Page 60 of His Dark Pull

“Tyler got the Dexter lead from overhearing his dad and some officers going over clues and suspects. Seems Dexter got sloppy and left a trail leading straight to your office.”

My office? The pieces click into place – the suggestive comments about my clothes, the late nights he ‘caught’me working. He was watching me, watching everyone all along. I feel nauseous, my skin crawling with his imagined eyes on me.

“He had cameras installed, a hidden room for weapons,”Tyler continues. “Figured nobody would suspect a graphic design office.”

“He was almost right,”I murmur, still reeling from the revelation. “It all makes sense now.”

“Fooled and a half,”Sarah includes, her voice infused with disgust.

“Did Harvey send someone to the office? To make sure people are safe,”I ask.

“They’re on their way as we speak,”Tyler ensures me. Tears prick my eyes, threatening to spill over.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you both.”Tyler’s smile softens, losing its earlier edge. “We’re just glad you’re safe, Ava.”He extends his hand. “Friends?”

I grasp his hand. “Friends.”

Sarah’s gaze sweeps across the scene, taking in the flashing lights and bustling officers. “Is it over?”she asks.

Alexander’s voice is low. “There’s still a lot we don’t know. I just hope Harvey has it all under control. I guess I’m having a talk with him as well–”

Will Alexander go to prison for this?

His eyes hold mine, a silent conversation passing between us. We huddle together under the blanket. Silence descends, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Exhaustion tugs at me, but beneath it lies a fragile closure.

“We should get out of here,”Tyler says, breaking the silence. He rises to his feet, extending a hand to Sarah.

Alexander helps me up. We turn towards the car as Harvey’s deputy, Donald, approaches, his crisp uniform and military haircut projecting an air of authority. His face is unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing but a slight twitch near his left eye. “Alexander,”he says, his voice firm. “I need to take you in.”

“Sure, okay,” Alexander says.

“I’m sorry,”Donald says, looking at Alexander’s bruises.

“Just one second,”Alexander says.

My heart stutters as I imagine him turning and fleeing into the darkness. Instead, he pivots, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.

He closes the distance between us, each step a drumbeat against my racing pulse. His warm breath fans across my face andicy tendrils coil around my vertebrae. The world around us fades, the flashing lights and murmuring voices dissolving into a muted backdrop.

His lips meet mine in a sudden, fierce kiss. It’s demanding, possessive, and raw. My hands instinctively find his shoulders, his arms encircle my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. Our tongues meet in a heated dance. My fingers thread through his dark hair, the soft strands contrasting with the rough stubble grazing my cheek. The taste of him intoxicates me.

In the distance, I hear Sarah’s excited whoop, but it barely registers. Nothing exists beyond the feel of his lips on mine, the heat of his body pressed against me, andthe way his touch sets my skin ablaze. When we break apart, gasping for air, the intensity in his eyes leaves me breathless.

At this moment, I know there’s no turning back. It’s him and me against the world, forever.

Chapter 18

The Aftermath

The police station buzzes with activity, the scent of stale coffee and nervous energy clinging to the air. I notice the clacking of keyboards and muffled conversations. Each step towards the elevator echoes in my head. My heart beats fast, as the elevator doors slide open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a sterile box filled.

I step inside the elevator, andthe hum of the machinery is a low drone. Tyler waits outside the elevator on the third floor. The awkwardness I anticipate is softened by comforting familiarity in his presence.

We embrace briefly, a fleeting connection before he leads me to a quiet corner table where two steaming mugs await.

“How are you holding up?” His voice is gentle.

“I’m okay,” I lie, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to articulate the fear I still feel. “Just processing everything.”

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