Page 16 of Dangerous Beginnings

Isabella

I don’t know how much time has passed since I have been awake. The city lights disappeared long ago, replaced by dark, winding roads and towering trees that loom like specters in the night. The snow has turned to slush, and the rhythmic sound of the tires cutting through it is almost hypnotic. I can’t tell if I’m more terrified by the silence or by the man who seems to command it with his very presence. My body feels heavy, and by the look on his face, I am awake too soon.

I steal glances at him from the corner of my eye, trying to understand the enigma behind the stoic facade. He’s not like the others. There’s something different—something dangerous—about him. His profile is sharp, every line of his face carved with a cold precision that matches the ice in his gaze. The tattoos on his neck, the way he grips the steering wheel like it’s the only thing anchoring him to this world… everything about him screams power, but also something darker, something deadly.

My mind races, trying to piece together what little I know about this man. He saved me, but why? And what does he want from me now? The warmth of his jacket still clings to me, but it does little to comfort the chill that’s settled deep in my bones. My thoughts spiral as the silence stretches on, oppressive and thick.

“Where are you taking me?” The words slip out before I can stop them, my voice a fragile whisper in the vast emptiness of the night.

His eyes flicker toward me, just for a moment, beforereturning to the road. I see something in them, something I can’t quite place—regret, maybe? Or is it just another layer of his calculated facade? When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost a growl.

“You ask too many questions.”

A shiver runs down my spine, and I instinctively shrink back into my seat. But I can’t let it go. I need to know. “Why did you take me?”

Silence. My heart pounds in the void between us, each beat a countdown to his response. The memory of those bodies—guards left to bleed out in the snow—flashes before my eyes. His hands were steady, unflinching as he carried me through the carnage. I don’t even know his name, yet he holds my life in his hands as easily as he crushed theirs.

“Who are you?” I ask, my voice trembling.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze stays fixed on the road, but I see his jaw tighten, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble. The air inside the car feels heavy, like a storm about to break. When he speaks again, there’s a note of finality in his voice that chills me to the core.

“No one you need to know.”

I bite my lip, frustrated, but I know I won’t get more out of him. I turn my head to look out the window, watching the dark forest blur by. The trees are endless, their skeletal branches reaching out like claws as if trying to pull us into the abyss. The car speeds up, and I feel the momentum pulling me deeper into the unknown, away from any hope of escape.

But then, the car slows down. We’re no longer on the main road. I peer out, trying to make sense of our surroundings, but all I can see is darkness. A dense wall of trees closes in around us as we turn onto a narrow, hidden path. My pulse quickens, dread coiling tight in my chest. I have no idea where we are.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls the car to a stop in a small clearing, the engine humming softly before it cuts off, leaving us in an eerie silence. The only light comes from the headlights, casting long shadows that stretch like fingers across the snow-covered ground.

My hand instinctively reaches for the door handle, but his voice cuts through the stillness, sharp and commanding.

“Don’t.”

I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs. He gets out of the car, his movements deliberate and controlled. For a moment, I considered bolting, but where would I go? There’s nothing out here but darkness and the unknown. Andhim. I see nothing but the night and the trees.

Diable

The car’s headlights cast long shadows across the snow-covered ground as I walk around to the trunk. The night is thick with cold silence, interrupted only by the muffled sound of my movements and her panicked breathing. I open the trunk with a practiced flick of the latch, the cold air hitting me like a slap as I retrieve the cloth and the small vial of chloroform. I need a stronger drug, something to knock her out completely.

The cloth is neatly folded, and I take a moment to soak it with the chemical, feeling the fabric grow heavier with the potent liquid. I’m methodical, ensuring that every inch is saturated. The scent of the chloroform is sharp and penetrating, a familiar and unsettling reminder of what’s to come.

I close the trunk with a soft click and make my way back around the car. Her anxiety is obvious, a tremor in the night air as she watches me approach. Her eyes are wide, her body tense. I can almost taste her fear, the way it hangs between us, heavy and suffocating.

As I draw near, she tries to make sense of my intentions, herbreaths coming faster, more erratic. I look at her, my expression impassive, and let my voice drop to a low, commanding growl.

“Are you going to behave?” The question is rhetorical, a mere formality. I already know the answer.

She senses the shift in my demeanor, her breaths coming in rapid, panicked gasps. She begins to struggle as I lean closer, her fear-driven strength barely masking her desperation. I know she will fight. They always do. It’s part of the process—part of what makes it so necessary to maintain control.

Her reaction is immediate and frantic. She squirms, trying to push herself away from me, her eyes darting to the dark forest beyond. I can see her struggle, the raw terror in her movements, and it only solidified my resolve.

With a swift motion, I bring the chloroform-soaked cloth to her face. Her immediate reaction is to turn her head, but I’m quicker. I press the cloth firmly against her nose and mouth, feeling the resistance in her writhing form. My gloved hand clamps down on her wrists, pinning them with an unyielding grip against her chest.

She fights, her body thrashing as the chloroform’s effects begin to take hold. Her muffled cries and panicked movements are met with my steady presence, my other arm wrapping around her to hold her against my chest. I can feel her heartbeat, frantic and erratic, against my chest as she tries to escape the encroaching darkness.

Her struggles weaken, her resistance fading as the chemical takes its toll. Her eyes flutter, the struggle in them fading. She attempts to twist her head away once more, but I hold the cloth firmly, my own breathing steady and controlled. The fight in her is fierce but ultimately futile. I can feel her resistance weakening, her movements growing slower, more sluggish. I tighten my hold, feeling her body gradually relax into the curve of my arms. The fight in her diminishes, leaving only the soft, resignedsurrender of unconsciousness.

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