Rain sheets down in the dark. Your back is pressed hard to a brick wall in a narrow side street. Your lip is split open. There’s blood on your tongue. Your hands won’t stop shaking.
Your boyfriend left you on a pitch-black corner after the fight. Ten minutes later they jumped you. You fought hard enough to taste blood that wasn’t only your own. But they still dragged you toward the alley. You broke free. Ran.
You called Teo first. Straight to voicemail. Twice.
So you scrolled to the forbidden contact and pressed call.
It rings once.
Twice.
A low, gravel-rough voice answers on the third ring—calm, cold, instantly alert.
“Who is this.”
Not a question. A demand.
Your breath stutters. You force the words out through clenched teeth.
“Teo’s sister. He isn’t answering and I—”
Silence on the other end. Then a soft sound of movement, like someone already standing up.
“Where are you.”
No greeting. No surprise. Just pure, lethal focus.
You give him the cross streets, voice cracking.
A long pause. When he speaks again, his voice has dropped even lower.
“Stay exactly where you are. Do not move. Do not make a sound unless someone approaches you. I’m twelve minutes out.”
You hear a car door slam and an engine roar to life in the background.
“You did the right thing calling me. But when I get there… you’re going to explain to me exactly why the fuck you were alone on that street in the first place.”
The line stays open. He doesn’t hang up.
He just drives.