Page 8 of Dangerous Beginnings

“Isabella,” I purr her name, savoring the way it rolls off my tongue. Her face pales, a shiver of fear etching across her features. I almost smile at her discomfort. Her posture shrinks, betraying the primal terror coursing through her. Fear is palpable, but there is something else in her deep brown eyes—a flicker of curiosity, or perhaps something darker.

“Isabella,” I repeat as my voice, thick with a Russian accent, reverberates through the cell. I feel the fire of anticipation in my chest, my heart pounding with a sinister rhythm.

“How?” she breathes out, her voice barely a whisper.

“How do you know my name?” Her eyes, wide and searching, lock onto mine. She stumbles against the wall. My bright green eyes shimmer with a cruel pleasure under the moonlight filtering through the small window. I relish this moment; I savor her fear. We are well beyond the realm of small talk now, and her regret is palpable. She needs to escape, but it’s too late.

I relish the way her brown eyes flinch as my words slice through the silence. “I know many things.” Her confidence wanes with each passing second as she realizes her peril.

“Hands off that,” I command, my gaze locking onto the panic button she clutches with trembling fingers. I watch her throat convulse as she swallows a gulp of dread, her fingers hoveringover the button. Her panic escalates, and suddenly, she slams her hand down on the button with desperate force.

“Plohaya devochka,” I taunt, my voice dripping with malice.

The guards flood the cell, their footsteps thunderous and harsh. Before I’m subdued, I catch one last glimpse of her, a pitiful, frightened figure. They force me to the ground, shackling me with practiced efficiency. As they drag me on the bed, her eyes—wide with fear—trace my every movement. My own gaze darkens, filled with a warning.

If you play with the devil, you will find yourself in hell.

Isabella

I am drowning in my own fear. Nick rushes towards me, his face etched with alarm. I need to compose myself, but the horror lingers like a dark cloud.

“Isabella!” Nick’s voice cuts through the chaos, urgent and strained. His breath is ragged as he reaches me, his eyes wide with concern. “What the hell happened?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and accusing. I am caught between the desire to hide my terror and the undeniable truth. Nick’s eyes pierce through me, demanding honesty. The reality of the situation is overwhelming, and I know I cannot lie to him, despite his explicit instructions.

“He just freaked me out,” I finally manage to say, my voice flat and distant. I keep my gaze fixed on the door through which they dragged the man. Nick’s sharp snap of his fingers pulls me back to the present.

“Now, the truth,” he commands, his frustration apparent. I look like a child caught in a lie, my face flushed with embarrassment. My hands still tremble from the encounter, and I can barely keep my composure.

“He spoke to me again, but in English this time,” I admit, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “He knew my name.I don’t understand how—I’ve never seen him before.”

Nick’s eyes widen with a mix of concern and disbelief. “He what?Shit. So, he does speak English?”

“Yes, at least a few words. I couldn’t utter a single response. I got freaked out and pressed the button,” I explain, my voice cracking with residual fear.

We continue to discuss the details, and I try to calm my racing heart as Nick attempts to reassure me. His attempts to comfort me do little to chase away the shadows of fear that cling to my mind.

Finally, Nick decides it’s best if I take the rest of the night off. Exhausted and shaken, I agree. I need to escape this nightmare, if only for a few hours.

Once I get home, I take an ice-cold shower and sit on the floor. I feel overwhelmed. I feel guilty. But for what I don’t exactly know. After contemplating my life in the shower, I get up and put on pajamas. I decided to watch a movie and relax, or at least try to.

I don’t know how late it is once I wake up.

I reach for my curtains and as I pull them open, I am greeted with sunlight. I slept till late apparently. The day goes by normally and in the afternoon, I meet up with my friend Nadia. We are going out for dinner and going clubbing after. Yes, clubbing with 3 hours of sleep. I told you Nadia has a bad influence on me. We eat the best pasta ever, getting our carbs in before partying. Me and Nadia rant about everything and everyone. I decided to not tell her about what happened last night. Something in me tells me it’s not necessary and I just do not want to remember it again.

After eating out we went to the club, it’s currently 11 PM. We’re late. The night is cold as snowflakes start to fall from the sky right before we enter the hot and sweating club. It’s crowded and if I lose Nadia here, I might never find her again. We hold hands as we enter the club. We like to pretend we’re gay. No guys coming around to mess with us, honestly, it’s ideal.

An hour in. I’m wasted already.

“Issa!! Let’s do another shot!” I roll my eyes as a smile spreads across my face.

I don’t usually drink much, but when I do I go all in. And since I wasn’t feeling the best, alcohol works like a charm. I needed some chill time or just five more shots. I feel great now.

“Okay, okay!” I yell back as we reach the bar ordering another shot. I tried to say no but the tequila is 40% stronger than me.

The man behind the bar shoots Nadia a wink as she chugs her shot. Nadia immediately bites and starts flirting with this random dude. At least I’m still sober enough to know I won’t just hook up with any homeless-looking guy.

I turn around and look into the club as Nadia works her way with the barman. Sweaty bodies, loud music, and flashing lights. It’s so hot here. I can feel the heat rising to my face, staining my cheeks bright red. I need fresh air. I check on Nadia, who is already too far away. I decide it can’t harm to leave her for just a couple of minutes.

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