Page 31 of His Dark Pull

Sleep is impossible and I need a distraction. Pulling the blanket close, I open my laptop and stare at the black screen, ready to lose myself in the online world, snooping around some more.

I type “Kovacs”and “Veles Network”into the search bar, my fingers shaky as I add “European”and “EverBlue Group”to the query. My heart pounds against my ribs like a trapped bird as page after page of results appear, each one confirming my worst fears. News articles, police reports, andeven blurry surveillance photos all paint a picture of a ruthless criminal network that extends far beyond the borders of Port Haven.

Hour after hour, I delve deeper into the rabbit hole, fueled by caffeine and a growing sense of determination. The more I learn, the more anxious I become. My breath quickens, and I find myself chewing on my lower lip.

A familiar face jumps out at me from the screen, a ghost from the past that sends a shockwave through my body. It’s a photo from several years ago, a picture of Alexander, looking younger, more carefree, standing beside a man I now recognize as Zoltan Kovacs. Their arms are slung around each other’s shoulders, their smiles wide and genuine.

The accompanying article details a maritime incident – ten shipping containers belonging to the EverBlue Group, Alexander’s company, had been lost at sea during a violent storm. The crew had miraculously survived, but the cargo remained unaccounted for.

What was Alexander involved in?I wonder, my mind racing. Shipping containers with what inside? Lost how? And why? Did the ship contain precious cargo and artwork that had to be dumped?

I slam my laptop shut, my stomach churning. I had feared Alexander was connected to the Veles Network, but seeing him standing beside Kovacs, their camaraderie evident in the photograph confirms my worst suspicions.

I’m in over my head.

I pace back and forth across my small apartment, the confines of the space feeling suffocating. I need answers, and I need to confront Alexander, but first, I need to clear my head and gather my thoughts and emotions before facing the storm that awaits me.

I remember Mind Box, a technique Sarah had learned during one of her many self-care retreats. It was a way of compartmentalizing worries, sorting through chaos, and finding a path towards clarity.

I lie down on my bed, my legs raised against the wall, and close my eyes, trying to visualize the boxes, each one containing a different aspect of my worries. But my mind refuses to cooperate. The image of Alexander and Kovacs, their shared laughter, a constant intrusion.

Just as I start to make some progress, the shrill sound of my phone shatters the silence. My heart leaps into my throat as I see Alexander’s name flashing on the screen.

Miss me, gorgeous?The message reads. His words turn my cheeks crimson.

I take a deep breath, forcing my trembling hands to remain steady as I type out a reply.We need to talk. Can you come over?It’s not a request. It’s a demand.I’mtaking control and setting the terms of our encounter.

He will answer my questions this time.

And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to protect myself and those I care about. The wait for his response is agonizing. My phone feels heavy in my hand. Then, the screen lights up with his reply: “I’ll be there in ten.”

Of course, he will.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, propelling me into action. I straighten the throw pillows on the couch, wipe down the kitchen counters, and straighten the stack of art books on the coffee table. It’s a futile attempt to impose order on the chaos, to create a facade of control in a situation that feels increasingly out of my hands.

I won’t let him see my fear,my jaw clenching. I won’t let him control me anymore. The way he had left without a word, the years of silence and unanswered questions, the pain of his betrayal – it’s all still there, just beneath the surface.

But I’m stronger now, more resilient. I’ve survived loss, heartbreak, and the challenges of building a life on my own.

I won’t let him break me again.

The doorbell rings, cutting through the silence of my apartment like a knife. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the confrontation, and walk towards the door.

As I open it, Alexander stands before me, his tall frame filling the doorway, his presence both intimidating and strangely comforting. He wears a black suit that fits him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean waist. His dark hair is styled in a way that’s both messy and intentional, giving him a rugged yet sophisticated look.

He looks amazing.

“Ava,”he says, his voice low and rumbling. You look stunning, as always.”

I feel my cheeks flush at his compliment, but I push the feeling aside, reminding myself of the reason he’s here.

“Alexander, come in,”I say, stepping aside to let him enter.

He walks past me, his presence filling the small space with his familiar scent – a mixture of musk, spice, and a hint of the sea that always reminds me of our stolen moments by the harbor.

“Can we talk?”I ask, leading him to the couch, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Of course,”he replies, his eyes never leaving mine. He settles onto the couch, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the familiar details of my apartment. “You need to get a bigger place,”he comments disapprovingly.

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