Page 30 of His Dark Pull

He reaches out and cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the pain in his eyes. “Ava,”he says, his voice raw with emotion. “Please don’t do this. I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not losing me,”I say, my voice thick with tears, my heart aching at the sight of his pain. “I’ll always be there for you if you need me, as afriend. Always.”

He pulls me into a tight embrace, his body trembling against mine as if he is trying to hold onto a piece of driftwood in a raging storm. We stand there for a long moment, clinging to each other, the silence broken only by the sound of our mingled sobs.

The setting sun casts long shadows across the park, bathing us in a warm, golden light that feels like a final farewell. As we pull away, our eyes meet, red and swollen.

“Goodbye, Ava,” he whispers.

“Goodbye, Tyler,” I reply.

He hesitates momentarily, his hand reaching out as if to stop me, then falling back to his side.

With that, we turn and walk away, each heading in a different direction, our paths diverging like the branches of a tree.

I don’t head home just yet.There’s something I need to do first.

Chapter 8

The Library

I breathe out a sigh as I push open the heavy oak doors of the Athenaeum, Port Haven’s grand old library. The scent of aged paper and leather-bound books fills my senses, a comforting aroma that transports me back to childhood afternoons spent lost in historical worlds.

How I love this.

Sunlight streams through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the polished marble floors and illuminating the rows upon rows of books that line the towering shelves. The hushed whispers of fellow patrons and the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner create a peaceful ambiance, a sanctuary from the chaos of the city outside.

I make my way toward the archives section, a secluded corner of the library dedicated to preserving the city’s rich history. The worn wooden desks and the antique lamps cast light on the stacks of newspapers and periodicals, each one a window into the past.

I’m glad I did it, I think, a wave of relief washing over me as I settle into a chair at one of the desks. Breaking up with Tyler had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but it was also the right thing.

I open my laptop and begin my search, typing “Veles Network” into the library’s online newspaper database. Articles appear, each one painting a grim picture of the criminal organization that has been terrorizing Port Haven. Their crimes are brazen, their methods violent, and their motives remain shrouded in mystery.

Hours melt away as I delve deeper into the archives, each article painting a bleaker picture of the Veles Network. They’re a ruthless organization, their tentacles reaching into every corner of the city.

With each horrifying detail, each account of their brutal tactics, a strange mix of revulsion and fascination hits me. It is as if I am peering into a forbidden world, a world of darkness and power that both repelled and attracted her. A part of me, a part I try to deny, understands the allure of that power, the seductive nature of the shadows. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

Just as I’m about to give up hope, I stumble upon an article from several years ago, a report on the sudden disappearance of a similar criminal organization, The Europeans, operating in a neighboring state. And there it is, nestled among the lines of text, a name that makes every muscle in my body tense: Zoltan Kovacs.

The article details a police raid on a warehouse near the docks, where authorities discovered a cache of stolen art and antiquities hidden inside shipping containers bearing the EverBlue Group logo. Below the headline is a grainy photo: Alexander, younger, his arm slung casually around the shoulders of a man I now recognize with a sickening lurch as Kovacs. They both grin at the camera.

My heart skips a beat as I scan more details from the article, my eyes widening. The pieces of the puzzle click into place with a sickening thud. Kovacs wasn’t just some random associate or friend of Alexander’s; he’s a key player in the Europeans, which is possibly now the Veles Network, and their connection goes back further than I ever imagined. I scan further down the page, and my heart stumbles. There, in bold lettering, a headline: “Volkov Industries Accuses EverBlue Group of Unfair Business Practices.”My stomach churns. Anton Volkov. The name whispers a threat, a possibility I haven’t considered before.

But why?I think, my mind racing. Why would Alexander get involved with such an organization? A Slavic mafia.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles me from my thoughts. I look up to see the librarian, a stern-faced woman with her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, standing beside my desk.

“Ma’am, we’re closing in fifteen minutes,”she announces, her voice a low monotone that echoes through the silent archives.

I nod, my mind still reeling from my discovery. I save the article to my flash drive, gather my belongings, and hurry out of the library.

This is big, Ava.

The sun has set as I walk home through Port Haven.

* * *

The city hums outside my window, a low, steady thrumming that usually lulls me into a sense of security. But tonight, the familiar sounds feel like an undercurrent of the secrets that lurk beneath the surface of Port Haven. The aroma of tea fills my tiny apartment, a bittersweet comfort as I sit at my desk, the glow of the computer screen illuminating the worry etched on my face.

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