Chapter 5: The Hideout Trap

The woods were dark and wet, branches hitting at Isabella's face as Dante dragged her fast. Rain was falling from the trees, making her torn white dress so wet. It was now a muddy, bloody mess. Her nose was hurting so bad, blood dropping from her lips, her cheek hurts from the slap Dante gave her, and her arms were scratched and bleeding. Her stomach made a very loud noise cause she was hungry, so empty she felt sick, her legs wobbly like jelly. She stumbled, crying loud, "I can't run anymore!" Her voice was weak, breaking, tears streaming down her muddy face. Dante's hand gripped her arm tight, bruising her more, pulling her like a doll. She was falling apart, and he wouldn't stop.

"Move!" Dante yelled, his voice mean and loud. His gray eyes flashed in the dark, his scar ugly under the wet hair sticking to his face. Behind them, the car fire glowed orange, bad guys shouting, their boots stomping closer. Bullets fled past them—hitting trees, making bark fly. Isabella screamed, bending so low, her heart beating so fast it hurt. She tripped, falling hard in the mud, her knees scraping bloody. "Ow!" she sobbed, but Dante yanked her up, rough and fast, not caring.

They ran more, her bare feet slipping, cold and sore. Finally, a little house popped up—a hideout, old and wooden, hidden in the trees. Dante kicked the door open, the bang loud, and shoved Isabella inside. She fell on the dirty floor, crying out, her hands scraping wood. The room was small and dark. It had only one dusty lamp and a very old bed. It smelled old, like wet dirt, and spider webs hung in the corners of the room. She curled up, shaking, her dress sticking to her cuts. She was so scared, so hurt, trapped in this spooky place.

Dante slammed the door, locking it tight, his gun out. "Stay down," he snapped, peeking out a cracked window. Isabella hugged herself, sobbing quiet, her stomach couldn't stop crying for food. Her nose hurt so bad, her face swollen and hurting, every breath she took was shaky. "Please," she whispered, "I'm so hungry." Her voice was tiny, begging, but Dante ignored her, his face hard like stone.

He turned, stomping over, towering above her. "You think I care?" he yelled, grabbing her hair. She screamed so loud and so sharp, as he pulled her up. Her scalp burned, tears falling fast. "Your dad killed my family! You don't get food! You don't get nice!" He shook her, her head shaking, then threw her down. She hit the floor hard, her elbow banging, pain shooting up her arm. "Ow, ow!" she cried, curling up tight, so small and sad—readers would want to hug her.

She lay there, shaking, when Dante's phone buzzed. He answered, very angrily. "What, Marco?" His voice got louder, "Victor who?" Isabella peeked up, her eyes big, listening. "Victor Kane? The ghost guy? You sure?" Dante's face went red, his hand squeezing the phone. He hung up, cursing loud, then glared at her. "Get up," he said, yanking her again. She whimpered, too weak to fight, her legs barely working.

He pushed her to the bed, his hands rough. "Sit," he growled, leaning close. His breath was hot, his eyes mean, and she shrank back, scared. Then—sudden—he grabbed her face, smashing his lips on hers. A kiss, hard and angry, surprising her. She froze, her heart jumping, then pushed him, crying, "No!" Her hands were weak, bloody, but he held tighter, kissing more. She cried, tears falling, hating it.

He pulled back, breathing fast, his eyes confused. "Shut up," he muttered, stepping away. Isabella wiped her mouth, sobbing loud, her tummy flipping with disgust. She didn't want that—she wanted to run, to hide. Then she saw it—a gun, shiny and black, under the bed, half-hidden by dust. Her breath stopped. A way out? She slid down, slow, her hand shaking, grabbing it. It was cold, heavy, scary in her little fingers.

Dante turned, talking to himself, "Victor Kane… if he's alive…" He didn't see her. She stood, wobbly, pointing the gun at his back. Her arms shook, the gun wobbling, tears blurring her eyes. "Let me go," she said, her voice small but loud in the quiet. He froze, then turned slow, his eyes wide, then mad.

"You think you can shoot me?" he said, stepping closer. She cried, "Stay back!" her finger on the trigger, shaking so bad she might drop it. Her tummy hurt, her head spun, her whole body screamed to stop—but she held on, so scared, so brave. She was fighting, but so broken.

Outside, a noise—getting louder and louder—footsteps in the woods. Dante's head snapped to the window, his gun up. "Who's there?" he yelled. Isabella's heart jumped—more bad guys? The steps got louder, closer, a shadow moving outside. Dante grabbed her wrist, twisting hard, making her drop the gun. She screamed, "No!" as it fell, her chance gone. He shoved her down, her knees hitting the floor, her pains increasing.