Dangerous Beginnings (The Beginnings Duet #1)

A Journey

Chapter 34

A Journey

Aslanov

The clock ticks towards 1 p.m. Two of my men who have also been in New York arrive. Their names are not important, blood bound by loyalty. It’s now 1 p.m., exactly. I pull the hood over my face, making me blend into the people. My men walking behind me towards their car, will be accompanying me back home. My black slim jacket covers my broad shoulders as I check my gun in the back of my belt.

My car awaits, a sleek black figure amid the bustling city. The weight of my responsibilities pulls me toward the vehicle, each step echoing the echoes of decisions made and paths chosen.

Just as I reach for the car door handle, a voice, soft and hesitant, pierces through the ambient noise.

“Aslanov.”

My name hangs in the air, and I still. Nobody not from business knows my name, nor would dare run it across their lips in the middle of the street.

It’s her voice, a timbre that cuts through the noise of the city, an unexpected melody amid chaos. Slowly, I turn to find Isabella standing there, uncertainty etched across her face. Her presence, unexpected and profound, lingers in the air like a promise unspoken. In that moment, the bustling streets, the looming shadows, and the weight of my world fade into the background.

She chose to come.

The air thickens with unspoken words as she approaches, her gaze locking onto mine. Time seems to stretch, elongating the moment where our worlds collide. The crowded streets of New York fade away, leaving only the two of us in a suspended reality. Isabella’s steps are deliberate, each one echoing the weight of her decision. I watch as she closes the distance, her eyes holding a mixture of resolve and vulnerability.

As Isabella approaches, her determination evident in every step, a smirk tugs at the corner of my lips. She thinks she’s making a choice, but in reality, she’s merely playing into my hands. And now that she’s here, there’s no turning back.

The city becomes a mere backdrop to the pivotal exchange transpiring between us. As Isabella reaches me, the space between us crackles with unspoken tension. Immediately I sense something is wrong. Her voice, a whisper in the urban symphony, breaks the silence.

“They know about us.” A wave of complex emotions washes over me—a blend of responsibility, protectiveness, and, against all odds, a flicker of something deeper. Leaning in, I lock eyes with her, a seriousness underlying my words.

“About what Isabella?” I asked, demanding more information. The weight of my question lingers in the air. She bites her lip. Her freckles are very visible in this light, and so are her bruises and cuts.

“My boss—he, he came to my apartment.” She looks panicked. She starts looking around like someone is watching us.

And not long after that, I notice the hidden people in the crowd. My reflexes kick in, knowing I can be arrested on this ground only if they have evidence against me, and they don’t, not yet. I’m afraid I’ll have to kill the witnesses. We need to get to Russia; I control most authorities there.

I snap my fingers in her panicked face, “Isabella, eyes on me sweetheart .” She stills while staring straight at me. Realization sets in that she is betraying the law here, and I think she is realizing that too. They are watching her, they probably threatened her. Meaning her fear of me is greater. A smirk plays on my lips, my obedient girl. I’m going to return her favor. Even though she won’t enjoy this right now. After this she is mine .

“Are they watching us?”

She nods ever so slightly, her face is faced away from them. They have a vision of me. I don’t need her to tell me what they demand from her, one could simply guess. She’s chosen to step into my world, to embrace the darkness that surrounds me. Because of that, there’s a part of me that can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards her. Despite the darkness that surrounds me, there’s a part of me that wants to keep her safe, to shield her from harm. To consume her in light instead of dark. She has proven herself worthy of the honor, my solnyshko has made a good decision.

The moment hangs heavy with tension as I take decisive action. With a subtle nod to my associate, he moves swiftly to execute my command. He walks towards the building behind us. Two cops hid behind a big white truck parked in front of it. With the silencer on the gun, he effectively executes the two men. Isabella’s face watches in horror.

I swiftly walk over to the building. Blending into the busy crowd around us as she tries to keep up with my pace. I make my way inside, turn the corner, and walk upstairs. My associate signals me where he is seated. I turn one more time to the left near a big window meeting with her boss, Trevor. The biggest scumbag I have ever seen. I would like to feed his balls to the pigs. Isabella stands behind me, frozen, at a safe distance. He’s not very good at being undercover.

I close the distance between us, rather he backs away. “Who the fuck are you?!” he yells at me as he realizes he is backing up against the wall. “Do you work with the Russians?!” A smirk plays on my lips, I thought he had it all figured out, guess not.

I thought that was why he threatened Isabella, yet he doesn’t know I’m the head of the organization itself. My associates move into the spaces near us, eliminating everyone who has seen me or who works for the police.

“Do you enjoy inflicting threats on your workers?” My Russian accent fills the room and Trevor glances behind me, at her. He wants to sneer and yell at her but before he gets the chance to even approach her, I close the distance between them with me in the middle. One of my associates nods at me from the doorway, he has successfully managed to accomplish his job. I point at the frightened girl behind me. I will spare her this sight.

He grabs onto her upper arm and escorts her out of the room while she sets up a small fight and tries to turn her head back multiple times. After ensuring she is in the car by looking out the window I turn my attention back to him.

My plane leaves soon and even though I would love to switch some words with him, he is a useless idiot. Keeping him hostage will not bring me anything but a headache, so I’m not left with many other options. He is reaching for his gun as I knock him down with one swift swing of my fist. I kicked his gun to the other corner of the room. “You motherfucker!”

I lift my boot and kick him in his face, and when his nose starts bleeding I do it again until his eyesight becomes red with blood. “You were so close Trevor, but now…” I bend down to his level, “…you have seen my face. And therefore, you must die.” I state calmly. His eyes change from anger to panic and something more as he realizes who I am. Even before his protest can begin, I get the gun from my waistband and shoot him straight through the head. His body falls limp to the floor. A little droplet of blood stains my white blouse. I wipe it off, causing it to leave a stain. How unfortunate.

I make my way out of the now-empty building and get to the car where she sits with eyes filled with horror. I open the door and pull her out, walking her over to my car. As I position Isabella into my car, my demeanor remains cold and detached, a mask of indifference hiding the turmoil within. Her confusion and panic are like fuel to the fire, igniting a feeling of regret. Ignoring her protests, I roughly slam the door shut. “Stop fighting,” I command as I enter the driver’s seat, my voice devoid of emotion as I force her inside. Despite her panicked pleas, I show no sign of remorse, no hint of empathy for the fear that grips her. Instead, I maintain my facade of indifference, my actions calculated to maintain control over the situation. Despite my display of cold indifference, a part of me softens at the sight of her distress.

For now, all I can do is continue with my plan, knowing that in the end, she’ll come to understand the necessity of my actions, or not. We need to get going and she needs to rest. She especially needs to get out of this distressed state.

Isabella

The black car glides through the streets. The atmosphere changes and panic settles in. The other car follows us. Everything feels off. Panicked breaths fill my throat. What have I done? What the fuck is wrong with me? The tension inside the car becomes a thick fog of anticipation and uncertainty. I see the stains on his blouse. The hum of the engine becomes a background melody as the car maneuvers through the streets, weaving through the wooden tapestry.

He glances at me, his gaze piercing and commanding, before focusing back on the road ahead. The city lights streak past, a blur of motion and possibility. The man next to me casually killed a man, not seeming to be bothered by it in the slightest. Weight presses down on me. What if he has other plans to do with me? What if I made a stupid mistake? What if he has deceived me and now can do whatever he wants to me? I’m drowning in thoughts.

I don’t dare to speak. Five minutes pass as I realize we are on our way to the airport. I can’t ever come back here. Somehow the word will spread. I betrayed the department; I’ll end up in jail. Trevor was an asshole, but I didn’t wish him fucking dead. But fear led me here. I’m more scared of him. I don’t know what he has in store for me. What if he just manipulated me into this?

“What happens now?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper, the weight of my decision heavy on my shoulders.

“Now,” he replies, his voice low and authoritative, “you obey and stay calm, we’ll talk on the plane.” His words hang in the air, leaving no room for negotiation. I swallow hard, the reality of my choice sinking in. I’m going to be finding myself in a world where he rules all.

As we approach the airport, the landscape transforms. The wooden landscape gives way to the expansive runways and towering terminals. The air becomes charged with the energy of departure, a gateway to unknown destinations.

The car comes to a halt in front of a private jet, a sleek silver behemoth gleaming under the airport lights. My eyes widen in shock, a mixture of awe and disbelief painted across my features. It’s a revelation, a testament to the wealth and power hidden beneath the surface of his enigmatic existence. He is very wealthy.

He moves towards my side and before I can push the car door open myself, he has opened it for me. He pulls me out by my upper arm while other people grab our bags. Everything and everyone move fast. The airport staff, aware of his presence, act with a seamless efficiency.

As he steps onto the tarmac, my eyes scan the private jet with a mixture of disbelief and horror that still fills me. He sets me down on a leather seat once we are inside. The opulence of the aircraft stands in stark contrast to the simplicity of my previous life. The realization that I’m now a part of this world, whether willingly or not, lingers in the air.

The interior is a marvel of sophistication and luxury. Plush leather seats, polished surfaces, and ambient lighting create an atmosphere that transcends the mundane. My eyes widen, absorbing the extravagance surrounding me.

As the jet engines hum to life, signaling our departure, I settle into my seat, still grappling with the surreal turn my life has taken. He takes a seat opposite of me. But not before he closes in on me and fastens the belt around my chest. This is the second time I’ve ever flown. I don’t fly often; we were not rich enough to afford it. The crew on board is Russian, of course. I am going to be having a hard time understanding a lot of things I’m afraid of. I stare out of the window as the plane takes off, I’m fucked.

“Relax,” his voice cuts through my thoughts as I repeatedly move my leg. The plane gets into higher air safely and we’re off. I take a good look around me, but my eyes always land on his.

“Relax?!” I nearly yell as all the staff on board disappear behind a door. I stare at the bloodstain. “Did you kill him?” It’s obvious, yet I want to hear it from his mouth.

A sudden tide of panic hits me—a panic coming from the decision I’ve made. “What do you even plan on doing with me?” Nothing but a stupid grin appears on his face. I have been fucking loyal to him and this is what I get back? I’m so fucking stupid. I should have never even trusted him for a second. I should have never chosen his side, to defend him. He stares at me before standing up towards a small bar. He pours himself some disgusting old man liquid with his back to me, ignoring me. Frustration fills me and with his back to me, I notice something. He’s left his gun unattended on the small silver table next to a bag. I get my foot up and push the sides open to see what’s inside—ammo and handcuffs. I don’t know for what, but I assume for me.

Without thinking, my panic settles in and with his back to me, I reach for the heavy black gun. I point it at him, another stupid decision. I whimper at the sudden pain in my chest, but I ignore it.

He raises his eyebrow, but a hint of surprise fills his gaze. He slowly takes a sip of the glass in his left hand. “Do you even know how to use a gun?” I click the safety off and point it at him again. The aircraft seems eerie silent. He hums at my actions.

“Answer my fucking question.” My tone comes out steadier than I expected.

“Feisty little woman, are you?” He takes a slow step towards me, his height dominating over mine. My hands shake as my grip on the gun tightens. The barrel shakes slightly, but I hold my ground. He hums again, amused by the fear radiating from me.

Another step closer, he takes a sip, bringing the glass slowly to his lips. I can’t stop the whimper escaping my throat as the barrel of the gun touches his chest. He doesn’t flinch, instead he lowers his gaze to the weapon. “Go on,” he murmurs, his voice calm. “Be sure to hit a vital organ, sweetheart .”

With slow, deliberate movement, he takes the barrel of the gun and moves its position directly towards his heart. “Go ahead. But we both know the truth, don’t we? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here, with me.” He inches even closer, the barrel pressing harder against his chest. “I am the only one who truly sees you,” his tone smooth, “I have shown you mercy, several times. I could have crushed you, but I didn’t.”

His voice lowers and so does his mouth, coming close to my ear, “You should be thanking me, shouldn’t you? For the mercy I have shown you, the affection I have given you—twisted or not.”

I can’t speak, my mouth is dry like the Sahara. He has shown me mercy—in his own twisted ways.

My lip trembles and everything hurts, but I don’t back down. I’m fighting too many emotions.

His eyes remain on mine as he makes his way over to his seat again. He rests his arm on the armrest while the other brings the glass to his lips. “But to answer your question, yes—I killed him.” I stare at him, still pointing the gun, but my grip is less tight. I swallow stomach acid down.

“What the fuck do you plan on doing with me?” I’m hesitant, not knowing whether I want to know the answer. A stupid smirk plays on his lips as he settles the empty glass down on the silver table. I don’t trust any move he is making and even though I am the one holding the gun I don’t feel in control. But I am because the gun is loaded, and I can shoot him.

Can I?

I kick the bag towards him. “Put the cuffs on.” A chuckle escapes his lips while eyeing the bag, and he leans forward to it.

“As you wish.” He reaches over to the bag and takes out the pair of handcuffs. He doesn’t look fazed by the situation in the slightest. He sits back and locks the cuffs around his wrists, throwing the key at me. I catch the key. He leans back in his chair and folds his hands together in his lap while staring at me. A new feeling makes its way up in my bloodline, power . “This is an interrogation, no ?” He hums at his question. I don’t think I have ever held this long of eye contact with him.

As we continue to stare each other down, a sudden knock at the door breaks the tense silence, causing me to jump slightly in my seat. The man stares at us, at me pointing a gun. He reaches behind him for what I assume would be a gun, my point goes from Aslanov to him. Before hell breaks loose Aslanov’s commanding voice fills the air, his tone brooking no argument.

“Ostavlyai,” leave, he orders, his voice cold and authoritative. And with that, the cabin crew member hastily retreats, leaving us alone. His eyes never leave mine. Just like that. I stare at the now-closed door again. No, I am not in control at all.

“Which questions are you so eager to know you have to put on this puppet show?” The calm and control slowly fade from his face, replaced by irritation. He is going to kill me after this. I might as well make the best out of this.

“Why are you treating me differently?”

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’s over 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 his mercy, 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 feel small and powerless.

He steps back, his presence retreating slightly, but the weight of his words lingers, hanging in the air like a dark cloud. The threat is clear, unspoken but understood. The next time I defy him, the consequences will be severe, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to withstand them.

I’m caught in a web of fear and fascination, trapped by the darkness he’s woven around me. There’s no escape, no way out but through, and as much as I hate to admit it, a part of me is drawn to him, to the power he holds over me. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing, and I’m not sure I’ll survive it with my soul intact.

I don’t think I have ever blushed more in my life than I do now. And something in me wants to see that beast inside of him, something in me wants to provoke him. Because every time I provoke him and he closes in on me, I feel something in my stomach—perhaps my womanhood too. Honestly, this whole situation is fucked.

His words make my stomach flutter and form an arousal within me. It shouldn’t. But I know better and so should I behave. I don’t know what will happen once we land or where we will go. I can’t answer anything. My mouth doesn’t comply. I’m scared of what’s going to come out of my mouth when I do answer. My mind races back to Ada’s words, ‘ He possesses a rare form of charisma, he’s manipulative. ’

He sure has, especially with me. I’m an easy prey for him. “Use your manners. When somebody speaks to you, you look at them.” I swallow my stomach acid down as my eyes slowly linger up to him. He is going to be the death of me.

“If you’ll do as I say, you’ll be rewarded.” Heat forms in the pits of my stomach. Rewarded . He knows I have a praise kink. He’s manipulating me.

“Maybe I’ll reduce your punishment.” He stares me up and down. “Maybe not, either way, you better start behaving.”

“Yes,” my voice comes out barely audible. I want to look anywhere other than his eyes, but his command pulls me in and I’m afraid if I look away I will already be punished for it. He puts on his ink-black coat, and while he does so I get a small glimpse of his back and the gun tucked into his belt.

“You’re not talking, only when spoken to. Most of you won’t understand anyway.” He gets up and walks to the front, talking to the cabin crew. My hands start to get a little sweaty as we are coming closer to arrival with every minute.

“Understood?” he suddenly comments from behind me. He puts on a black jacket with a soft inside over my shoulders. I bet it’s expensive. He zips it up, and after zipping it up all the way his middle finger reaches under my chin. Giving it a gentle stroke, “Yes, I understand.” He’s playing with me and it’s drawing me in. He gathers my boots and starts putting them on, tying the laces together. My heart beats in my chest for what I am about to land on.

I sit there, trying to stay still, trying to behave as he ordered. I have already misbehaved enough; I yearn for his praise rather than punishment. The thought of his praise feels like a distant, unreachable goal. The plane begins its final descent, my heart still pounding. I have never been to Russia before. He moves with a measured calm, his gaze scanning over me with a critical eye. His attention settles on the bruises scattered across my face, then to the cut on my eyebrow. Then his eyes shift downward, first at my chest then taking in the sight of the tight binding of my wrists.

Without a word, he reaches into the bag on the table, pulling out a fresh tube of gel. He crouches down in front of me, his presence oddly comforting. The cool gel glistens as he applies it to my bruises, his touch light and careful. After several minutes, he stops, his gaze lingering on me. I manage to crack a small smile.

With a sigh, his fingers reach for the silk rope, untying my wrists. The rope falls away slowly, and an intimate relief fills me. Once he finishes, he straightens up, his gaze on mine. I rub my wrists slowly while keeping my gaze on him.

“Behave yourself,” he murmurs, “I don’t want to have to keep you caged.”