Page 39 of Under His Protection

“Sure, run along, Dexy-boy,” Cole says, his voice cold and measured. He never takes his eyes off me.

Dexter takes a hesitant step back, his arms still raised. “I’ll leave the city. Never come back.”

“Yes, yes,” Cole says, his tone bored, dismissive. He continues to study me, his fingers toying with the gun in his hand. It’s a casual gesture, but the fear it stirs within me feels primal, deep.

“O-okay,” Dexter stammers, turning to leave.

Two gunshots shatter the silence. The flash of the muzzle fire momentarily blinds me. A hot wind whips past my ear, carrying the metallic scent of gunpowder. The sound is loud, reverberating off the bare walls of the room.

Dexter crumples to the cold linoleum floor, two dark holes staining the back of his head. His limbs sprawl at awkward angles.

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth, stifling a scream. “Shit—” I breathe. “Why—-why did you do that?”

Cole shrugs, his expression indifferent. “I can’t have backstabbers in my midst, Ava. He took half my people and tried to turn them against me, reversing Veles that I built against me. Such a fucking mess.”

He lights up a cigarette with his other hand, “Dexter saw me as a rival, you know? But I was a friend. He thought he could manipulate me and use me to achieve his own goals. But I’m not a puppet. I’m the one who pulls the strings. He’s just a casualty. A necessary sacrifice. He should have known better.”

Cole is the Raven. Cole is the Raven. A cold-blooded murderer. I pinch myself, desperate to wake up from this nightmare, but the pain is sharp and accurate.

“Tie her up,” Cole commands.

One of his men steps forward, a coil of thick rope in his hand. He binds my arms behind my back, the rough fibers digging into my wrists, drawing blood.

“Don’t do this, Cole,” I spit, my voice raw. “It’s not worth it, you’ll get caught!”

“They didn’t catch me so far, did they?” He runs a hand through his sun-bleached hair, his ice-cold eyes fixed on me. “Harvey suspected me back when I posed as The Specter. And still, the idiot didn’t catch me.” His laugh is a cold, distant sound devoid of humor.

My eyes widen. “The Specter?” I mumble, the pieces falling into place with sickening certainty. Of course, The Specter. Harvey had mentioned a ruthless criminal from years ago, one they never caught.

Cole Cohan is The Specter. And the Raven. The same person. How could I have been so blind?

The signs were all there. Cole owns Spectrum Design Studio, Specter, and Spectrum. It was right in front of me, Harvey, and Alexander. The frayed envelope with a warning about poor Mark was all a setup to steer me in another direction while the Raven executed his plans right under my nose.

I’m so stupid.

“Where is Alexander?” I ask.

“You’ll be reunited soon enough,” Cole says, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Clean up this mess and get the shipment going. We send them out tonight.”

“Send what out?” I demand, but he ignores me.

“Take her and the Bourne girl to my apartment,” he instructs his men. “Make sure they’re locked up well. This one—” He pauses, his eyes lingering on me. “This one is— spicy.”

Two men grab me, and their grip is rough. As they drag me away, I think of Michelle caught somewhere in this labyrinth of terror. And of Alexander, rushing into a trap, he might not escape.

I’m in the hands of the Raven. The thought is a cold fist clenching around my heart, squeezing the last hope from my soul.

Why the hell is Cole doing this to me, to us, to Alexander?

The drive to the new place, which I assume is Cole's apartment, was short. We're still in the harbor area, I think, but it's impossible to be sure. I was blindfolded, my mouth gagged, and my screams swallowed by the darkness.

The heavy steel door shuts, the sound rattling through the sterile white hallway like a death knell. It isn’t a lock, not a traditional one, anyway. It is a mechanism, a series of bolts sliding into place with a grinding, metallic shriek that makes me shudder. There’s a bed nestled in the middle of the room, a surprisingly cozy-looking affair with crisp white sheets, plump pillows, and a thick, gray blanket. Even a bedside table sits next to it, complete with a lamp and a book.

It’s a room. A bedroom. But a bedroom in this place? It feels— off. Too normal. Does someone live here? Is this Cole’s room? The sterile white and gray décor feels more like a hospital room than a personal space. There’s a smell of bleach and disinfectant, which stings my nostrils. This isn’t an apartment. It is a fortress. A sterile, cold, and utterly terrifying fortress. This place was built to keep people in.

The thought of other victims takes over my mind. I’ve been so stupid, so naive. I thought I could handle this world and carve out a little sanctuary for Alexander and me in the midst of all things evil.

My gaze sweeps across the room, taking in the cold, concrete walls. This isn’t just twisted. It is methodical. Calculated. It is the mind of a man who plans for every contingency and anticipates every move. Cole.

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