Page 40 of Under His Protection

“Michelle?” I whisper at the figure slung in the corner of the room. A sob, muffled and choked, comes from over there. I rush towards the sound, my bare feet slapping against the cold concrete floor, my pulse rising.

Is she okay?

There she is, huddled on the floor, her body trembling, her face buried in her hands. I can smell her fear, a sharp, acrid tang that mingles with the scent of blood.

“Michelle, it’s Ava,” I say.

She looks up, her eyes red and swollen. A bruise is blooming purple and yellow around her left eye. It looks like a grotesque, blooming flower.

“Did Cole do this to you?” I ask, anger fuming inside of me like a steam roller. Instead of answering, she gazes ahead to the bolted door.

Her wrist is bent at an unnatural angle, the bone starkly visible beneath the torn skin.

Bile rises in my throat. He did this. The realization is a cold fist clenching around my heart.

“Ava,” she chokes, her voice raw; the sound is scraping. She lunges towards me, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight. Her body is rigid, trembling, and I feel another surge of protective anger.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her hair.

Nothing is okay. Why am I lying to her?

We stay like that for a long time, the silence broken only by her ragged breaths and the distant hum of an air conditioner. The room has no windows; it’s another prison. We’ve gone from Dexter’s grip to the Raven, being passed around like rag dolls, traded, and violated.

“He— he broke my wrist, the shithead,” she whispers. “He said—he said it was a lesson.”

“What lesson?” I ask, my voice tight. My wrists throb from the ropes that bound them earlier.

“A lesson—- for disobeying him,” she says, her eyes downcast. “For coming back to Port Haven, for being with Dexter. He’s fuckin’ insane, Ava. Twisted in the top.”

I feel a surge of guilt. Is this my fault? Am I the one who has dragged her into this nightmare?

“So why not just kill you? Or me—” I ask. The words are a bit too blunt, a thought I should’ve kept to myself.

She shrugs, her eyes avoiding mine. “I don’t know.”

There’s a coldness to the room, a sense of calculated cruelty, that makes me uneasy. Cole doesn’t seem like the type to do anything for no reason. There has to be a reason for keeping Michelle and me alive. And I need to find out what it is.

We sit on the cot, huddled together. The thin blanket does little to ward off the chill that seems to seep from the very walls.

“Dexter is gone,” I say.

“I know,” Michelle sobs, “The Raven, that asshole, laughed when he told me.” Her voice cracks, and she looks away, a tear tracing a path down her bruised cheek.

“He’s a—” I start, but my words are cut off by the heavy clang of the door slamming open. Two of Cole’s men stand there, faces like stone, eyes like ice. They move into the room, their footsteps heavy and deliberate. They’re carrying someone, dragging them along with a brutal efficiency.

My blood runs cold. It’s Alexander.

He stumbles into the room. His white shirt is a bloody mess, clinging to his wounds like a second skin. His eyes, usually bright, are dull, one of them swollen shut. They’ve taken the fight out of him, leaving him empty.

I want to scream. I want to run. I want to do something, anything, but I’m frozen.

“Alexander!” I say, and the word feels raw in my mouth. My heart slams against my ribs, a fierce ache. I lunge toward him, but one of the guards grabs my arm, his grip tight.

“Stay back,” he growls, shoving me hard against the wall. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my body, but it’s nothing compared to the agony of seeing Alexander like this.

“Ava,” Alexander gasps, his voice ragged. His words are a struggle. “Don’t touch her—” he adds, his fiery eyes locked on me.

Cole walks into the room, a lion in a tailored suit. He looks immaculate, his crisp white shirt and suit are so different from the battered and bruised Alexander. He’s like a shark circling in the shallows, savoring the moment, the power he holds.

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