Twisted shadows

Chapter 1 - Dark Allure

Chapter 1: Dark Allure

AMARA

I stared at my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, brushing away the faint streak of a tear before it could fall. My arm still throbbed where Dad's fingers had dug into my skin earlier. The words he spat at me—worthless, stupid, ungrateful—clung to my mind like tar. It wasn't anything new, but it still stung.

Books were my only escape, my sanctuary. Between the pages, I could imagine a life where danger was thrilling, not cruel. A life where bad men were more than monsters—they were the kind who stole hearts, not crushed them. Deep down, I knew it was ridiculous to crave something so twisted, but I couldn't help it. The fear. The adrenaline. The thrill of it.

That's why I said yes tonight.

When my friends begged me to come to the party, I tried every excuse, but they wouldn't take no for an answer. "It'll be fun, Amara," they said. "You need this." Fun wasn't my thing, but they wore me down.

Now here I was, standing outside a club, already regretting it.

The neon lights flickered against the darkened street as we stepped inside. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, and the music pounded against my chest, rattling my ribs. It wasn't just loud—it consumed me, leaving me disoriented.

"Relax!" my friend shouted over the music, tugging me toward the bar. "Just have a drink or something!"

"I don't drink!" I yelled back, but she had already disappeared into the crowd.

I stood awkwardly at the bar, clutching my purse like it was a lifeline. The bartender gave me a look when I asked for water, but he didn't argue. As I waited, I scanned the room, hoping to spot my friends.

That's when I felt it.

A shiver crawled down my spine, cold and electric. The air seemed to shift, thickening, as if the shadows had come alive. My heart sped up, my fingers tightening around the glass in my hand.

I didn't mean to look, but something pulled my gaze to the far corner of the club.

There he was.

He stood with his back to me, but even from here, I could feel the weight of him. His broad shoulders stretched his black button-up shirt to its limit, the fabric clinging to the muscles underneath. His stance was casual, yet controlled, like he owned the space around him without even trying.

I noticed the silver hoop in his left ear, catching the light as he moved. Something about it, about *him*, made it impossible to look away.

My pulse hammered in my ears. Who was he?

As if he could sense my stare, his head tilted slightly. My breath caught. He was going to turn.

"Here you go, miss," the bartender said, sliding the glass in front of me.

The sound jolted me out of my trance. I glanced down at the water, gripping the glass like it might ground me. When I finally looked back up, he was gone.

The strange energy that had filled the room seemed to vanish with him, but my chest was tight, my heart racing. I finished the water in one gulp and shoved my way toward the dance floor, trying to shake off the lingering unease.

I spotted my friend grinding against some guy I didn't recognize. Of course.

Rolling my eyes, I muttered, "I need air," and pushed through the crowd, heading for the restroom.

The bathroom was a welcome escape. I leaned over the sink, my hands gripping the edge as I stared at myself in the mirror. My lipstick had smudged, and I quickly reapplied it, my hands still trembling.

"Get it together, Amara. He was just some guy."

But I didn't believe it. That dark, suffocating energy still clung to me like a shadow.

I stepped back into the hallway, and my stomach twisted.

There he was.

The same broad shoulders, the same shirt. But now, instead of holding a drink, he held a gun.

My breath hitched as I froze in place. The barrel of the gun pressed against another man's forehead, and the tension between them was palpable. I couldn't move, couldn't speak.

He turned his head slightly, as though sensing my presence, and the moment his eyes locked with mine, the world seemed to stop.

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To be continued...