Page 35 of Under His Protection

What the hell is a red room? I’m not sure I want to find out.

Two of the men step forward. They grab me by the arms; their touch is cold and hard.

They lead me out of the cell and down the cold hallway. My legs kick and thrash, but it’s no use. Their grip is tight, and their movements are efficient. A few doors down, a door stands open.

Another door, another nightmare.

It’s a world away from the weathered cage I was just in. The room is luxurious, and the walls are a deep, almost black red, a color that feels suffocating, like a velvet curtain that shrouds me in its grip. The door, adorned with a massive iron lock, screams of finality.

This is a place you don’t escape from.

My vision blurs, and the room blends into a hazy mix of red and black. I can make out shelves lined with tools I’ve never seen before—whips, restraints, instruments of pain and pleasure. I can’t quite grasp what most of them are used for, but they make the hairs on my neck stand on end. The air is thick with a sweat tang, like the smell of sweat; the scent makes my stomach churn.

They set me down roughly on a black leather bench, its smooth surface cold against my skin. I shiver, my pulse racing. My eyes dart around, searching for an escape, a way out. But I’m trapped. The room is dimly lit, the low lights casting dark orange shadows, making the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Welcome to your new home, Ava,” Dexter says, his eyes distant. “You’ll spend a lot of time here.”

I look around, terrified. "I won't comply."

He leans back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Oh, I think you'll change your mind. He's a strong man, Alexander, but even strong men can break. And I wouldn't want to be the one to see that happen. Body part, by body part."

“You’re sick!” I shout, trying to wrestle myself free, to no use.

“Oh, I know that. But then again, we’re all a little sick on the inside, aren’t we?”

“Screw you,” I say, not having any words left.

“Soon, my love, soon,” Dexter says, “I love how you dressed up for me, those soft breasts pressed against your silky nightshirt. You’re nipples all hard for me.”

Three men, their shadows stretching long, stand beside Dexter. The one closest to me is the one with the serpent coiled around his bicep. It’s the same man from my apartment, but his mask is off now. His eyes are cold and hard. Another has a skull tattooed across his knuckles. The bone-white image chills me. The third man stands with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me, his hand resting on the cold steel of his gun.

“Undress her,” Dexter commands. He stands over me, his gaze a scorching brand. His hair is slicked back, revealing a sharp jawline under his beard and a face that seems perpetually smirking.

“With pleasure,” the man with the skull tattoo slithers. His tongue darts out, a quick, serpentine movement. His arms bulge with muscle as I notice another tattoo on his arm. This one is of a red dragon pinning down a naked woman. My body trembles.

“Please, no, Dexter, no,” I beg, my voice trembling.

I know it’s pointless, but I have to try.

The men start to remove my clothes. The fabric of my white night shorts and white silk night shirt falls to the floor, leaving me only in my underwear. I struggle against them, my fingers digging into the leather of the bench, my legs kicking out.

Dexter grabs a knife from one of the men’s belts and smirks.

“Don’t resist, Ava. It’s useless. Besides, you’ll enjoy it, I promise you. You’ll be begging me for more once my cock is inside you,” he says, his voice dripping. He runs the knife from my knee up my thigh, stopping at my apex. The cold metal sends a shiver through my body.

“No,” I try to scream, but the words are trapped in my throat and come out as a whisper instead. I won’t let you break me again. My anger starts to burn within me like a violent fire.

“But Michelle—” I say. “You said you love her; why do you want to do this to me? I’m not worth it. Dexter, please. No.”

Dexter's eyes soften, and there’s a flicker of something that might be affection or perhaps just a twisted amusement. It's a fleeting glimpse of something human beneath the cold, calculating facade. If only I could tap into that flicker, make it grow, remind him of something good, something he hasn't completely buried. Maybe then, just maybe, he'd remember what it means to feel, to be human, even for a moment.

“I love Michelle,” he says, “You’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t treat her like this. But you—” He leans in, his breath hot against my skin, his gaze burning into me, a laser focus that makes my body cold. “You’re all body. Your fuckin’ soft tits, your skin. You’re so wet for me every time I see you, Ava. It’s a beautiful thing.”

He licks his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes. His tongue darts out, a fleeting caress against my cheek, a gesture that feels more like a threat than a seduction. He reaches my lips and bites down, a sharp, stinging pain.

“Ouch,” I hiss, a jolt of pain shooting through me.

He tastes the blood dripping from my lip, his mouth lingering on my skin, a strange mixture of cruelty and desire. “Oh, my,” he murmurs, his eyes hungry. “Every single part of you tastes good. I bet your pussy tastes sweet.”

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