Chapter 3: A Fresh Crisis

Selene's POV

I lead them out of the bar and into a network of narrow streets. My pulse raced; I had to think on my feet. The neighborhood was unusually quiet, the dim streetlights casting long shadows. The guys kept tossing crude jokes around, their laughter echoing off the buildings.

"Hey, you're not trying to mess with us, are you?"

As we moved further away from the bar, the two men grew increasingly impatient, their looks turning dangerous.

"Just a bit further, we're almost there," I lied, searching for the right spot. I needed a secluded place, somewhere I could handle this situation. We turned into a dark alley, lined with overflowing trash cans and scattered debris—exactly what I had in mind. The streetlights barely reached us here, most of the alley shrouded in shadows.

The alcohol had clearly dulled their senses, and they never considered that I might turn against them. Once we reached the alley, they eagerly reached out to grab my arm.

"Just a bit closer," I silently urged. When they were positioned where I wanted, I slipped out of their grasp, turned to face them, my back against the wall. "Now, calm down," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through me. I reached into my sleeve, gripping the shard of glass I'd hidden earlier—just a broken bottle I found, but it might just be my lifeline.

"Hold on," I suggested, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. The tall man with the crooked nose stepped closer, his impatience evident. "Enough games," he growled, his accomplice nodding in agreement.

As they closed in, I whipped out the glass shards, catching the faint light as I held them up defensively. “Back off, or I’ll use these,” I warned, hoping the jagged edges would scare them off.

But they weren't deterred. The taller one roared drunkenly and charged. I dodged his clumsy swing, slashing the glass across his forearm in a quick motion. He yelped in pain, staggering back and clutching his arm.

The other guy, furious at seeing his buddy hurt, rushed at me more cautiously, but with clear intent to strike. I ducked and darted around the clutter filling the alley, using a rusty barrel as a shield from his wild punches.

He reached too far on one swing, and I took my chance. I sliced the glass across his thigh, drawing a line of blood that made him howl and clutch the fresh wound, his face contorted in surprise and pain.

“Get out of here!” I gasped, struggling to catch my breath. “And don’t let me see you around again.”

They paused for a moment, thrown off by the pain and my fierce stance. Then, with one last angry glare, they backed off and limped away, disappearing into the dark maze of the city’s back alleys.

Leaning against the cold bricks of the alley, I took a moment to check my arm. The adrenaline was wearing off, and now I could really feel the pain. Looking down, I noticed a deep cut slicing through my sleeve, with blood starting to pool.

I ripped a piece of my shirt off, trying to keep calm as panic started to set in. I wrapped the torn fabric around the cut, tying it as tightly as I could, hoping it would stop the bleeding. But it wasn’t much help; the blood kept seeping through, running down my wrist.

I pressed down hard on the wound, wincing as a sharp pain shot through my arm.

Desperate for something more substantial to stem the bleeding, I stumbled into a nearby building that had seen better days. The air was stale and thick with the musty smell of decay. I shuffled through the darkness, my hands searching the debris until they found an old, broken cabinet. Inside, my fingers brushed against a dusty, frayed roll of bandages. They were far from perfect, but they would have to do.

I hastily wrapped the cleaner bandage around my arm, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as I tightened it. Just then, footsteps echoed from the alley outside, sending a jolt of panic through me. I quickly ducked behind a dirty, cracked window to peek out, my heart pounding in my chest.

Seven or eight tough guys walked into the alley, each one looking meaner than the last. They huddled up close, their voices low and tense.

Their hushed conversation floated through the cracked walls, chilling me as I listened in.

The leader, a burly man with a commanding presence, broke the silence. "Lucian's tightening his grip on the city," he said gravely. "He's too strong. If we don't act, he'll crush us all."

A lean, sharp-featured man piped up, "Taking Lucian down won't be easy. He fights hard and smart."

A younger, anxious-looking guy joined in, "Right, he's strategic. We can’t be reckless. We need a plan that's tight, or we're just digging our own graves."

The leader surveyed the group, his gaze cautious. "We’ve got to be clever about this. Hit him hard, hit him where it counts. This isn’t about brute force; it’s about outsmarting him."

A woman with a raspy voice unfolded a map across an old crate, her finger tracing various locations. "Here's where he does business, and here’s where he hides out. We strike these spots first."

They all leaned in, murmuring about entry points and escape routes. The leader raised his hand to silence them. "Keep this quiet. Lucian’s got ears everywhere. We can't mess this up. If anyone's having second thoughts, now’s the time to bow out."

The silence was palpable, thick enough that every small sound seemed amplified—a breath, a whisper, even my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I pressed harder against the cold, unforgiving brick wall, trying to make myself invisible.

Then, disaster struck. My back brushed against a loose pebble. It skittered across the concrete, a startlingly loud noise in the quiet night.

Instantly, the murmured plotting stopped. "What was that?" one of the men asked, his voice sharp with tension.

Their heads snapped around, eyes slicing through the shadows where I was pressed into my meager cover. My heart raced, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins.

Cautious footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. I held my breath, shrinking further into the darkness, hoping against hope they would overlook my hiding spot.

Suddenly, the door to my makeshift refuge was slammed open with such force that it echoed down the alley like a gunshot. I rolled deeper into the shadows, pressing myself into a tight corner as three silhouetted figures stepped through, outlined by the faint glow of a distant streetlight. My hand tightened around a jagged piece of glass, the only weapon I could muster.

"The air's wrong—smells like blood," the leader grumbled, his voice thick with suspicion and authority. They began to spread out, their movements precise and threatening as they combed through the small space.

Desperation surged within me; my escape routes were cut off, my body too weak from blood loss to attempt a break. My mind raced, searching for options, but my limbs felt heavy, almost detached from my will.

"Check every corner, she’s here somewhere," commanded the leader, his tone icy, brooking no argument.

As they closed in, panic set in. My grip on the glass shard was my last line of defense, my mind frantically weaving through potential escapes even as my body begged to succumb to the exhaustion.

The place suddenly fell silent as the leader's keen nose picked up a scent. "Wait," he announced sharply, sniffing the air. "Should be right here."

Adrenaline surged through me as I saw my chance and took it. I lunged out of hiding, the shard of glass in my hand catching a glint of the weak alley light as I slashed at one of the thugs. He grunted in pain, clutching at the sudden wound, and that sound fueled my desperation. I spun on my heel, racing for the door, my breath ragged, every muscle screaming for escape.

But freedom was just beyond my grasp. Just as my fingers brushed the cold metal of the door handle, strong hands seized me from behind, pulling me back into the darkness of the building. I kicked and struggled, trying to break free, but they were too many and too strong. They dragged me deeper inside, away from any hope of escape, and threw me roughly against the cold, hard floor.

The concrete was unforgiving, and the impact knocked the wind out of me. I gasped, trying to recover, but they didn't give me a chance. Hands pinned me down, and I could see the leader approaching, his silhouette ominous against the faint light filtering through a cracked window.

He stooped down, bringing his face close to mine, his breath foul with the stench of alcohol. In his hand, the dagger gleamed ominously, a cruel promise in the dimness. "You've seen too much, girl," he hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. "It's time to disappear."

Panic surged through me as they pinned me down. I was too weak and worn out from the fight and losing blood. I closed my eyes, a mix of fear and hope swirling in my mind. I wondered if Kate had managed to reach Lucian in time. Could help be on the way, or was this the end? The cold tip of the dagger hovered just inches from my skin, making every second feel like an eternity.

But then, slicing through the tension like a knife through silk, a voice rang out, cool and mocking. "After all these years, this old ghost still hasn’t learned a bit of chivalry toward women," it said, its tone light but edged with an unmistakable threat.