Chapter 2: Damien Synclair

Castiel’s P.O.V

The gunshot still echoed in my head, louder than I thought a single pull of the trigger could be. But what haunted me most wasn’t the sound. It was the blood splattered on the walls, the blood pooling on the floor. 

I stared at the gang leader, my hands trembling as the gun fell to the floor. I didn’t even know his name, only that he was the boss. And now he was lying in a pool of his own blood, lifeless.

For a moment, the room seemed eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the noise of my own ragged breathing. But then, suddenly, Celia’s cry shattered the tranquility and the reality of it all came crashing down on me.

"You're dead," someone snarled, stepping forward, fists clenched. Another man grabbed a bottle and smashed it against the wall, shards flying everywhere. I took a step back, instinct kicking in. They were coming for me. All of them. 

"Get him!" someone else shouted, and before I could think, my sister, Celia, pulled herself out of the dead man’s grip and stumbled toward me. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear, but she made it to me just as they lunged. 

I tried to shield her with my arm. "Celia, stay behind me!" I shouted, heart pounding against my ribs. 

We had to get out of here—now. I grabbed her wrist and bolted toward the exit, dragging her with me. My pulse roared in my ears, drowning out their shouts. We sprinted through the narrow room, but the men weren’t far behind. I could hear their heavy footsteps closing in. 

Then I felt it—a hand on my shoulder, yanking me backward with brutal force. I twisted in their grip, throwing a wild punch, but it barely connected before I felt something hard slam into the back of my neck. 

Pain exploded through my skull, white-hot and blinding. My knees gave out. I staggered, desperate to stay on my feet, but gravity pulled me down. 

"No! Let go of me." Celia screamed. I could barely see her through the haze clouding my vision, but I reached out, grasping for her hand. My fingers brushed against hers—so close—until they were ripped apart by rough hands dragging her away. 

“Celia…” I gasped, fighting to hold on. 

I clenched my hand as tight as I could around hers, every muscle in my arm screaming, but I was slipping. My vision blurred, the world narrowing into a pinpoint of light. Celia’s terrified face was the last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole. 

*

I woke up on a gasp, my eyes snapping open to unfamiliar surroundings. My vision was still hazy and even though I kept on blinking, I couldn’t bring the world into focus.

My head throbbed like it had been split open, and every part of my body ached. I tried to move, but my arms didn’t obey. That’s when I realized—I wasn’t standing. I was…suspended. 

My wrists burned as cold metal dug into my skin. I lifted my head slowly, grimacing at the strain in my neck, and blinked the blurriness from my eyes. Chains. My hands were chained above me, pulling me just high enough off the ground that I couldn’t stand comfortably or sit fully. 

The room was bare—no windows, no furniture, just cold concrete walls and a dim, flickering light above me. It smelled like damp stone and iron, the air thick and stale. I tugged at the chains, testing them, but they didn’t budge. 

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, trying to think through the pain clouding my thoughts. 

Where the hell was Celia? The last thing I remembered was holding her hand—trying to, at least. And now… I was here. Alone. 

A wave of panic rose in my chest, cold and sharp. I yanked harder at the chains, my shoulders screaming in protest. If they’d hurt her—if she was out there, scared and alone—I had to find a way out. I had to find her! 

The room was freezing cold, biting into my bones. My clothes, damp with sweat and fear, did nothing to stop the chill. The wall felt like they were closing in, suffocating.

A lump rose in my throat as panic gnawed at the edges of my mind. I twisted my wrists against the metal cuffs, the sharp bite of iron digging deeper into my skin. Each movement sent waves of pain up my arms, but I didn’t care. I had to get free. 

“Hello?” My voice cracked, brittle from dryness and fear. “Is anyone there?” 

Silence answered me. No footsteps. No voices. Nothing. 

I gritted my teeth and yanked hard against the chains, frustration boiling in my chest. The metal rattled loudly, but it didn't give, not even a little. My arms burned from the effort, my muscles shaking with every attempt. 

"Come on," I whispered to myself, pulling harder. The cuffs scraped my skin raw, but I kept going. I had to. I couldn’t just hang here. I couldn’t leave Celia alone out there, wherever she was. 

“Celia!” I called out into the void, the sound bouncing off the walls like a ghostly echo.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing hard. Killing that bastard wasn’t a mistake! The gang boss had his hands all over Celia, his disgusting grin carved into my brain. I’d warned him, told him to let her go. But he didn’t listen. None of them cared. 

So I had shot him. 

Fuck! What the hell was I thinking? 

Now that he was dead, and we were caught in the crossfire of something bigger—something I didn’t understand. Whoever these people were, they weren’t just loan sharks. They were organized and dangerous.

And now Celia and I were going to pay for my mistake.

The fear clawed its way back into my chest, sharp and relentless. I twisted against the chains again, a ragged breath escaping my lips. I pulled and pulled, the cuffs cutting deeper, warm blood slicking my wrists. 

“Somebody!” I shouted, my voice cracking with the effort. “Help me! Please.” 

Nothing. Just silence. 

I sagged against the chains, exhaustion pressing down on me like a weight. My shoulders throbbed from hanging too long, and the cold gnawed at my skin, making every muscle cramp. My mind spun, teetering between anger and regret. 

Suddenly…the sound of the door opening made my head snap towards the source of the sound.

The lights from outside pierced through the darkness, almost blinding me, and I blinked rapidly, my vision swimming until everything slowly came into focus. 

A door opened in front of me, one I didn’t even knew existed, and a man stepped in, dressed in a sleek black suit that fit over his body like a glove. His dark hair was combed back, and the sharpness of his features made him look like a wolf in human skin. He wasn’t bulky, but there was something about him—a stillness, a control—that felt more dangerous than brute strength. 

He smiled, but it was cold, the kind of smile that spoke of pain and torture. 

"Castiel, right?" His voice was husky, yet deliciously rough, making a shiver run down my spine. "I’ve been waiting to meet the man who killed my 0wn." 

He stepped closer, and that’s when I saw his face, and immediately, realization hit me like a punch to the gut.

He was none other than Damien Synclair of the Synclair mafia syndicate. I knew the name. Everyone did. They were the kind of people you stayed away from if you had half a brain. And I had just killed one of his men. 

"You have some guts, don’t you, kid?" Damien Synclair asked, stepping closer, his hands in his pockets like this was just a casual chat.

I opened my mouth, closed it again…unable to form coherent words. What the hell was I supposed to say?

Damien lips tilted up in an almost sinister smile as he dug his hand into his pocket, and flicked open a small knife in front of my face.

The blade glinted under the cold light, and my stomach knotted. He tilted his head, studying me with a kind of lazy curiosity that made my blood freeze in my veins. 

"Now," he drawled, turning the knife in his hand, "what I should do with you? What should be an apt punishment for someone who shed the blood of my kin?" 

I fought against the urge to panic, but the rapid rise and fall of my chest gave me away. My heart hammered like a drum, and the cuffs rattled softly as I tried to shift my weight. I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though everything inside me screamed to look away. He was a very powerful Alpha, that much was clear from the get go. But what scared me was the murderous glint in his eyes.

"Please," I rasped, my voice dry and cracked. "Let my sister go. She didn’t do anything wrong—none of this is her fault."

“Let her go?” He raised his eyebrows, clearly reveling in my pain. “Do you really think you have the right to such mercy? You're fortunate to be alive, let alone asking for favors.”

“I know. But my little sister…she doesn't know anything about this. She is so young and has her entire life ahead of her…please. You can have me…do whatever you want with me , but please let her go. Please.” I whispered, my throat tight. "Don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything—anything you want. Just… just let her go." 

Damien stopped turning the knife, his gaze locking onto me like a predator sizing up prey. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the silence stretch thin and heavy between us. Then, slowly, that cold smile crept back onto his face. 

"Anything, huh?" His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a decision already made. "I like that. I like a man who knows how to beg. It seems like a fair trade." 

And then he stepped impossibly closer to my body, leaning in as he took in my scent, just like that boss had done with Celia. But this…this felt very different.

"You’ve got an interesting scent," he murmured, almost to himself. "Something… unusual. I think I might have a use for you after all."