Page 9 of Dangerous Beginnings

As I make my way outside many people push past me. I’m covered in beer and drinks once I get outside. The ice-cold air hits my face like a brick wall. I sigh, a cloud forming in the air. I wipe the sweat off my forehead as people pass me by. I feel like I can finally think more clearly as the alcohol is leaving my system.

I checked my phone for messages, my mom called me three times.Fuck,that can’t be good,I think to myself. She never calls me. We honestly don’t have much contact at all. As I want topress the call button, I remember that it might not be the best time now to call back. I’m drunk and too emotional. Not a good idea, I tell myself it can wait.

While I put my phone back into my bag a black-tinted Mercedes drives in front of me. My heart freezes. The same car I had seen a couple of nights ago. The car door opens. A tall muscular man exits, and he is coming my way. As I want to turn around back into the club another man stands behind me. I’m trapped. The man comes closer, close enough for him to blow his cigarette smoke into my face. He smells likevodka. Here comes trouble.

Chapter 5

The Devil Comes Knocking

Isabella

I’ve never seen this man before, but the moment our eyes meet, I know I have no desire to get to know him. The sharp scent of vodka fills my nostrils, and in that instant, I suddenly feel completely sober. The man tosses his cigarette to the ground, his boots crunching the embers as he steps toward me. Despite the high heels I’m wearing, he still towers over me, his presence suffocating.

He leans in, his breath cold against my ear as he whispers, “Izmennik.”Traitor.

His voice sends a chill down my spine—Russian. It couldn’t be. I can feel my face burn with the deepest shade of red as he pulls away. I feel dizzy, my head spinning as I try to process what just happened. The man’s gaze moves down, inspecting me like I’m nothing more than an object to be judged. If eyes could violate, his would.

The crowd around us is thinning, and I realize no one notices what’s happening. It’s as if the world has faded, leaving only the man and me standing in this terrible silence. I glance at his jacket as he lifts it slightly, revealing the cold, dark outline of a gun tucked in the back pocket.

“Do you know what happens to traitors, Isabella?” His voice is low, menacing. My heart sinks, turning to stone as I try to steady myself. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and tears threaten to fall.

“Do you want a taster?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, and Iquickly shake my head. I’m not just scared—I’m trapped. There’s no escape from this.

He tilts his head slightly, as if examining my every reaction, then looks back at the man behind me. With a subtle nod, they both turn to leave. The black Mercedes waits for them, its engine growling as they walk toward it. Just before getting in, he glances back at me with a knowing look.

I catch his lips moving, though I can’t be sure of the exact words. I think he said,Not a word.His gaze lingers a moment longer before he slips into the car, the vehicle roaring to life and speeding away into the night.

Nadia’s voice breaks through the haze, and I look up to see her rushing toward me. A tear escapes, sliding down my cheek as I try to swallow the weight of what just happened. I want to speak, to tell her what I’ve just endured, but the words feel like they’re stuck in my throat.

After last night I have not dared to leave my house. I pushed Nadia off with some sort of lame excuse. She was luckily too drunk to notice my poor effort. When I came home, I locked all the doors and closed every window. Terrified they would have followed me to my house. I’m currently sitting at my kitchen counter, bawling my eyes out. I haven’t been able to get one bite of food in. I have not slept one minute and now it is again almost 8 PM the following evening. And guess what, I have work. And I cannot call in sick, I’m terrified I will lose my job and become homeless too. I will be homeless and terrified, sounds bad. As I drive to the prison complex to park my car, I beg God to not get me in contact withhim.

Diable

Isolation is a purgatory of its own making. The sterile white walls of the cell close in, a stark and suffocating reminder of my separation from the world. It’s a place where the echoes of one’s own thoughts become deafening, where time stretches into an endless abyss. Here, the solitude serves as both torment and revelation.

In the oppressive silence, every minute detail of my existence becomes amplified. The slow drip of the leaky faucet, the distant clamor of footsteps, and the murmurs of distant voices—all merge into a cacophony of loneliness. It’s a world stripped of distraction, a crucible where one’s mind can either break or become remarkably clear.

One hour later, I am escorted outside to another cell to get some air.

Even the harshest regimes recognize the need for some semblance of human decency—or at least the illusion of it. For the sake of maintaining basic physical health and psychological equilibrium, the prison system allows a brief period outside the cell. It’s a grim concession meant to prevent extreme deterioration of mental health that could result from total sensory deprivation. This “exercise quarter” is strictly regulated, providing just enough time for prisoners to stretch their limbs and receive a minimal amount of fresh air.

The outside cell feels like a steel coffin. The walls close in, a barren expanse of white and cold, save for the iron bars of the tiny outdoor enclosure where I’m allowed a brief, tortured reprieve from the claustrophobic darkness of my cell. I move through my workout routine with grim determination, theclanking of my pull-ups reverberating off the confined space. My hands grip the rusted iron bars as I lift myself, each movement a blend of raw strength and seething frustration.

My concentration is shattered when the main gates groan open with a familiar, ominous creak. I glance over, my movements stuttering as I catch sight of her. There she is, emerging from the secure area, the gate slamming shut behind her. Her presence stirs something dark within me—desire and fury intertwine as I watch her, the very embodiment of forbidden allure.

Nearby, another inmate prepares to be escorted back to his cell. I wait, hand stretching through the bars, sensing that my own return to confinement is imminent. The guard arrives, cuffs clicking closed around my wrists with a practiced, indifferent efficiency. Irony laces my predicament: here I am, shackled and imprisoned, yet the mere sight of her awakens a primal, dangerous fascination.

As the cell door swings open for the other inmate, he erupts in a frenzy of violence. A self-made knife flashes as he attacks the guard, slashing mercilessly across his face. Blood sprays, mingling with the chaos that follows. The inmate bolts toward her, a maddened figure driven by desperation.

Panic explodes in every direction. Inmates scatter, guards shout, and the air thickens with terror. Yet she remains rooted in place, her bravery or foolishness a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding around her. I feel a twisted sense of clarity in this mayhem—her imminent danger is both a distraction and a dark opportunity.

Seizing the moment, I overpower the nearest guard, wrenching his gun from his belt with brutal efficiency. I chase after the crazed man, the weight of the gun a grim reminder of the deadly game at play. My shot finds its mark in his leg, but he grunts in pain and continues his mad dash. I admire his tenacity even as it fuels my resolve.

He turns, suddenly aware of the danger closing in on him, and slashes the knife across my arm. The pain ignites a feral rage within me, the world blurring as I succumb to the fury. The man’s eyes widen in terror as he realizes the depth of his mistake. He drops the knife, his pleas for help a pathetic echo in the chaos.

I laugh—a deep, menacing sound that reverberates through the turmoil. As he stumbles in an attempt to flee, I discard the gun and retrieve his knife. Without hesitation, I drive the blade into his skull, slicing through his brain with ruthless precision. His body collapses, lifeless, before her.

Isabella

---