Page 55 of Twisted Thorns

As I step outside onto the club's dimly lit patio, I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cool night air that smells of autumn leaves. I try to focus on the present moment–the laughter and conversation drifting from nearby–but can't ignore the lingering sensation that something is wrong, like whispers in the shadows just beyond my reach.

Leaning against the railing of the patio, my eyes wander to an inconspicuous corner where a group of men huddle together, their bulky figures draped in dark clothing. There is something predatory about them — like wolves stalking their prey and I can feel the hairs on my arms rise in alarm.

My fingers begin to fidget nervously, and I turn to go back inside. The air around me seems to grow colder, heavier, suffused with an oppressive malice.

"Hello, pretty girl," a gravelly voice hisses behind me, making me jump. I whip around to find one of the menacing men from across the street, his face half-hidden in shadow. The others materialize around me, closing in like vultures circling their prey.

"What are you doing?" I demand, my voice barely concealing the tremor of fear that ripples through me. "What do you want?"

"Ah, we've been watching you," the man sneers, a cruel grin twisting his lips. "You're coming with us."

"Excuse me? I don't think so!" I spit, my heart pounding wildly against my rib cage. Stepping back, I bump into one of the men, their looming forms casting sinister shadows on the pavement.

"Where's Kieran Calder when you need him, huh?" another man laughs maliciously, sending shivers down my spine. How did they know about Kieran?

"Leave him out of this!" I snarl, anger flaring within me like wildfire. "He has nothing to do with whatever messed up game you're playing!"

"Kieran means a great deal to our boss," the first man replies, his eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. "And you, my dear, are our bargaining chip."

Before I can react, rough hands grab my arms yanking me towards the alley beside the club. Terror surges through my veins, an icy torrent threatening to drown me. But as I'm dragged deeper into the darkness, I refuse to let fear consume me–I will not go down without a fight.

As they continue to drag me along, my mind races, desperately searching for a plan, a chance to break free. Then, suddenly, inspiration strikes–my stilettos. They are sharp, dangerous, and, most importantly, within reach.

"Hey," I call out with feigned sweetness, catching the captors off guard. "If you're so determined to take me somewhere, at least let me walk properly. These shoes are killing me."

"Fine," the lead crony growls, clearly annoyed by my persistence. "But don't try anything stupid."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I reply innocently, bending down to adjust my shoe. My fingers brush against the spiked heel and grip it tightly. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself for what comes next.

With a sudden burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, I swing my stiletto towards the crony's face, its pointed heel slicing through the air like a razor. The man howls in pain as blood spurts from his now-gashed cheek.

My legs move before my mind has even processed the thought, prey now attempting to outrun the predator. As the cronies stumble in shock, I sprint back toward the club, my heart pounding like thunder.

"Stop her!" the injured crony bellows, rage tinging his every word. Heavy boots pound the pavement as they close in on me.

My breath comes in ragged gasps as I run, my chest heaving with effort. The distance between me and my pursuers is closing rapidly, their malicious snarls echoing in my ears, but I don't dare look back. I know I can't outrun the wolves forever.

My legs burn as I sprint, lungs pleading for air. The crisp night wind whips across my flushed cheeks, the scent of fear and sweat mingling with the city's smoky haze. Heartbeat pounding in my ears like a drum, its rhythm syncing with the heavy footsteps that chase me.

"Stop running, sweetheart!" one of the goons taunts, his voice thick with malice. "It'll only make this harder for you!"

"Never," I whisper through gritted teeth, forcing my body to push past its breaking point. A surge of anger swells within me, igniting a primal urge to fight, to resist, to survive.

As I turn the corner, my eyes scan the dimly lit street for any sign of salvation. Desperation gnaws at my chest as every escape route seems to evaporate before my eyes.

Panic claws at my insides, threatening to unravel my resolve. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, a narrow alleyway appears up ahead.

"Please let this work," I pray silently, veering off into the shadowy passage.

"Where'd she go?" I hear one of them shout, the confusion in his voice bringing a fleeting moment of satisfaction. But I can't afford to waste time savoring it.

The alleyway was littered with obstacles: dumpsters, broken crates, and piles of trash. My legs, shaking from exhaustion, navigate the cluttered terrain despite the terror coursing through my veins.

"Where are you, sweetheart?" one of the men calls out, his predatory tone sending shivers down my spine. "Can't hide forever!"

"Watch me," I think, ducking behind a large dumpster as my heart threatens to break free from my chest.

Silence envelops the alleyway, broken only by the distant echo of boots on the pavement. The air is thick with tension, every nerve in my body coiled like a spring, ready to snap at any moment.

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