narrow corridor, my boots echoing on the polished floor.
There were no traditional room numbers here. No “Room 11” or “12.” No sense of normalcy.
Just predatory names.
Ten rooms in total. Four people per den.
Forty mafia heirs thrown into a cage together like dogs bred for war.
As I walked the corridor, the air felt too still.
Surveillance cameras blinked in every corner, their red lights a constant reminder that eyes were always watching.
I passed towering figures—men built like tanks, some already shirtless, tattoos snaking across muscles like war paint, their muscles straining against their clothes, their eyes cold and assessing.
They barely glanced at me, too busy navigating this new hell.
We were all fresh meat.
The corridor stretched ahead.
Above each door, words were scrawled in blood-red lettering. Not numbers, or names.
DEN OF SERPENTS.
DEN OF CObrAS.
DEN OF JACKALS.
DEN OF REAPERS...
Each name reeked of venom, betrayal, and death.
My destination? DEN OF VIPERS. Fitting, I thought grimly.
The black-plated name was bolted to the door like a warning sign.
My fingers trembled as I pushed it open.
Inside was nothing like the gleaming white corridors.
The room swallowed me in black.
Black walls. Black floor. Even the ceiling was a void. Painted like death.
The DEN was a nightmare of design. No privacy. The walls were paper-thin, every whisper and footstep carrying to the next room.
Beds were slabs of cold metal, barely softened by thin mattresses. No curtains. No wardrobes. No drawers. No doors to the bathrooms—hell, there weren’t even proper bathrooms. Everything was open, exposed. This was not a place that believed in comfort.
This wasn’t housing.
This was survival.
Two bunk beds stood against the walls, their metal frames gleaming dully under a flickering overhead light.
The first bunk was already claimed—both top and bottom—bags and scattered clothes marking territory like a silent warning. The second bunk, though untouched, offered options.
I chose the upper bunk. Not because it was safer—there was no such thing here—but because I liked the height. The vantage. Easier to see who was coming. Harder to be caught off guard.
I headed for the top bunk on the right and dropped my bag.
Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a small compact mirror, my hands trembling slightly as I angled it to inspect my nose.
The bully’s punch had left it swollen, a faint bruise blooming under the skin, but it wasn’t broken.
Blood crusted around my nostrils, and I winced as I dabbed it clean with a cloth, the sting sharp but bearable.
I fished out a painkiller from my bag, swallowing it dry, the bitter taste grounding me.
Then I unfolded a multicolored bedsheet—a small rebellion against the black walls—and spread it over the slab-like mattress.
Climbing up, I sat cross-legged, exhaling as I surveyed the room, wondering what kind of monsters I’d be sharing it with.
I’d be sleeping in the same room as strangers—killers. No locked doors. No cameras inside the dens, only the hallway. Meaning anything could happen in here.
Anything.
My hands were shaking. My legs dangling off the slab.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, heavy.
Two figures stepped into the Den of Vipers—my den—their voices loud with camaraderie.
I straightened, spine rigid.
One was massive—broad-chested with a stomach that strained his shirt and arms thick as tree trunks.
The other—God, no—was the same bastard from the basketball field, the one who’d smashed my face and whose jaw I’d cracked with a pole.
They didn’t notice me at first, too caught up in their conversation.
The bigger one dropped onto the lower bunk opposite mine, the frame groaning under his weight.
His round face lit up in a grin as he saw me. “Hey, roomie! What’s your name?” His voice casual but edged with a threat.
“Charles,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.
The second guy turned, and the moment his eyes locked on mine, his fists clenched, anger flaring in his face. Then a slow, cruel smirk tugged at his lips.
“This,” he said, gesturing to me with a smirk, “is the petite freak who cracked my jaw.”
He started toward me, his steps deliberate.
I leapt off the bunk, landing lightly, ready to fight. But the bigger boy stepped in, grabbing his arm with surprising strength. “Stop, Sebastian!” he barked.
Sebastian growled. “Let go of me, Silas.”
But Silas held him firm. “The rules haven’t been announced yet. Orientation’s tonight. Don’t go breaking them before we even know what they are.”
Sebastian stopped, barely. The fury in his face didn’t fade.
“She’s our roommate,” Silas said, voice low and cold. “Dead meat, walking. So why hurry? We’ll just slit her throat while she’s sleeping.”
Sebastian paused, his smirk widening. “Right.”
Their threat hung in the air, but I refused to flinch.
I climbed back onto my bunk, sitting tall, then stretched out, feigning calm.
They’d expect fear. I wouldn’t give it to them.
Phones weren’t allowed, but books were, so I pulled a worn paperback from my bag and flipped it open, pretending to read while my mind raced.
From their continued conversation, I learned more than I wanted to.
Silas, the big one, was heir to Brazil’s most dangerous cartel—Os Filhos do Inferno.
They controlled nearly 60% of South America’s underground arms trade.
And Sebastian, the welcome committee who introduced himself with a punch? He was heir to La Sangre Roja, the bloodiest cartel in Colombia.
His father was rumored to have killed three DEA agents with his bare hands.
Two of the deadliest legacies in Latin America.
These weren’t just bullies; they were predators born into blood-soaked legacies, and I was trapped in a room with them.
If I so much as snored wrong, I’d be dead.
If I had any chance of survival, it rested on the last unknown roommate.
The fourth roommate hadn’t arrived yet.
I needed him to be nothing like Sebastian or Silas.
I clung to a fragile hope that they’d be different—someone I could befriend, someone to stand with me against these wolves. If I was to survive the Den of Vipers, I needed someone I could trust. Or manipulate. Or lean on.
Because at House of Devils, friends weren’t just useful.
They were shields.
And I had none.
I kept my eyes on the page, but the words blurred.
Dmitri’s warning replayed in my head.
If your peers don’t finish you off, the devil himself—Cassian—will.
The name throbbed in my skull like a buried memory.
A flicker of something—familiar—flashed behind my eyes. Gone too fast to grasp.
Who was Cassian? And why did the mention of him feel like drowning?
Just how dangerous was he, to earn such a title from a man like Dmitri, whose own presence was a force of nature?
Tonight, I’d be meeting the bosses of this underworld.
Cassian would be among them, his identity revealed. The thought sent a chill through me.
I didn’t know if staying out of his path would save me—or get me hunted faster.