Dangerous beginnings / MADE MEN BOOK 1

Brutum Fulmen - senseless threat

Isabella

The cold night air slaps my face as I sprint away from the ominous black door. My legs carry me as fast as they can, fueled by fear and confusion. The ground beneath me is uneven, but I can't afford to stumble. I dare not look back, convinced that at any moment, he might change his mind.

The city streets stretch out before me, desolate and quiet. I don't know where I am or how far I've run, but I don't stop until my lungs burn and my legs ache. Eventually, I find a dimly lit alley and slump against the cold brick wall, gasping for breath. The reality of what just transpired crashes over me like a relentless wave.

His words echo in my mind. Run. Do not let me find you, ever.

I shiver, not just from the chill in the air but from the lingering fear that clings to me like a second skin. The streets are empty, and I can't see any sign of pursuit, but paranoia courses through my veins.

Tears still stain my cheeks.

I slowly pull on the straps of the black bag. I take a look inside after zipping it open. There lays my phone, but of course the battery is dead. Next to the phone and my other cards is another smaller black bag. I slowly open the velvet soft bag, money. My eyes widen, so much money. I don't have time to count it, but it is a lot.

Did he pay me in order to stay silent?

I glance around, searching for any indication of where I might be.

With cautious steps, I make my way through the unfamiliar streets, feeling like a mouse navigating a labyrinth. Every shadow seems to conceal a threat, every sound amplifies my anxiety.

As I continue to walk, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched. Paranoia plays tricks on my mind, turning innocent sounds into ominous footsteps, ordinary shadows into lurking figures. I quicken my pace, my heart pounding in my ears.

I stumble upon a small, run-down motel. It's not the Ritz, but at this moment, it's a haven. I approach the reception, hoping they have a phone I can use. The old man behind the counter eyes me warily, and I can't blame him—I must look like a fucking mess.

"Can I help you, miss?" he asks in a hoarse voice.

"I... I need to use your phone, please. It's an emergency," I manage to say between deep breaths.

He eyes me for a moment, then gestures to an ancient rotary phone on the counter. "Two quarters," he grumbles.

Rude fuck.

I fumble in the pocket of the black jacket for some change and drop the coins into his outstretched hand. My hands shake as I dial a number—any number. But who am I going to call? And what the hell am I going to tell them? Fuck, I curse under my breath.

Just one thing is certain—I can't go back to the life I once knew. The world has become a darker, more treacherous place, and with his haunting green eyes he has left an indelible mark on my existence.

Diable

The sound of the phone being slammed down echoes through the small, dimly lit room. I stand there, staring at the rotary phone as if it holds answers to questions I dare not ask.

The air in the room is thick with the remnants of her fear, the residue of a game that took an unexpected turn.

It was not supposed to be like this. She was not supposed to know I exist, let alone escape the clutches I carefully placed around her. My fingers trace the surface of the antique wooden desk, feeling the rough edges, contemplating the unforeseen twist of fate.