Page 34 of Under His Protection

He wants Alexander to watch as he takes me. His words chill me to the bone.

“I’d rather die,” I say, my voice defiant, my body trembling.

“That can be arranged if you don’t comply,” Dexter says, a twisted smile on his lips. I cringe, but he pulls back, a cruel glint in his eyes. “We’ll save the fun for my place,” he says, his voice cold, promising something far worse.

The world shrinks to a single point: him. The gun, the shadows, the cold air—everything else fades away. Just him, the predator, and the fear that wraps around me, tight and suffocating.

Chapter 13

The Price of Power

The air in the building I’m in is thick. It’s not the kind of air that breathes life; it’s the kind that holds your breath hostage. The heavy, insulated doors shut with a soft thud, a sound that seems to absorb any noise, any hope of escape.

“No one can hear you scream,” Dexter had said, growling, as he showed me the cell. “Not in a million years.”

This place feels more like a tomb than a building. My gaze scans the room, landing on the worn, peeling paint on the walls and the cold, hard metal bars that cage me. I trace the metal with a trembling finger.

Where am I? What is this place? It looks like an old house or apartment building, but it has been modified to hold people here. Cold, icy tendrils run down my back as I scan the room.

Across from me, slumped on a cot, is Michelle. She looks exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed, her features drawn, and her hair a dull, lifeless mass. No, no, no, they got her too.

“Ava,” she whispers. Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of fear in their depths. “What the hell is happening?”

“Dexter is happening,” I say, the word a bitter pill. “He’s back.”

“Dex brought us here? The fuck?” she says, widening her eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt me, you know?”

I’m unsure, but I let her stay in that hope momentarily. I can’t afford for her to panic.

The door creaks open again, and a rusty groan reverberates through the room. Dexter enters, his face a mask of icy fury, his eyes gleaming like shards of ice. He strokes his chestnut beard as he moves closer to the bars. The clang of keys, a metallic sound, unlocks our cage. He looks like a villain straight out of a bad movie, but the tendrils that run down my spine tell me this is no fantasy.

“Michelle,” he sneers. “It’s good to see you.” His hand rests gently on her shoulder, a gesture that feels as threatening as a gun. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

He turns to two men standing behind him, their muscles bulging beneath their tight t-shirts, their faces a grim mask of obedience. “Take her to a safe place,” he says, his voice a clipped command, pointing at Michelle.

The men close in on Michelle, yanking her roughly from the cot. “Don’t mess with her,” Dexter snarls, his voice a cold, sharp command. “She’s precious cargo!” The men loosen their grip on her arm, but their faces are grim, their movements harsh. Michelle flinches, a tear tracing a path down her cheek, her body trembling as she’s pulled from the makeshift bed.

“Ava,” she cries. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, Dex— Please.”

“She’ll only get what she’s been begging for this whole time,” Dexter says, his voice chilling. “What she deserves.”

The men drag Michelle to Dexter, who stands there, his eyes glued to her, a master surveying his servant. He leans in and kisses her, a rough, possessive claim. She doesn’t dare to resist, her body stiffening, a mixture of fear and revulsion radiating from her. But as her eyes meet mine, she manages a subtle mime, a silent plea. “I’ll help you.”

You can’t help me, Michelle.

My stomach drops. I watch them leave the cell, the lump in my throat growing with every passing second. Dexter and two of his men remain in the room, their eyes fixed on me. My fingers clench into fists, my heart flapping in my chest. My eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, a way to break free, but I’m trapped. I am the one who’s left behind, the one who’s about to face his wrath.

I instinctively close my legs, my muscles tightening. Dexter turns back to me, watching me as a puppetmaster would gaze at his doll.

“Let’s have some fun, Ava.”

“I know you like to see me hurt,” I say, my voice steady. “I know you like to watch me break.”

“You know I do,” he says, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. The thrill of my fear is intoxicating for him, a sick, twisted pleasure he relishes.

“I won’t give you the satisfaction,” I say, my voice hard. “Whatever you do to me, Dexter.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says and gestures towards the men waiting, their eyes fixed on me, a hungry anticipation burning in their depths. “Take her to the red room,” he says, his body taut with a barely contained excitement, like a coil about to spring.

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