Page 3 of Dangerous Beginnings

I take a few steps forward and observe the man’s arms, legs, and other places where there are visible cuts. I notice that the blood has dried up and conclude that the cuts are not fresh anymore. They have been making him wait to get help. His hands are blood red. He has been cuffed. But not like a normalinmate. His wrists are cuffed, and so are his ankles. His arms are covered in tattoos, one of them being a small star. The rest is written in a foreign language I can’t understand, though I assume it might be Russian from the harsh, angular script. The meaning behind them is lost on me, but they seem to tell a story, one inked into his skin like a secret I am not meant to know.

I grab the disinfectant and sit in front of him. As he stares at my hands, his eyes move where my hands go.

“This might sting a little bit,” I state as I press the cotton ball with the disinfectant on the cuts located on his arms. After stitching the cuts, I stand and take one last look to make sure the stitches are secure, all while the heavy, wordless tension continues to grow between us. His presence dominates the space, filling it with a dangerous energy I can’t quite place.

I finish cleaning his cuts and take off my gloves, as I stand at the sink, I can feel his eyes burning into me. The sensation is suffocating somehow, like a predator stalking its prey. I walk towards the door to address the guards that my job is done, but before they open the door I am met with a deep voice:

“Spasibo, solnyshko.”

His voice feels like an ice-cold breeze running through my blood. I don’t know what the words mean, but their weight, the way they roll off his tongue, sends a shiver down my spine. Slowly, I turn around to meet his gaze one more time. His sharp features stare back at me. His eyes bore into mine, and in that moment, it’s as though he’s memorizing me—storing away every detail of my face, myfear.

As the guards escort him out of the room I release a breath which I don’t even realize I’m holding. His words ring through my ears. Little did I know that with these 15 minutes, I got myself a ticket into a cat-and-mouse game with a very dangerous man.

This is just the beginning,a dangerous beginning.

Chapter 2

Monster in His Eyes

Unknown

The longer I spend here, the bigger my vengeance grows. I am almost drowning in anger, there are debts to be collected. If killing was an art, I would be some sort of artist.

I am starving, and when I get out, there will be a bloodbath.

The door opens hesitantly, and I am suddenly met with dark brown eyes—a woman’s eyes. Immediately my eyes scan her; somewhere in her early twenties, with curly messy red hair, 5’6, pale skin, and a shy demeanor. As I read her body language, I notice how tense she is. What woman works in a high-security prison filled with men? The closer she comes the tighter the air grows.

Fear. I can almostsmellit, thick and suffocating, pouring off her in waves. It clings to the air between us, and I feed on it, savoring the way it twists her body, making her hands tremble as they stitch my wounds. She has no idea what’s sitting in front of her, no idea of the darkness watching her so closely. Most of these idiots think I’m just another brute who only speaks Russian. They couldn’t be more wrong. I speak many languages—languages that can seduce, manipulate, and destroy.

When she finally reaches for the door, the guards grab me, dragging me back to my cell. But I never stop watching her. My eyes lock onto her like a predator stalking prey. Her gaze is cast downward as if she can hide from the weight of my attention. Innocent. Fragile. But not weak.

No, she’s something far more tempting.

Isabella

I stand there, paralyzed by a feeling I’ve never experienced before. His words echo in my mind, looping endlessly. I can feel his gaze burning into my back as the guards escort him out of the room. I lean my head against the wall, trying to steady my racing heart. Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve never met this man before, yet he’s already infiltrating my thoughts.

Minutes later, Lea walks into the room, her voice light.

“Wow, have you seen a ghost?”

I lift my head and inhale deeply, trying to calm myself.

“Have you heard about the man they arrested at midnight? He’s Russian—that’s all we know. No other details yet.”

Lea takes a seat in the chair where he was sitting, crossing her legs casually.

“Yeah, Nick told us to be careful, but that’s about it. Why? You seem a little off. Did something happen?”

I sigh, unsure how to put into words what I’m feeling.

“I just cleaned his wounds and stitched him up, but there’s something... off about him. I don’t know what it is.”

Lea shrugs, her expression unconcerned.

“Maybe you’re just having a rough night. Lack of sleep, you know? If nothing happened, then you’re fine, right?”

I glance at her, the tension still hanging in my chest.

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