Entangled with the wrong man

Sweat forms on my forehead as I stare at the picture in my hand. Isaac rides a woman reverse cowgirl. I can't believe it. My own Isaac? My own fiancé? Tears blind my eyes instantly. I can't see the woman's face; whoever took the picture focused only on Isaac.

Tears threaten to spill. It's not real. Maybe it's just a photoshopped image, I tell myself. Whoever sent this just wants to destroy our happy relationship.

Is our relationship really happy? I wonder.

No, it isn't something I can describe as happiness. But it's normal. We're both very busy adults.

"What's it, Cilla?" Kaila's voice cuts through my thoughts. "What's that?" She leans forward, stretching her neck to see. "Is it a love letter?" Her brows lift playfully.

"No," I say curtly, squeezing the picture. My eyes dart around, searching for the men in white who brought the cake to the stage. They clearly aren't Isaac's. Isaac wouldn't sabotage our relationship. So who could it be?

"Cilla? You don't look right," Avery says, concerned. "Did-"

Gunshots explode in the air, cutting her off. Everyone scatters. Avery jumps down from the stage. I can't see where Kaila runs as I duck under the table holding the cake.

My hands tremble as I grab my phone from my bag and dial Isaac. It rings and rings. He doesn't answer.

Gunfire continues. I peek from under the table and see two groups of armed men shooting. Like this is some kind of battlefield?

One man almost catches me. I duck my head and pray they don't see me.

This is it. This is what happens when you defy the law in my family. My parents warned all of us-my siblings and me-never to go to clubs. One of the many strict rules they set for the Hayes girls.

I can already picture my mother's face if she saw the mess I'm in.

Bullets fly everywhere. I'm about to pee on myself. But I try calling Isaac again. This time, he picks up on the second ring.

"Isaac, please come get me out of here," I whisper, voice hushed and careful. I can't risk being caught by these killers.

They might think I'm calling the cops. God, I'm too young to die. I haven't even done half the things on my bucket list.

"Where are you, Druscilla?" he asks.

"What's all that noise?"

"I'm in a club," I whisper.

"What the hell are you doing in a club?" His tone is sharp, judgmental.

"Please come pick me up. This is not the time for judgment-" The phone nearly slips from my hand as a strong grip seizes me by the waist.

I shut my eyes tight. God, is this how I die? My mother will spit on my corpse if the police find me. And I probably won't even see heaven-that's what the pastor always says to rebellious youths.

My feet leave the ground as a body, solid as steel, lifts me into his arms. My heart somersaults when I see him.

Two eyes that don't match-one icy blue, one burning amber. His face is smooth as jade, jawline sharp and perfect.

Jet-black hair frames his face, yet a scar on his brow gives him a dangerously wild edge.

Is the devil this handsome?

I remember our Sunday school teacher saying the devil isn't always ugly. I never believed her-until now.

"Stay down," he commands, low and steady.

I obey instantly. He leads me to a door behind the stage, using his body as a shield from the bullets.

Finally, we are outside the club. I see Isaac opening a car door. When did he get here? I want to run to him, but Avery jumps into the backseat. Isaac climbs in immediately, and the car speeds away.

What the...? He didn't even check on me?

I want to chase his car, scream my lungs out, but Handsome Devil tugs me into his car. Well, he only tugs-but I'm distracted and land on my butt.

"Sit tight," he says, speeding into the night.

My heart races as he drives the opposite way from my destination.

Am I being kidnapped? Why is he taking me?

"Please let me go," I cry, tears streaming.

"What?" He raises a brow, glancing at me through the mirror.

"Please... I'll give you anything. Anything you want," I plead. "I don't want to die. I'm just an innocent girl."

"I don't get you," he mutters, confused.

"I don't know who offended you and your men... maybe it's my family or-" My voice falters. "I just don't want to die."

The car stops on a dark road.

He turns to me. I cringe.

"First, those men weren't my men."

Oh! My heart stilled. He belongs to another gang

"Second, I'm not kidnapping you."

"What?" My mouth drops.

"I saw you hiding under the table. It was too dangerous. You could've been hit by a stray bullet. So I came to rescue you."

Huh? My eyes nearly pop out. He saved me?

I slap my forehead. I've been crying like a fool when he hasn't even hurt me.

Through the tinted window, the street is dark and quiet. No cars, just dim streetlights.

"So, where are we going?" I ask, mouth dry.

"My hotel room," he says casually.

"What?" I gasp. "I can't follow you to your hotel!"

"Then step out and find your way back," he says calmly, as if we weren't on a lonely highway in the middle of the night.

"No. I'll follow you." What am I saying? Follow a man who looks this dangerous? What if he kills me? What if he's a serial killer lying about saving me?

He starts the engine and continue driving.

I glance at a bottle of rum. Perfect.

The only thing that might dull my fear. If I'm drunk when he shoots or stabs me, at least I won't feel the pain.

I reach for it.

"What are you doing?" He smirks, eyes on me and the road.

"I want to drink," I grunt.

He chuckles. "I wouldn't, if I were you. The alcohol content is too high for your tiny frame."

"Better." I gulp. The liquid burns, and I cough violently, shivering.

Handsome Devil frowns and snatches the bottle.

My eyelids feel heavy. "That's right." I smile, tipsy. "It's working."

"You're unbelievable," he mutters.

The car stops atop a hill.

He climbs out and opens the door.

I stumble out, legs wobbling like a newborn lamb.

"Let's go in," he says.

I try to follow, legs shaky.

"What's wrong with your legs?" He looks amused.

"They're... not cooperating," I stammer.

"You're drunk," he grumbles.

"I'm not drunk. My feet are just being disobedient."

He smirks. "That's what drunk people say."

"Let me help you, beautiful." He scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the receptionist.

A key card exchanges hands, and we enter a cozy suite.

"Put me down," I groan.

He sets me gently, standing still, eyes devouring me.

He cups my face, fingers brushing my hair. I shut my eyes, expecting a snap, but he tucks stray strands behind my ear. Warm hands on my neck.

"Beautiful hair," he says.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He steps back, sits on the bed. I stay by the door, curious.

"Why are you staring at me?" His arrogant smile appears.

"Why did you save me?" I ask.

"Because you're beautiful," he says.

I frown. "So if I weren't, you wouldn't?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

A psycho?

"Stop standing there," he says. "Come sit down."

I stay silent. Throat burning, stomach tight.

"I don't bite." He rises, unbuttons his black shirt, tossing it aside.

Tattoos crawl across his skin-dragons, serpents, burning skulls. My eyes widen.

Who is this man? Mafia? Criminal? Mobster?

Run! My instincts scream.

But I can't. I'm rooted, captivated.

"Wanna touch?" he asks.

"Yes-No!" I stammer.

"Why the contradiction, sweetheart?" He smirks, a dimple flashing.

I avert my gaze.

My eyes catch something black, shiny, with a nozzle. I freeze.

Those damn pictures and gifts haunted me the whole drive to work, like ghosts I couldn't shake. My eyes stung, threatening tears for what felt like the fifth time that morning. I blinked hard, gripping the steering wheel tighter. Isaac wouldn't do that. Not him. He couldn't cheat on me. Could he? The doubt gnawed at me, sharp and relentless. Those photos had to be some kind of mix-up, a cruel joke.

I pulled up in front of the venue, the grand hall I'd booked for my client's blowout birthday bash. I killed the engine and stepped out into the biting winter air. Inside, the decorators were already buzzing around, hanging streamers and arranging tables.

I made my rounds, eyes scanning every detail: the corners, the setup, even the back storage room. Funny thing, I thought, weaving through the clutter. Here I am, orchestrating these perfect events for strangers, but when it came to my own wedding, I handed it off to another planner on Patricia's advice. Saved me the headache, sure, but it stung a little.

I was poking at some stacked chairs in the storage room when the door clicked shut behind me. My heart jumped. "Hey! I'm in here! Somebody's locked in!" I rushed over, twisting the knob frantically. It wouldn't budge. Locked tight. Shit. How the hell was I getting out? I had a client meeting lined up, and now this?

I yanked my phone from my pocket, fingers fumbling. My boss? No, she was out of town for the weekend. Damn. The cold from the AC mixed with the winter storm outside, seeping through the walls, chilling me to the bone. Isaac. Yeah, call Isaac. I dialed him, my hands shaking, teeth chattering.

"Hey, Dru... I'm busy right now," he answered, voice clipped.

"Please, I need your help right now," I said, my words tumbling out, grinding my teeth against the shiver.

"I'm in the middle of a meeting. I'll call you back," he groaned.

"Isaac, I'm..." The line went dead. He hung up without letting me finish. Just like that.

My legs wobbled beneath me. What now? I'd freeze in here, and no one would find me till tomorrow morning. My mind raced to dark places: curled up, forgotten, gone. No, God, please no. I sank to the floor, bones feeling like jelly, eyelids heavy.

Call him, a voice whispered in my head. Call Ivan.

My weird, crazy-hot stepbrother.

I snatched my phone again, scrolling through contacts. Did I even still have his number? There it was. But was he using the same one? It'd been ages since we talked on the phone. Ivan had cut ties with everyone when he left home, no explanation, just gone.

I hit call without a second thought, praying it'd ring. It did.

Ring.

Ring.

"Druscilla?" His voice came through, low and steady, filling the speaker.

He still had my number? Wow.

"Dru...?"

"Hi, Ivan... Please, I need your help right now," I whimpered, teeth clenching hard.

"Where are you?"

"I'm locked up in a cold storage room. I'm trapped," I whimpered again, voice breaking.

"I'm on my way," he said, and just like that, he hung up. To my shock. How would he even know where? I hadn't told him the address.

Exhaustion hit me then. I must've dozed off on the cold counter, body numb.

A loud crack jolted me awake. The door frame splintered, wood groaning as it gave way. The whole thing crashed down in a heap. And there he stood. Ivan. Looking scorching hot even in this freezing winter mess, blood trickling from his hands.

He rushed over, cupping my face with those bloody palms, his chest heaving. "I'm sorry I'm late," he said, eyes searching mine.

Late? I'd called him maybe ten minutes ago. How'd he get here so fast?

He scooped me up, hands firm around my waist, not seeming to care about the blood. Carried me like I weighed nothing.

"Let's get you warmed up," he murmured.

Out in the main hall, he set me down gently. Then he shrugged off his winter jacket and draped it over my shoulders. Warmth flooded me instantly, along with his scent: coffee, chocolate, whiskey. It wrapped around me like his arms had, pulling me in.

How he'd gotten through the front doors with all those security locks?

Ivan was full of mysteries.

"How did you get here so fast?" I asked.

"Tracked your call," he replied casually, rising to his feet.