Page 51 of His Dark Pull

Each breath I take feels shallower than the last; the air is heavy and stale. I press my back against the rough concrete wall, but it offers no escape. The darkness presses in, a crushing weight that steals my breath and makes my chest ache.I’m trapped.

Will I ever see Alexander again? Will I ever see anyone again?

Still, something is moving inside me: a spark of defiance. I will not be a victim. I will not succumb to the darkness.I will fight, will claw my way out of this nightmare, damn it.

The voice, that haunting voice, lingers in my mind, a puzzle I am desperate to solve. It is a clue, a thread I have to follow, and as I lie on the cold, hard floor, pulling my knees to my chest for warmth.

Hours later, the darkness outside my cell door hints at the late hour. The heavy footsteps of my captors echo down the hallway, the sound sending adrenaline coursing through my heavy body. The first one enters the cell, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a tattoo of a snarling wolf snaking up his thick neck. His rough hands grip my arm, the pressure a painful reminder of his power, while a second man, wiry and quick, with eyes that dart like a cornered animal, secures the blindfold over my eyes, plunging me back into a world of sensory deprivation.

I am dragged through a maze of corridors, my bare feet stumbling on the uneven ground, the musty smell of the building clinging to my nostrils like a foul perfume. The blindfold is ripped away, and I blink against the sudden brightness, my eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights.

I find myself in another room, the walls grimy and bare, the air thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke and something else, something metallic and unpleasant.

Blood?I shiver at the thought.

A single chair sits in the center of the room, its wooden frame scarred and worn.

The man who dragged me here pulls out a length of rope and proceeds to bind my wrists behind the back of the chair, his movements rough and efficient. I shiver, feeling vulnerable and exposed, my torn clothes offering little protection from the cold or the hungry gazes of the two men who flank me. I try to put on a don’t-you-dare attitude, but I have no idea if it’s working.

The door creaks open, and another man enters carrying a chair with him. His face is sharp and angular, with a pointed nose that twitches as he surveys the room. His eyes, dark and beady, seem to dart around, taking in every detail, lingering on me for a beat too long. He puts down the chair and takes a seat opposite me, his movements quick and jerky, like a rodent darting from one hiding place to another. The other two men leave, one of them casting a final, lecherous look in my direction that makes my skin crawl. Clearing his throat, the man begins to speak, his voice a low growl that belies his thin frame. “So, Ava,”he says, “we have some questions for you.”

I raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a defiance I don’t feel. “Questions?”I say coolly. “About what?”

“About the Veles Network,”he says, his eyes narrowing as if searching for any flicker of deceit. “What do you know about them?”

I let out a bitter laugh, a hollow sound that echoes in the small space. “What makes you think I know anything about them?”

He leans forward, closing in on me. “Don’t play games with me,”he warns. “We know that you know. Now talk.”

I shrug, maintaining my facade of ignorance, my mind racing. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,”I reply.

He slams his fist onto my chair, the sudden noise making me jump, the chair creaking beneath me. “You will talk!”he roars, his voice filled with a fury that makes my blood run cold.

I keep my eyes trained on the floor, the chipped tile suddenly fascinating. My heart thumps a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I force my face to remain impassive. Let him see my defiance,not my fear.

He leans back in his chair, the tension draining from his shoulders. “Very well,”he says. “Kovacs will be in shortly. Maybe he’ll be able to get you to talk. One way or another, you will tell us what you know.”

My lips curl into a smirk that feels brittle and forced. “I highly doubt it.”

A moment of silence hangs in the air. Then I hear them – footsteps outside the door, slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. He’s here.

As promised, Kovacs enters the room, his face betraying nothing of his intentions. He places a glass of water on the table before me, a gesture that seems almost kind.

“Hello, Ava,”he says, his voice smooth. “I’m here to help you.”

I scoff, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “Help me? I don’t need your help.”

“I think you do,”he counters. “You don’t want to make things any worse for yourself. Just tell us what you know.”

I shake my head, my resolve hardening. “I have nothing to tell you. I don’t know anything.”

“We know that you know, Ava,”he says, his voice taking on edge. “So don’t play dumb. We need to understand how much you know about us.”

“Idon’t know what you’re talking about,”I insist, my voice rising. “Just let me go home!”My head throbs.

“Are you thirsty?”he asks, his voice soft, almost gentle.

What’s going on?

---