Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

While I Breathe, I Hope

Chapter 8

While I Breathe, I Hope

Isabella

My assumptions about his tattoos were right, he is indeed connected to Russia.

One of his men just walked inside and they exchanged words, his dismissive look towards me said enough. I don’t speak any Russian, and God I wish I had taken more than two weeks of my Russian classes right now. He is moving behind me, circling me like a predator. Suddenly he appears in front of me, kneeling to reach my eye level.

“Da, are you going to be good or not?” He takes out a needle from his pocket with a clear unknown syringe. I’m quick to move away. I crawl to the door, fear taking over me. I can’t think clearly. He is going to drug me.

I start screaming like a mad woman, and with that, I dig my own grave. The only sound escaping my lips are screams of terror as he moves towards me. His eyes fill with nothing but a dark void as he moves closer to me.

“I take that as a no,” he states simply. He does not look fazed by any of my terror screams. As he reaches down for me, I plead to him like he is a priest at my local church.

“No, no, no, please. No, stop!” I try to pull away from him, but there is absolutely no use. Before I know it, he injects the syringe into my neck. I feel like I have limited time and try to stand up, but the drugs already kick in straight away, and right before I fall, he catches me. He lays me down on the ground.

My limbs start to feel numb, but I don’t lose consciousness. I try to produce any sound, but they come out as tiny sobs. I feel paralyzed and extremely tired. I can only look and hear, from the corner of my sight, I see he starts gathering his stuff. A couple of lone tears fall from my eyes. My vision becomes blurry, but my nose is very much still active, the smell of alcohol filling my nostrils. Alarm bells go off in the building, fire . He is going to burn the place down.

Diable

I gather my things, ensuring no trace of me is left behind. The acrid smell of gasoline permeates the air, a prelude to the inferno that will consume this place—and her with it. The fire will destroy everything: the files, the evidence, and her.

The drugs I slipped into her system are already doing their job, slowing her, trapping her. There’s no escape for her now, and I’m doing her a mercy by making it swift. Painless.

I slip on my mask, the last barrier between me and the world, and grab my bag. As I turn toward the door, ready to leave her to her fate, a soft sound stops me in my tracks.

It’s barely heard, but it rings through me. It’s not a plea, no begging. ‘I-I-I’m sorry.’ She is apologizing, apologizing for that one time she did not listen, leading towards guards beating me up. Right now, she is fucking apologizing?

I turn around, breaking rule number one; never turn back around after making a decision. My eyes meet hers, but they are losing focus. I don’t look away. She doesn’t beg me; she doesn’t do anything. She buries her face in her hands, curled up into a ball on the floor. It starts smelling like gasoline and it won’t be long before this place is on fire. I watch her, waiting for the familiar desperation to claw its way out, for the begging, the pleas. But none of it comes. Instead, her voice cracks, barely audible, but the words hit me like a hammer. “I didn’t…” She struggles to force the words out, each one coming with an effort like it hurts her to speak. “I didn’t mean to…”

Another pause, long and agonizing, as if her mind is trying to cling to whatever clarity is left. “I was…just...” Her breath catches, a choked sob, “…scared.”

My eye twitches at the emotions inside of me. Her last question comes out in a mere whisper; “am I going to die?”

I try to shake it off, to remind myself of the task at hand. But something about her plea digs in deeper, like a splinter beneath the skin. It’s not pity or guilt—it’s something far more dangerous. A crack in the ice, a shift in the dark. I stand there, caught in the gravity of a choice I thought I’d already made, as her words echo in the stillness, daring me to reconsider.

The fire will eat her alive if I leave. And yet, my feet are frozen. I usually enjoy the sound of desperate begging, but she gives me none.

‘So far, you haven’t shown you can follow orders very well, have you?’

She tries to lift her head, but it barely moves, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to stay conscious. Her lips part, but the words come out in broken fragments, not audible anymore.

It’s a split-second decision; before rationalism comes, my body moves for me.

The cold wraps around me like a blanket when I take my jacket off. I roam around in my bag as I throw it on the floor, grabbing a pair of handcuffs in one hand and in the other my jacket. The exact pair of cuffs I have been wearing for multiple days in a row. I wanted to bring them and destroy them; they’re specially made for people like me . Extra security, extra strong, and all that other bullshit. I feel her pulse and it is low, extremely low. She is in a state of hypothermia. Knowing confusion is a sign of hypothermia, I start talking to her; “Pogovori so mnoy, Isabella. Kakogo tsveta moi glaza?’ Talk to me Isabella, what color are my eyes?

She shivers against me, “English please.” A sign of relief fills my breathing, she is coherent.

I pull her up in a sitting position with her back towards me. If I look at her any longer, I might feel an inch of guilt for her too.

My heart isn’t into taunting her. I tell myself not to look at her much longer than needed. I reach over for her hands and pull them through the cuffs, easily. No struggle at all. She wouldn’t be able to struggle, but she doesn’t even try. I secure them around her wrist and throw my jacket over her, zipping it close at the front. I make sure to be quick before the flames reach this part of the building. I grab my bag and throw it over my shoulder. I turn around and face her. She is staring at me. Something in her eyes I thought I would never see when someone looked at me.

Hope .

Poor girl, what have you done?