Marked for Debt

Three Days

The porch light flickered like it was trying to stay alive — just like everything else in the rotting house it hung over. Paint peeled in long strips from the siding. The screen door barely held on, like it knew it was safer to fall off than stay.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and bitterness. The sour stench of liquor and old food lingered like mold. The kind of house where even silence felt violent.

Ashlee sat curled on the couch, her cheek resting against her knees, a fading bruise painting her skin purple. Shelby stood near the hallway window, peeking through the blinds with a tense frown.

"Someone's here," she said, low.

Nat looked up from the threadbare rug, eyes narrowing. "Dealer?"

"No. Too clean. Expensive car."

Two doors slammed outside. Heavy boots on the front steps.

Then the knock.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Not friendly. Not curious.
A threat.

Their father stumbled toward the door from the kitchen, muttering curses. Shirt stained, eyes bloodshot, one shoe missing. He flung the door open without checking.

Two men. Silent and deadly.

One tall, lean, and quiet — platinum hair tucked beneath a hoodie. Felix.

The other, solid and broad — dressed all in black. Changbin.

Their father scowled. "What now?"

Changbin didn't bother with pleasantries. "Where's the money?"

"You think I'd be in this shithole if I had it?" he snapped, arms wide.

Felix's tone was cool. "Two extensions. The boss doesn't give third chances."

"I just need more time," their father tried, laugh shaky. "I'm good for it."

Changbin's face didn't change. "You've got three days."

"And if I don't?"

"You don't want to find out."

Ashlee leaned into the hallway, just enough to see. Felix caught her eyes immediately — then looked past her at Shelby and Nat. Three girls. Three bruised, quiet girls.

Changbin followed his gaze. His jaw tensed.

"They yours?" he asked, sharp.

Their father chuckled darkly. "Yeah. My girls. Not your concern."

Felix's voice dropped. "Everything's our concern now."

A beat of silence.

Changbin pointed a gloved finger at his chest. "Three days. That's all."

Then they were gone.

The door slammed shut with a violent crack.

"YOU STUPID LITTLE WHORES!"
The explosion came instantly.

Ashlee flinched so hard her knee hit the side table.

"You think standing there like little goddamn victims is cute?! Huh? What, you want them feeling sorry for you? You trying to make me look weak?"

He stormed toward the hallway. They backed up — all instinct.

Shelby stepped in front of the others. "We weren't trying to—"

"SHUT UP, SHELBY!"

The bottle in his hand flew, smashing just past her shoulder. Glass scattered across the floor.

"You always think you're so smart, huh? Always trying to act like the f***ing leader. You're just a broke little brat playing mom 'cause your own damn mother ran off!"

Shelby didn't blink. But her jaw clenched.

He turned to Nat next. "And you. Always lurking around like some damn ghost. You think keeping quiet makes you better? You're just like your sister. Pathetic. You wouldn't last a day without someone holding your damn hand."

Nat's lip trembled, but she didn't speak.

Then...
He turned to Ashlee. The youngest. The one who hadn't moved.

"You little bitch," he growled.

She barely had time to react.

He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her down the hall by the roots. Her scream caught in her throat as her knees scraped the floor. Shelby shouted, lunging forward — but the back of his hand whipped across her face, sending her crashing into the wall.

"DON'T!" he snarled.

He yanked Ashlee into the kitchen and threw her onto the filthy tile.

"You like being nosy, huh? Like showing off those bruises? What you think they'll come save you?"

Ashlee winced as her elbows scraped the floor. Tears burned behind her eyes.

"Get up," he hissed. "You think the floor's disgusting? Good. Make it spotless. I want it clean enough to eat off of."

She didn't move fast enough.

He kicked the leg of the chair beside her — the sound like gunfire.

"NOW!"

She scrambled, grabbing a dirty rag off the counter, not even checking if it was clean.

While she started scrubbing, he turned back to the hallway.

Nat tried to help Shelby up.

He grabbed Nat by the collar and shoved her toward the bathroom.

"You like hiding? Locking yourself away when it gets loud?" he barked. "You wanna disappear so bad? Clean the damn tub until you vanish in it. Don't stop until I say."

He slammed the door behind her.

And finally, Shelby — blood at the corner of her lip, breath shaking.

He marched over, grabbed her by the arm, and threw open the back door.

"You like stepping up? Playing protector?" he growled. "Then get your ass outside and take out every damn trash bag in this house. Drag 'em to the woods, I don't care. You wanna be useful? Then WORK."

Shelby's arms were already bruised, but she didn't say a word. She just nodded, slowly, quietly... and walked out the door, dragging the first bag behind her.

The door slammed again.

Inside the kitchen, Ashlee's knees ached, hands burning from scrubbing through filth that had rotted into the tile. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. She didn't dare cry.

In the bathroom, Nat knelt beside the tub, scrubbing the rust-stained porcelain with trembling hands, knowing the door was locked from the outside.

Outside, Shelby's fingers bled from a glass shard as she dragged broken bags into the woods. The wind stung her cheeks, but she kept moving.

Not one of them spoke.

But every second screamed the same truth.

They weren't living.
They were surviving.

And if hell ever showed up at their door again...
They might just welcome it.