Page 18 of Dangerous Beginnings

The man steps fully into the light, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

He’s taller than I remember, his frame broad and powerful, filling the tiny room with a presence that demands attention. His sharp jawline is shadowed with the faintest hint of stubble, framing lips that are cruel and unyielding. High cheekbones and a straight, aristocratic nose give him a sculpted, almost statuesque beauty, but there’s nothing soft about him. Every feature is sharp, purposeful, like it was carved to intimidate and allure in equal measure.

His eyes are the worst—or the best, depending on how you look at it. Dark and intense, they seem to draw in the light, making the small room feel even darker. They pierce through me, unwavering and calculated, as if he’s reading every thought in my head. There’s a dangerous glint in them, something predatory, as though I’m a game he’s already won.

The tattoos crawling up his forearms are bold and intricate, dark ink etched deeply into his skin. I recognize some of the symbols—Slavic, dangerous—but others are foreign, abstract, and menacing in their mystery. A serpent coils up his left forearm, its fangs bared, its eyes glinting with a sinister promise. A mix of scars crisscross the ink, old wounds healed but neverforgotten, adding an edge of brutality to his otherwise flawless physique.

His suit, perfectly tailored and jet-black, clings to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, the fabric whispering as he moves with a predator’s grace. The top two buttons of his crisp white shirt are undone, exposing the strong column of his neck and the edge of a chain glinting against his skin. His sleeves are rolled up just enough to reveal the tattoos and scars on his forearms, a deliberate choice, I realize. He doesn’t just want to intimidate me; he wants me to see the danger etched into his skin.

Even his hands are mesmerizing. Strong, veined, with long, deft fingers that seem capable of both cruelty and precision. Rings adorn a few of them—thick, dark bands of silver, a skull, a signet—but they don’t diminish the raw power they exude.

The scent of him reaches me as he steps closer—subtle, expensive, and dark, like leather and smoke with a faint trace of something metallic, almost like blood. It fits him perfectly.

Every inch of him screams control, power, and something far more dangerous: allure. He is both beautiful and terrifying, a creature born to command and destroy.

And yet, as he steps closer, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk, I can’t help but feel like prey caught in the jaws of a predator.

The room seems to shrink with every step he takes, the walls closing in until it’s just him and me. My back presses into the cold concrete as if it might somehow protect me, but his dark eyes remind me there’s no escape.

“Careful, Isabella,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, each word a quiet promise of consequences.

The sound wraps around me, dark and suffocating, as he towers over me. His presence is overwhelming and intoxicating in the most twisted way. I try to look away, but his gaze holds me captive, and I know, with a sinking certainty, that I’ll neverforget the man standing before me.

“You psychopath,” I hiss at him.

An eerie smirk appears on his devilish face.

As soon as those words leave my mouth, I can see the shift in him—every trace of patience he had left vanishing. My heart races and I instinctively step back, my back hitting the corner of the room. He’s moving toward me now, with a dangerous purpose. The blanket and pillows are ripped from the bed and thrown out of the room with no more effort than tossing a rag. The mattress follows suit, leaving me standing in this stark, cold space. My eyes are locked on the bed where I’ve sought even the smallest comfort, now taken from me.

I try to hold my ground, trying not to show any weakness, but my body trembles, and my heart pounds in my chest. His steps are slow and deliberate, and there’s no place to hide. I’m trapped. The room feels smaller with every step he takes toward me until he’s standing in front of me, towering over me. I back into the corner, but there’s nowhere else to go.

“I hate you,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. It’s the only thing I can manage, even though my insides are shaking. His response is a dark chuckle that sends a cold shiver down my spine. He doesn’t even flinch at my words—if anything, he seems to enjoy them. I’ve never seen anyone take my hate so calmly, so... personally. And it terrifies me.

He moves closer, and I instinctively try to shrink into the wall, but there’s nowhere to go. He grabs my chin with a firm grip, forcing me to look up at him. His face is so close now, just inches apart. I can feel his breath on my skin, and I can see the intensity in his eyes, something dark, something that makes me feel like I’m drowning under the weight of it.

His grip tightens on my chin, lifting it so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “If you’re going to test my waters, you better know how to swim.”

My heart stutters in my chest, and every instinct inside me screams to run, to fight, to do something—but I don’t. I can’t. Not with him standing so close, not with that look in his eyes. I feel the heat of his words burning into me, and I realize, with sickening clarity, that I’ve just made a mistake.

His inked fingers are cold to the touch. His breath smells like cigarettes and mint as his green eyes pierce into mine. By reflex, my hands grip his arm that is having a firm grip on my chin. I try to pry his hand off me, but it doesn’t. His grip only grows tighter.

“Cat got your tongue?”

I swallow acid down my throat as his eyes remain on mine. I don’t feel bold when he is close to me, I feel trapped, I feel suppressed.

“Do not make the mistake of thinking I’m someone you can disrespect.”

Nausea sloshes through my gut. His grip loosens.

My gaze moves from the concrete ground to him, moving towards the door. He pauses at the threshold, turning to look at me. “Do try to behave, Isabella. I’d hate to have to punish you.”

He slams the door shut; it locks itself with an automatic scanner. A quiet sob escapes my lips as I slide down the wall, falling on my butt. Waiting for sleep or death, or whatever comes sooner.

But little did I know that I would soon learn that my freedom came with selling my soul to the devil. Little did I know who this man truly was, and the horrors he would bring to earth.

Chapter 12

Criminals Are Made,

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