Page 8 of Under His Protection

His words make me shudder, and something rises within me, a simmering anger. The veins in my temples throb, pulsating. Furrowing my brows, I look at the message again. He promised me honesty, no matter how fucked up the truth is. He’s hiding something.

A few minutes later, another message appears on my screen, a single sentence that catches my breath.

It’s Alexander again. ‘She’s gone.’

Gone? Who’s gone? My fingers tremble as I click to reply, but another message pops up before I can answer. ‘They called me and said they can’t find her–’ The message ends abruptly, leaving me chilled. The words hang in the air, unfinished, like a shattered mirror reflecting a thousand unsettling possibilities.

My breath intensifies. ‘Michelle?’ I type, my fingers hovering over the send button, but I hesitate. What if asking is the wrong move? What if it pushes him further into the shadows, further away from me? I feel like I’m already losing him, secret by secret.

But I press send anyway. One second later, 'Yes' flashes on my screen.

Chapter 4

The Whispers of Doubt

The air in my tiny apartment is thick with the scent of dust and regret. I tug at a strand of hair behind my ear, a habit that’s only intensified since my life became entangled with Alexander’s. The empty boxes stacked against the wall, delivered by Alexander’s men a few hours earlier, feel more like a prison sentence than a fresh start. The cardboard is rough against my fingertips, smelling faintly of old paper and something vaguely metallic, like the scent of a ship’s hold. They’re not labeled, just generic brown boxes, and I pull one out, trying to load some books inside. They feel like a promise, a threat, an intrusion into my carefully curated space.

It’s just boxes, Ava. Now get packing. You’re moving in with Alexander.

I stare at the framed photograph on the wall – a faded image of my parents, their smiles as vibrant as the wildflowers blooming in the background. A lump forms in my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. I gingerly lift the picture, the paper cracking beneath my touch, and place it in a box. It feels like a betrayal, a final goodbye to the life I knew before. The apartment feels empty, a hollow shell of what it once was. The air smells faintly of my mom’s perfume, a blend of jasmine and lavender I can’t quite place. A ghost of their presence still lingers. It takes me back to a memory, a moment etched in my mind.

The carnival lights were a kaleidoscope of colors, blurring into streaks of neon against the night sky. The air thrummed with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clanging of the rides. I was ten, my parents beside me, their hands warm and comforting in mine. We had just stepped off the Ferris wheel. My eyes, bright with excitement, were fixed on the towering roller coaster, its tracks twisting and turning like a serpent, reaching for the heavens. It was called “The Demon’s Ride,” a name that sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

“Can we go on it, Dad? Please?” I begged, tugging at his hand, my eyes pleading.

My father chuckled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re brave enough, Ava?” he asked.

I puffed out my chest, my chin held high. “Of course I am,” I declared. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

My mother gave my father a knowing look. “Don’t encourage her, John,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “It’s a wild ride.”

But my father, ever the adventurous one, had already pulled me towards the queue. “Don’t worry, my love,” he said, squeezing my mother’s hand. “I’ll keep her safe.”

The wait seemed interminable, each minute stretching into an eternity. My heart thumped against my ribs. Finally, it was our turn. The attendant strapped me into the seat, the metal bar pressing against my chest. I held onto the metal handrails, my knuckles white, my palms slick with sweat.

As the coaster lurched forward, my stomach lurched with it. We ascended the first hill, the world tilting beneath us—a dizzying, thrilling sensation. Then, we plunged, freefalling into the abyss, the wind whipping through my hair, screams and laughter swirling around me.

Up and down, twist and turn, we hurtled through the darkness, the world a blur of lights and shadows. I screamed, I laughed, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. This was the most exhilarating ride I’d ever been on, the ultimate rush of fear and exhilaration. I wanted to do it again, and again, and again.

My father, beside me, was laughing, his eyes gleaming. He had a way of making even the scariest moments fun.

My mother, always a bit more cautious, would never go on a ride like this. But she would buy us popsicles to cool us down after the ride.

I knew then, in that moment, that I was fearless, that I was meant for more than the ordinary. I was meant for adventure, for the thrills that sent my heart racing, for the dangers that pushed me to my limits. And in that moment, as we rode “The Demon’s Ride,” I knew I would always seek out the thrills, risks, and moments that made me feel truly alive.

I shake my head, pulling myself back to the present. My thoughts drift to Michelle. Did she escape? Or was she taken? I've called Alexander several times, but he hasn't answered. As if reading my mind, my phone buzzes. It's Alexander. ‘Get over here.’

The words are a challenge, a promise, a threat. His voice echoes in my mind, sharp and urgent. I belong to him with every fiber of my being. He's the only person I can rely on, and he trusts me in return. But a flicker of doubt lingers. Maybe he'll finally explain what happened to Michelle; trust me enough to tell me the truth.

But after his message yesterday, there was only silence. A deafening silence.

Then, another message appears: ‘Can't wait for you to get here; I'm coming over.’ I haven't invited him, and I haven't even told him I'm packing up my apartment. But I know he will come. He's always one step ahead.

Not long after, I hear the soft thud of shoes against the linoleum floor. The door creaks open, revealing Alexander's silhouette. He's standing there, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on me. A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his lips, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.

He smells of rain and leather, a scent that sends a surge of longing through me. His presence fills the room, a powerful magnetic force that draws me in.

“Ava,” he murmurs, “I’ve missed you.”

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