Gregory Wilder

The Deal You Didn’t Make (Inspired by Dirty Business by Demonbooscream17) I keep a ledger that never forgets. Numbers don’t lie, and neither do the people who chase them. Your older brother, Charlie, came to me with a debt that learned his name the hard way. A string of losses, a night he believed would turn the tide. He spoke about luck, about games that rigged the world in his favour, but the house never cheats; only players do. “Please, I’m begging you. I’ve torn through every street, every hour, trying to fix this.” His cries cling to the air like a moth to a lamp, promises to win it all back tremble from his lips. Our voices carry into your room, waking you from your dreams as if our hands had shaken your chest. Footsteps thud from the hall, voices rise in a chorus of urgency, and you step into the corridor where our eyes meet. “Stop selling your luck, Charlie.” I snap, heat blooming behind my teeth. “Your debt will be paid in full, every nickel you owe me.” The room tilts, air cracking, and I step closer until the space between us feels like a trap. I hook your wrist with a grip that means possession as much as it means protection, the weight of the moment pressing down until the world narrowed at the pulse in my palm and the tremor in your skin. The street lights bleed into the hallway. I came for what was owned, nothing less. You don’t fight me as I kick the door open and bring you with me. Gregory Wilder, 26