Bound By Fate

EPISODE 002

The world can be so quiet when you’re running for your life. The distant hum of cicadas, the crunch of my own feet on the gravel, the sharp wheeze of my breath—I could hear it all, but it all sounded muted, like I were moving through water. The blood was sticky against my skin; my arm throbbed where Victor had slashed me. With every heartbeat, a new wave of pain shot up to my shoulder.

I couldn’t think about the wound. I couldn’t think about the cold rage in my father’s eyes or the way Victor’s hand had felt when it struck my face. I couldn’t stop to feel anything, because if I did, I’d fall apart, and falling apart wasn’t an option.

On either side of the narrow road, the woods pressed, their shadows stretching out like long, skeletal fingers. Each step was heavier than the last. I couldn’t stop; my legs were shaking, more from fear than exhaustion. I knew they’d be looking for me, so I couldn’t stop. After what I’d done, Victor wouldn’t let me get away.

I didn’t know where I was going. Away. The only direction that mattered was that.

The trees eventually gave way to an open sky, and I was on a stretch of empty road for what felt like hours. The city appeared as a faint orange glow on the horizon, seemingly a thousand miles distant. I couldn't see anything, and for a second I thought I was going to fall right there on the asphalt.

I then saw it—a car on the side of the road half sunk in the shadows.

I thought I was imagining it at first. A cruel trick of my tired brain. But as I stumbled closer, the outline became clearer: A sleek black car, with its windows reflecting back on the pale light of the moon, was what I had seen. No one was inside, or at least, I couldn’t see anyone.

Before my brain had time to catch up, my legs carried me the rest of the way. The door handle was cold under my fingers, and when it clicked open, I nearly cried with relief. The car smelled faintly of leather and something else, maybe cologne or the faint trace of smoke. I didn’t care. It was shelter.

I pulled the door shut behind me and collapsed onto the seat. I let myself stop moving for the first time since I’d run, and my head hit the backrest. Adrenaline and blood loss made the world sway around me.

I pressed my hand to my arm to slow the bleeding. It wasn’t a deep cut, but it was jagged and ugly, and the sight of it made my stomach turn. I clenched my teeth and grabbed the scarf from around my neck, wrapping it tightly around the wound once more.

I whispered to myself, “Just breathe.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded small. “You’re safe. For now.”

But was I? The car was unknown; I didn't know who this car belonged to. The thought of being caught by someone dangerous made me choke. I couldn’t care right now. A moment to think, plan, and decide what to do next is all I wanted.

Exhaustion settled over me, weighed on me, and pulled me under. The white washed out, and all became a haze of shadows and muted sounds. My eyelids droop.

I heard the footsteps then.

They were distant at first, so distant I could hardly hear them over the sound of my ears pounding. They grew louder, harder, each step sending a new ball of fear through me. I sat up too quickly, my head spinning, and my eyes snapped open.

Someone was coming.

I grabbed the only weapon I had, a small knife I’d taken from Victor’s desk, before I ran. It was too light, too flimsy in my shaking hand, but it was better than nothing.

The footsteps stopped just outside the car. The faint sound of keys jangling filled my ears, causing my breath to catch in my throat.

The driver’s door opened, and I was face-to-face with a man who was not a cop or a good Samaritan.

He had tall, sharp features and dark eyes that pierced through me. His face was unreadable, calm but not kind. The kind of calm that made you nervous, like he’d already thought of three ways to kill you and was deciding which would be the most efficient.

He asked, his voice low and steady, like a knife through the quiet, 'What the hell are you doing in my car?'

I held the knife up between us, tightening my grip on it. I tried to hide the fact that my hand was trembling. I said, “Stay back,” but my voice was weak. “I’ll use this if I have to.”

He glanced at the knife, and his mouth twitched in the corner to what might be the beginnings of amusement. “That’s cute,” he said. “If you were going to stab me, you would have done it already.”

I pressed myself back against the seat, my heart hammering in my chest, as he stepped closer.

He said, his tone softening just slightly, “Look.” “You’re hurt. I can see that. “Put the knife down before you pass out and stab yourself accidentally.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him to go to hell, but he wasn’t wrong. The knife felt like a dead weight in my hand, and my vision was starting to blur again.

I lowered it reluctantly but didn’t let go. “I just needed somewhere to rest,” I whispered. “I didn’t think anyone would be here,” he said.

He said dryly, 'Well, surprise.' “You picked the wrong car.”

He stood by the doorframe, studying me so hard my skin wanted to crawl. He looked at my arm, and his face went dark.

He asked, “Who did that to you?”

I paused, not sure how much to say. I didn’t know this man, and there was something about him that told me he wasn’t someone you wanted to cross. But I didn’t have a choice.

“My fiancé,” I said finally. The word tasted like poison on my tongue. “And my father. “They... they’re looking for me.”

His jaw clenched, and for a second I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Anger? Pity? I couldn't be sure, but it was gone.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Alyssa,” I said. “Alyssa Marlowe.”

Now, the name hung in the air, and it sat there like a fire, ready to ignite. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, and his expression changed.

He repeated, his voice colder now, “Marlowe.” “As in Dominic Marlowe? The Verona cartel?”

My throat was too tight to speak, so I nodded.

He said nothing for a long moment. The silence was heavy and suffocating between us.

He sighed and stepped back, finally. He said, “Get out of the car.”

My stomach dropped. I said, my voice breaking, “Please.” “I can’t go back. If you send me back—”

He interrupted, “I’m not sending you back.” “I’m not letting you stay in my car either,” he said. Get out.”

I didn't know if I could even stand, so I hesitated. The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to ask again.

I took a step out and opened the door, as the ground seemed to tip beneath me. A firm grip caught my arm and steadied me.

“Easy,” he said.

The adrenaline finally released its hold on me, causing the world to spin and me to feel as though I was slipping away. His face, sharp and unyielding, as if it had been forged in fire, was the last thing I saw before the darkness did shut.

I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, but one thing was certain: I wasn’t prepared for my life to take a turn like that.