Serpentine Desires

The prey

Umm... comments please?

*****

Thudding. I heard it in my ears. Felt it in my chest. The suffocating sensation worsened. Chills ran down my spine. I tried to look unfazed. Feigned ignorance. Glued to the door. His thigh brushed mine. Even through layers, I felt his warmth. Hated it. But in this biting Russian cold, I wished to move closer. The frost bit at my skin. His presence was a fire I couldn't ignore. My breath hitched. Heart raced. Desperation mixed with disdain. I was trapped in a cruel, silent dance. Where he was leading.

The consequences were dangerous. So dangerous, I could see my life flashing before my eyes. Was my end near? I hadn't atoned for my sins yet.

I jumped, startled when the phone rang, the sound piercing the silence of the car. I nearly clung to the window in shock. From my right, a low Russian grumble sent a shiver down my spine. Daring to glance his way, I saw him: a hulking figure with broad shoulders that seemed to dominate the space.

Casually, he lifted his phone, not even looking at the screen as he swiped his thumb across it. The dim moonlight highlighted his stern features and cold, calculating features.

"Надеюсь, у тебя для меня хорошие новости, Карло," he grumbled into the phone, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The amusement and thrill that had been plastered on his face earlier faded into a deep, foreboding gloom. I didn't know who had pissed him off, but ever since I walked out of that washroom, he seemed to be in a heated conversation with Kyle.

(It better be some good news, Carlo.)

Kyle noticed me first, obviously since the demon beside him was blind, his hunter's eyes hidden behind dark shades. I was relieved; at least it didn't feel like he was glaring at me. The tension in the room was palpable, and I could feel the oppressive weight of his anger seeping into my bones.

But that seemed to be the least of my worries right now. Whatever the other person said on the phone only made him angrier. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles twitching with barely restrained fury, and his fist curled into a tight ball, knuckles white with the pressure.

"Перехватили? Кем?" His voice was sharp, making the hair on the back of my neck erect. I could hear the barely contained rage simmering beneath the surface. He'd snap. And I was sitting next to him. What were the chances his fist would kiss my jaw first, or his knee?

(Intercepted? By whom?)

"Кто-то проговорился. Я хочу имя, и я хочу его получить до того, как доберусь туда." His words dripping with menace. The suddenly small space was not enough, and I couldn't help but shiver.

(Someone talked. I want a name, and I want it before I reach there.)

A haunting pause and I realized my right knee was shaking uncontrollably.

"Времени у тебя нет, Карло. У тебя пятнадцать минут, чтобы найти крысу, иначе ты сам станешь примером."

(Time is not something you can afford, Carlo. In fifteen minutes, you find the rat or become the example.)

"Хорошо, и Карло," His hand moved between us and I watched it with a thudding heart as he placed it on my trembling knee, "если это случится снова, на кону будет не только твоя кровь. Я позабочусь о том, чтобы твоя семья заплатила за твою некомпетентность." I swallowed hard, realising my knee had stopped bouncing. He hadn't looked at me, and he didn't need to. The shades on his weren't doing enough to make him look any less sinister.