James's POV
The Beginning of the End
I stumbled forward, my legs trembling as the man with the scar guided me deeper into the city's shadows. The cold muzzle of his gun remained pressed against my back—a silent threat that needed no words. My mind spun with dread and self-recrimination. How did it come to this?
The damp chill of the alley seemed to seep into my bones. The stench of rotting garbage and stagnant water filled my nose, but it was nothing compared to the fear gripping my chest. I forced my feet to keep moving, the uneven pavement biting at the soles of my shoes. My breaths came shallow, my thoughts in a whirlwind of regret and anxiety.
I thought back to the first time I saw Anita.
Ethan's parents had introduced her at one of their formal dinners, a night of sparkling chandeliers, champagne flutes, and polite laughter. She had glided into the room, all charm and grace, a vision in an emerald-green dress that seemed to capture every eye. But behind that perfect smile, behind the poised gestures and soft-spoken words, there was something else. A glint of calculation. The cold, measured sweep of her eyes across the room, as though she was cataloging everyone, determining their worth and weaknesses.
I'd felt it then—a prickle at the base of my neck, a whispered warning that this woman was dangerous. The way she latched onto Ethan, the intensity of her attention, felt more like a spider spinning silk than a woman falling in love. I remembered gripping Ethan's arm later that evening, trying to mask my concern with a light joke. "She's not the one for you, buddy." He laughed, brushing it off as my usual. But deep down, I knew the truth. She wasn't just trouble—she was a storm waiting to destroy everything in her path.
That was when I decided to keep certain secrets from Ethan. To protect him from whatever dark path Anita was leading him toward. Now, that decision had landed me here, in an alleyway that reeked of decay and despair.
The man with the scar pushed me through a heavy metal door. The hinges screamed in protest, and a damp, putrid smell enveloped me. The dim light inside revealed a room that was more a dungeon than anything else. Concrete walls stained with old, dark splotches loomed around me. My stomach twisted. Blood.
"Sit," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous.
I obeyed, my legs finally giving out as I collapsed onto a rusted metal chair. My wrists were swiftly bound to the arms of the chair with coarse rope, the fibers biting into my skin. I winced, feeling the sting, but clenched my jaw to suppress the rising panic. Stay calm, I told myself. You can't afford to lose it now.
The scarred man stepped back, his eyes scanning me with a predator's patience. He took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it with a flick of his lighter, and blew a slow, smoky breath into the air.
"You really don't know when to stop, do you, James?" His tone was mocking, almost amused.
I narrowed my eyes, my lip curling. "Who the hell are you?"
He chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of warmth. "I work for someone who doesn't appreciate interference."
I didn't need to guess who. "Anita," I muttered, her name like acid on my tongue.
His smile widened, cruel and smug. "You're not as stupid as you look." He leaned in close, his breath hot and acrid against my face. "She knows what you've been doing.Protecting her. Keeping secrets from your best friend. You thought you were so clever, didn't you?"
A cold dread sank into my stomach. My worst fears were crystallizing before me. Anita knew everything. Her web of deceit and control had spread further than I realized. She had eyes and ears everywhere, watching my every move, waiting for me to slip up. And now, here I was—trapped, exposed, vulnerable. I had walked straight into her snare.
"Where's Emily?" he sneered, his eyes narrowing. "Tell me now, and maybe I'll make this quick."
I let out a bitter laugh, the sound rough and painful. Blood tinged my lips, metallic and warm. "Go to hell."
His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with fury. The facade of control cracked, revealing the violent rage simmering beneath. "Wrong answer."
His fist shot out, a blur of motion. Pain exploded in my jaw, a white-hot burst that sent stars dancing behind my eyes. My head snapped to the side, and a warm trickle of blood oozed from my split lip. The taste of copper filled my mouth, but I spat it out onto the floor, refusing to let it choke me. My vision blurred, and nausea swam in my gut, but I clenched my teeth and forced myself to stay upright.
I wouldn't break. Not for him. Not for Anita.
Images of Ethan and Emily flashes. They were depending on me. If I gave up now, everything I'd sacrificed would be for nothing.
The man straightened up, flexing his knuckles, his eyes cold and impassive once more. "You think you're tough?" he muttered. "You're going to beg for it before the end."
He stepped back, rolling up his sleeves. The harsh light reflected off a gleaming set of tools on a nearby table. Pliers, a hammer, a knife. The sight twisted my stomach into knots.
But as the fear clawed at me, I held onto one thought. I have to protect them at any cost.