Now that everyone had left the room and there was only Anton and Max, wild thoughts started racing through Anton's head. What exactly was Max going to do with him? Why had everything come to this?
Even now, Anton was still on his knees. He hadn't yet gotten up from when Max had hit him in the stomach. His breathing was uneven, shallow. The metallic air of the container was hot, stale, and pressed down on him like a weight. His palms were trembling, and the dull ache in his ribs pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
When he started to think about it, didn't his string of bad luck begin at that damned event with Sheri? That was when he had first met the redhead. Everything had gone wrong since then. His father's expectations, his position in the family business, even his pride, each piece of his life had started to fall apart one by one.
This man in front of me right now, Anton thought, he was the one who cursed me. Everything went wrong because of him.
