Page 33 of Under His Protection

My fear turns my palms clammy, my grip on the slippery glass surface weakening. It slips from my grasp, a silent scream as it plummets towards the floor. The impact is sharp, brutal. A million jagged shards explode outwards, catching the faint glow of the city lights like a thousand tiny, malevolent eyes.

A moment later, he stands in the doorway, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Dexter Hawkins. No, no, no, no.

My blood runs cold, and my skin erupts in a sea of goosebumps. Behind him, three men, towering figures in the shadows, advance towards me. They move slowly, deliberately, like predators closing in on their prey. Their bulky forms, their muscles rippling beneath their black T-shirts, make me tremble. They’re all masked and armed except Dexter. The man closest to me has a serpent tattooed on his bicep, its scales etched into his flesh. His eyes are cold and hard, a pair of obsidian chips staring into my soul.

“Did you miss me, Ava?” Dexter says with a twisted voice. He has grown a beard, but his eyes are the same: dark brown eyes filled with even more darkness.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I search for a way out, a hiding place, but there’s nothing. My apartment feels like a cage.

“No,” I want to scream, but the words are trapped in my throat.

I scramble backward, my bare feet scraping against the cold tile floor. My mind races, desperate for a plan. They’re coming for me. I see it in their eyes, the hunger.

This can’t be happening. I’m not going to let him win. I’m not going to be his victim again.

Adrenaline courses through me, a surge of primal energy. I’ve been through this before, and I won’t let Dexter break me.

I lunge at the closest man, a blur of motion. My fingers dig into his arm, my nails raking across his skin. He cries out in surprise, a sharp, stinging pain. I grab a vase from the coffee table and slam it against his face. The impact sends a sickening crack through the air.

“Don’t be stupid, Ava!” Dexter shouts, but I don’t listen.

The second man, his face etched with surprise, lunges for me. But I’m ready. Not this time, I think, a silent roar in my head. One of the men aims his gun at me, and for a moment, I stare into a black barrel, chilling me to the bone.

“Don’t shoot, damn it!” Dexter says. “I need her alive!”

I duck the force of his swing with the gun, missing me by a hair. I grab the edge of the coffee table and swing it with all my might, connecting with his jaw. He stumbles backward, his hand flying to his face.

I can’t wait to see the damage. I run, my feet pounding on the floor, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to get away.

One of the men grabs my arm, his grip like a vise. I twist and turn, my fingers digging into his bicep. The pressure of his hand against my arm is excruciating, but I don’t let go. I kick back with all my strength, my heel connecting with his jaw. I hear a crack, and he releases my arm, staggering back.

He falls against the wall, a crimson streak appearing on his nose.

I keep running. The adrenaline pushes me forward. But I’m not fast enough.

The man with the tattoo of a serpent coiled around his bicep grabs me from behind, his hand clamping over my mouth, smothering my scream. His grip is firm and immovable. I struggle, my bare feet kicking wildly, my body contorting in a desperate attempt to break free. I will not be his victim. I will fight, I scream silently, my anger burning within me. “Go to hell!” I yell through gritted teeth. My words are muffled by his hand.

He slams me against the wall, my back jarring against the hard surface. My legs give way, and I collapse, my body a crumpled mass on the floor. I can’t move. Every inch of my body is in pain.

Dexter leans over me, his eyes burning with anger and excitement. He runs his hand over my cheek, and the touch is like a searing brand. The scent of his cologne and alcohol hits my nostrils.

The men close in, their faces covered by the black masks, their bodies standing over me, grabbing my arms and legs.

I can’t move.

“Did you learn some new tricks from Alexander?” Dexter hisses.

I try to speak, but one of the men’s hands clamps over my mouth, his grip tight and painful. He lets go for a moment, running his fingers over my parted lips—the gesture makes me gag.

“Can we– sample her, Dexter? I bet she’s hungry for us,” he says, his voice a mocking growl.

I spit in his face, my rage a burning ember within me. The spittle lands on his cheek.

“Fuck you!”

“That only turns me on more,” he snarls, his grip tightening.

“I’ll let you play as much as you want after I have my way with her,” Dexter says, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “First, I want someone to watch as I take her. Make her fuckin’ mine. Make her beg for my cock, beg to stuff it down her throat.”

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