Page 57 of Dangerous Beginnings

His eyes darken, the amusement vanishing entirely. The atmosphere shifts again, the air thick with unspoken tension. For the first time, I see something in his gaze that I can’t quite decipher. It’s not softness, but it’s not the cold indifference I’ve come to expect, either.

“I have my reasons,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. I swallow hard. I can feel the grave I’m digging for myself only becoming deeper, all the confidence I had drained from my face, I’m sure he notices it. “I have told you before, I have no idea how to control the way I feel about you.”

The dim cabin lights cast shadows across his face, deepening the darkness in his eyes. Those eyes, once merely cold and calculating, now seem to bore into me with an intensity that sends chills down my spine. Whatever game I thought I was playing, it’s clear I’m out of my depth. He’s no ordinary man—he’s something much more dangerous, a force of nature that can’t be controlled, only survived.

I shift in my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the gun still in my hand. It feels useless now, more like a prop than a weapon. He knows I won’t use it, and worse, so do I. His gaze drops to the gun, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as if he’s reading my thoughts.

“Put it down, Isabella,” he says softly, but there’s nothing gentle about the command. It’s a velvet-covered blade, sharp and unyielding.

My fingers tremble around the grip, the weight of the gun seeming to increase with every passing second. Part of me screams to hold on to it, to cling to this last shred of power,but I know it’s an illusion. Any control I thought I had has been stripped away, leaving me exposed, and vulnerable.

Slowly, I lower the gun to the table between us, the cold metal clinking softly against the polished surface. His smirk widens, a predator’s smile, satisfied and victorious. The shift in the atmosphere is noticeable, the power dynamic tilting heavily in his favor. He’s won this round, and he knows it.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down my spine. There’s something deeply unsettling about the way he says it, as if he’s claiming a victory not just over my actions, but over my very soul.

Aslanov

She should be begging me for forgiveness. She should be thanking me that she’s still alive. That I’m so fucking mild to her, that I have taken her far away from that horrible place.

She admits defeat and places my gun on the silver table. She then throws the key for the cuffs towards me. Right when she throws the key, I catch it and undo the lock. With one click the eerie silence is filled and her doom has begun. I crack my knuckles as I stand up and turn my wrists around. If I didn’t have a slight lone feeling for her, she would be doomed now. But even now while looking at her stupid bruised face I still possess that feeling. Her chest is quickly moving up and down. I point my finger, “Come here.”

She is frozen in place, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t the slightest bit pissed off. “Three seconds.” That’s how long my patience runs. She suddenly doesn’t know how quickly she needs to get to me. Once she reaches me, I push her into the chair.

I throw the cuffs back into the bag and retrieve a silk rope. It takes me about 10 seconds to effectively bind her wrists together. I kick the bag away from her while walking over to the table, picking up my gun, and securing it in my belt. “Playtime’sover solnyshko.”

As I secure my gun and look at her, I can see the fear and frustration in her eyes, but there’s also a stubborn determination that I find both infuriating and intriguing. I know I need to break her spirit, to make her see that resistance is futile in the face of my power. But there’s a part of me that hesitates, a part of me that can’t help but admire her tenacity. It’s been a long time since I have encountered someone who challenges me so openly, that I find myself drawn to her fiery spirit. She’s got some fire in her. I know that I’m beginning to exert my influence over her. I’ve always been skilled at manipulation, at bending others to my will, and Isabella is no exception. I might feel different towards her, but she’ll still have to obey.

Isabella

We’ve been flying for a couple of hours now, and I can feel the cold of our destination seeping into my bones, even through the warmth of the cabin. The knowledge of where we’re headed, to the frozen hell he calls home, sends a shiver down my spine. I can’t shake the sense of impending doom, the certainty that whatever awaits me on the ground will be nothing short of a nightmare.

One thing I’ve noticed, and it gnaws at me more than I’d like to admit, is the rope he used to bind my wrists. It’s not rough or abrasive like I’d expect. Instead, it’s a silk rope, soft against my skin, a mockery of the situation I’m in. He could have used anything—a pair of handcuffs, a coarse rope—but he chose something luxurious, almost…tender. The irony isn’t lost on me, and it only heightens my anxiety and makes the waiting that much more unbearable. I’m disappointed with my choices to say the least, but I’m sure he is too.

Aslanov has been working on his laptop since our confrontation, his focus entirely on the screen in front of him.The silence between us is thick and oppressive, and it grates on my nerves. It’s calm before the storm, and I can feel the tension building, ready to snap. My mind races, churning with thoughts of what might happen when we land, each scenario more terrifying than the last.

I stare out the window, trying to distract myself, but the urge to look at him, to gauge his mood, is almost overwhelming. He’s so close to me, that I can see every detail of his face, every sharp feature. The silence is suffocating, pressing down on me until I feel like I’m going to break under the weight of it. I’m trapped, caught between the fear of what’s coming and the twisted curiosity that draws me to him despite everything.

The sudden creak of leather cuts through the quiet, jolting me from my thoughts. He rises from his seat, stretching to his full height, a shadow of power and menace that fills the cabin. My heart skips a beat, a surge of adrenaline rushing through me as he exchanges a few words in Russian with another man at the back of the plane. His voice is low, and commanding, and even though I don’t understand the words, the tone is enough to set me on edge.

He begins to circle me, his movements slow and deliberate, a predator sizing up its prey. His hand brushes against my cheek, a feather-light touch that sends a shiver down my spine, before it trails down to my chin, lifting it slightly so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, unreadable, but there’s a glint in them that chills me to the core.

“Perhaps I need to raise you again,” he murmurs, his thick Russian accent wrapping around the words like a noose tightening around my neck.

My breath catches in my throat, and I can feel the last remnants of defiance draining out of me, replaced by a sinking, helpless dread. The brief, flickering sense of power I’d felt earlier is gone, leaving only the cold reality of my situation. I’m at hismercy, and he knows it.

He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear as he whispers, “Teach you some respect and manners.”

His voice is soft, almost tender, but there’s a steely edge to it that sends a jolt of fear straight to my core. He’s not making idle threats. I’ve pushed him too far, and now I’m going to pay the price. My mind flashes with images of what he might do, each one more horrifying than the last. Torture, punishment, breaking me down until there’s nothing left but the shell of the person I used to be.

My teeth clench together, my pride struggling to hold on to some semblance of dignity, but it’s a losing battle. I hum softly in response, a sound that’s more a plea for mercy than anything else, though I’m too proud to say the words out loud. I know it won’t help. He’s already decided my fate, and all I can do now is wait for the inevitable.

His voice rumbles low behind me, each word sending a shiver down my spine. “Once we land, I want you on your best behavior. I’m quite done with your little tantrums.”

His presence looms over me, a dark shadow that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can feel his eyes on me, burning into me, and it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to flinch, not to show him just how much he’s gotten under my skin. But it’s futile. He knows. He always knows.

“Perhaps,” he continues, his voice a dangerous purr, “if you behave like a brat, I’ll have to remind you what happens to disobedient girls.”

A flush of heat rises to my cheeks, bright and burning, as his words sink in. There’s no mistaking his meaning, no escaping the dark promise hidden in his tone. I feel my face grow warm, the blush spreading across my skin as I stare fixedly at the floor, too ashamed to meet his gaze. He’s toying with me, playing a game I’m not equipped to win, and the realization makes me feelsmall and powerless.

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