Page 63 of His Dark Pull

“Yes,”he spits. “And Alexander couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle his precious sister being with someone likeme. So he sent her away, destroyed her life and mine. She loved me, Ava. I swear, she still loves me.”

“But the drugs, Dexter? She was an addict.”I counter, struggling to reconcile this new information with the monster I know him to be. I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “I know she had a problem or had one. Alexander told me she’s in rehab.”

“It wasn’t supposed to go that far. We were just playing around, a little weed, and then it escalated. She wanted more, heroin—I couldn’t stop her.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought I could control it, keep up with her needs, but I was wrong.”His voice cracks, a tremor of remorse breaking through his facade.

“You gave her the drugs?”The words leave behind a bitter flavor. My fingers tighten around the table’s edge, my knuckles turning white.

“It’s what she wanted, Ava. And you don’t say no to Michelle. You would understand if you met her. Beautiful, wild, free. We were incredible together. We were on top of the world. The greatest love story ever told.”He strains against his restraints, his eyes burning with a manic intensity.

“The greatest falls are the hardest, Dexter,”I mutter.

“Whatever, fuck.”

“Sure–”

“Alexander destroyed her, and I couldn’t let him get away with it. So, I built Veles Network from the ashes of the Europeans and made it into what it is today. All to get back at him, to make him pay. And the money isn’t bad either.”He laughs, a hollow, chilling sound.

“How?”Ava stutters. “You’re a photographer—”

“It was easy, beautiful,”he shrugs. Everything was handed to me on a silver platter—perfect family, perfect life. My father was always working, so I was left alone a lot. Veles Network was the perfect way to get Alexander involved, to drag him down into the dirt. Kovacs had the connections, and from there, it was all too easy.”

I sink into the chair opposite him, my mind reeling. Michelle, Alexander’s sister, the love of Dexter’s life, turned into an addict by his hand? Bile rises in my throat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with sickening clarity.

I push myself away from the table, my legs heavy as stone. With a deep breath, I look down at Dexter, his head still buried in his hands.

“I hope you find a way to deal with your time in prison, Dexter,”I say. “What you felt doesn’t justify what you did. You hurt so many people, including the one you claimed to love. I hope one day you’ll understand the consequences of your choices.”

He lifts his head, his eyes narrowed. “It was all for love, Ava. You, of all people, should understand that. Toying with men, discarding them when you’re done, a puppet master pulling their strings.”He pauses. “I loved her, Ava. More than anything. And Alexander took her from me. But I will get my revenge.”

“Revenge won’t bring Michelle back,”I counter. “It won’t bring you happiness, you know? Only more pain and suffering.”

His shoulders slump. “I beg to differ.”

Tears prick my eyes, a mixture of pity and lingering anger. “I hope you find peace, maybe even redemption. Because you’re going to need it.”

With that, I turn and walk away, leaving him to the darkness he has created. I relax my shoulders as I leave the interrogation room.

But as I walk down the hallway, a tightness constricts my chest, making breathing difficult. The walls seem to close in, the fluorescent lights blurring, intensifying my nausea.

My legs give way, and I slump against the wall, gasping for air.

Harvey’s concerned face swims into view, his voice distant as the officer beside him grips my arm. The world spins and sounds distort.

The next thing I know, I’m seated in a chair, a kind woman offering me a steaming cup of tea. Harvey sits beside me, his salt-and-pepper hair falling into his eyes, his expression etched with worry. My body feels drained, as if I’ve run a marathon.

Harvey’s brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a grimace as his gaze dropped to the floor. “Ava, I’m so sorry. Are you— are you alright?”

“I’m okay— now,”I manage, my voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You had a reaction. It’s understandable, given everything you’ve been through. Have you talked to anyone about it? A therapist, perhaps?”

I shake my head, tears threatening to spill again. He hands me a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it.Psychologist. Trauma.Everything crashes down on me, and sobs wrack my body.

“Call her,”he urges as he puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “She’s good. She’s helped a lot of victims coming through here over the years.”His eyes hold a haunted look.

I’m not the first, am I?

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