5. The Safe House
Chapter 5
The Safe House
The air in this place feels thick and cloying as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. It smells like woodsmoke and dust. The ranch is a world away from Port Haven, but the stillness here feels even more unsettling.
It’s in my bones— something is amiss.
My eyes scan the room we’ve stepped into. It’s a vast, rustic living room with wooden furniture and a massive stone fireplace. A stuffed moose, its taxidermied eyes fixed on me, looms above the hearth. I wonder if Alexander killed it? This is his place after all.
There are a few women sitting around on couches, in arm chairs. Some are talking, others are reading. The soft glow of the lamps casts long shadows. Their faces are pale but otherwise healthy.
A group of four women are huddled together on a big brown leather couch, their voices barely audible. Their eyes are laser-focused on Alexander and me, a silent intensity that makes me shudder.
A few of them sit alone, their eyes downcast, their bodies seemingly shrinking into themselves.
I see some familiar faces: Maya, Tatiana, Lena, and a handful of other girls I recognize from the shipping container. They nod at me, silently acknowledging our shared reality. There are new faces, too. I wonder where they came from and what stories they hold.
Alexander stands near the fireplace, his hand resting on the mantel, his dark gaze sweeping, taking it all in. Isaac leans against the rough-hewn table, his eyes sharp and alert.
Isaac has changed. The lines around his eyes are more profound, and his shoulders slump a little more. He looks older, even though it’s been just a few weeks since we saw him last.
Katerina stands a few feet from the fireplace, her expression cold. Her eyes are locked on me, and she glares disdainfully at me. The silence is punctuated only by the occasional sigh and the soft crackle of the television in the corner.
Then, a woman I don’t know enters with a tray laden with steaming cups. The scent of chamomile and honey fills the air.
Things seem normal, just for a moment.
“Tea?” She asks; her voice is soft, and her blonde hair falls around her face, framing it.
Yes, please,” I say, taking the steaming cup from her.
Anything to break the silence.
“I see more women here,” I continue. I can feel my throat tightening as I speak.
I need to know what is going on.
Katerina narrows her eyes and nods. “ Da, we pick up devushka from the Raven. Protect them.”
Isaac, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s, nods in agreement. “The Raven’s got something cooking. I don’t know what, but more women have needed our help around town.” He clenches his jaw.
He reminds me of Alexander, always anticipating the next threat.
Across the room, Tatiana’s eyes meet mine. Her gaze is steady, a spark of defiance burning in their depths. I mouth the words, “Are you okay?” She nods, a fleeting smile tugging at her lips.
Alexander straightens, his brows furrowing, a shadow passing over his face. “I think we should talk in the morning. Katerina, please give Ava some dinner. Isaac, is there a room for us?”
My thoughts drift to Sarah, a pang of worry tightening in my chest. I want to help her, but there’s nothing I can do right now. It’s frustrating.
“Of course,” Isaac says, gesturing for one of the women to show us the way.
Alexander walks over and takes my hand, squeezing it hard. But somehow, his touch feels different tonight. It’s not him, it’s me. I’m tired of being helpless, of depending on him. It has nothing to do with him. It’s something deeper, a primal need to take care of myself, a fierce independence suddenly surging within me.
I put the cup of tea down, the warmth of the chamomile clashing with the cold knot of resolve in my gut.
“Where’s Zara?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
“Training,” Tatiana says, a glance at her watch. “She never leaves the gym before midnight.”
The tea burns my tongue, but I don’t even notice. I set the cup aside and head down the hallway.
“Ava, where are you going?” Alexander says, his voice a low rumble that follows me down the hall. “Please eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say.
Tatiana glances at me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. A few other girls huddled on the couch exchange glances, their eyes widening.
I don’t care, I need to find Zara.
The hallway stretches before me like a labyrinth. I navigate the turns. I’m filled with an almost desperate need to find her.
How big is this place?
Finally, I find it—a large room on the second floor, a space transformed. It’s not a dance studio as I first thought. The mirrors lining the walls reflect the unsettling array of weapons that adorn them—blades, sticks, metal crowbars, and an arsenal of weapons I don’t even recognize. They make my skin crawl.
But I also feel a strange pull toward them, a longing to hold one, to feel the weight of its power.
I recognize Zara instantly, her dark hair ablaze against the shape lights of the room. Her green eyes gleam with a fierce intensity, her features sharp, her body a coiled spring.
She’s sparring with a man I don’t recognize, a hulking figure with the stoic features of a seasoned fighter. Their movements are a blur of speed and precision, making my stomach clench. I can hear the thud of their fists and the sharp intake of their breaths that reverberates through the room. The wind whistles through a crack in the window. A faded poster of some forgotten motivational message, clings to the wall, a silent witness to the endless training cycles I assume take place here.
This is everything I hate. Dexter, the Raven, the violence that defines this world. But there’s something else, too. A deep-seated longing stirs within me. Seeing Zara move with such lethal grace makes me crave her strength, her power.
But is it naive?
Each blow lands with a sickening thud, a crackle of energy that makes my stomach churn. I can’t even stomach watching a sparring session. How can I ever imagine myself becoming one of them?
“Zara, stop,” I plead.
She pauses, her eyes meeting mine, there’s a hint of amusement in those green eyes. But she doesn’t stop. Instead, she throws a punch, landing a sharp, resounding crack on the man’s face.
Zara stands over him, her eyes gleaming. “That’s for trying to hold back,” she grunts.
I gasp. The man stumbles back, his hand flying to his cheek, a crimson stain blooming on his face.
“Relax, Ava,” Zara says, her voice as smooth as silk. “It’s just practice.”
“Yeah, I know—” I say, feeling stupid and weak. I glance down at my hands, my fingers slender and delicate, unlike Zara’s powerful grip. The truth slams into me like a wave. I have no strength. No muscles.
She turns, her gaze meeting mine. “Think you can take me, Ava?” Her smile is wry, almost predatory.
“No,” I whisper, my voice small. I can feel my cheeks flush with shame.
She laughs a low, throaty sound. “Smart girl,” she says.
She’s changed since I saw her last; she is leaner and stronger. Her attitude, well—that didn’t change much. She was always fiery, even though I’d only known her for a few hours in that shipping container months ago.
She walks away before I can say more.
The man, still sprawled on the floor, looks at me, a grimace twisting his features.
“Are you okay?”
“Fuck yes,” he grunts, spitting out a mix of blood and something else – is that a tooth? “She’s amazing.”
“She is.” My stomach churns.
I need to learn how to fight. This world isn’t going to wait for me to catch up.
I leave the room, my steps reverberating down the stairs and into the hallway covered by a green carpet. A muted television crackles and laughter spills into the hallway from the end, where the living room is. Katerina stands there; her presence is like a storm cloud in the room as I reach her. Her eyes are sharp, her movements purposeful, like a silent command.
“Ava,” she says, her gaze a piercing laser beam. “Sleep. You need, da ?”
“Soon,” I murmur, already feeling the exhaustion pulling at me.
“Now,” she grunts, her voice a low growl, and turns, striding further into the living room.
She stops by a group of women huddled around the television, their eyes glued to a reality show. Some laugh, but the laughter dies instantly, replaced by a hushed silence as Katerina approaches.
“Enough of that,” she says, her voice a sharp, commanding tone. She gestures towards the stack of books on the shelf, their spines worn from years of use. “Read. Learn. Or sleep. Da? ”
The women, their faces downcast, obediently disperse. A few of them take a book and find a quiet corner to sit. Some of them go to sleep. Katerina watches them go, her gaze lingering on each one, assessing them.
I watch her. This isn’t a mother’s love. It’s a love born of necessity, a love forged in the fires of a world where survival is a constant struggle. Katerina is a warrior, a protector, and a shield. But she’s also a woman who’s been hardened by the world and has seen the darkness and felt its sting.
She turns her attention to Maya, a flicker of warning in her eyes. “Don’t you dare forget, slatka ,” Katerina says, her voice laced with a sharp edge, “that freedom and knowledge is a gift. You fight. You protect it.”
Maya nods, her eyes downcast. Katerina turns, her gaze meeting mine. Her love might be born out of necessity, but I recognize this kind of love. She’s a mother bear, her claws sharp, her heart fierce, always ready to defend her cubs.
My eyes drift to the antique clock in the corner, a relic from one of Alexander’s ships, I imagine. It’s 1 a.m., and the house feels like a pressure cooker, the tension simmering beneath the surface. Alexander, Isaac, and Katerina are still up. It’s like there is a storm brewing in the stillness. Even though I’m supposed to be tired, my mind is wired. I need to sleep, but the events of the day, the encounter with the serpent-tattooed man, and the fear for Sarah keep me on edge.
Alexander sits hunched on the corner couch, a weariness etched onto his handsome face. I settle beside him, the soft cushions of the couch feeling like a misplaced luxury.
I gesture for Katerina and Isaac to join us. They take their places in two armchairs across from us.
Katerina sends the other girls off, her voice sharp: “Go sleep. Leave us alone.” The women comply without an argument. As they leave, my gaze catches on some of the new faces.
I suddenly feel a desire to protect them, to help them find a way out of this life. Maybe we can somehow get them out of this place.
“Sarah,” I say, my voice raw. “They have got Sarah. I need to help her.”
Katerina and Isaac exchange glances.
“Sarah, your programmer friend? Red hair?” Isaac asks.
“We got a message,” Alexander says, his voice rough. “From the Raven.”
Isaac’s hands clench together. “I don’t know what message you got, but Sarah is fine. We’ve been watching her. Knowing he might target her.”
My breath hitches. It’s like a dam breaking, releasing the tension I’ve held for days. “Are you sure?” I ask, my voice shaky.
Isaac nods, his eyes confirming Katerina’s statement.
“So it was just bait to get us home,” Alexander grunts.
“Why?” I ask, my voice trembling. “Revenge?”
“Perhaps,” Alexander says, his gaze flickering to the window as if searching for answers in the darkness beyond. He runs a hand over his stubble. His fingers press against his temples.
I feel the newspaper in my jacket pocket. The rain starts to fall harder, a patter against the windowpanes of the ranch house. Welcome home to the rainiest place ever, a bitter irony twisting on my tongue. I caress the paper, pulling it out.
I have a question.
I show it to Katerina. Her eyes flicker. “Where did you get that, devushka ?”
“In my apartment. They ransacked it. I think someone left it there. Maybe it’s a warning or a sign.”
Katerina’s forehead creases in a furrow, her hands twisting in her lap. She scratches her graying hair, her gaze fixed on the newspaper. “This paper—many years old. Over twenty-five years older, da ?”
I nod, not having noticed the date in my hurry.
“What does it mean?” I ask, “Alexander translated the headline, but I want to know what it says, every word.”
“Not interesting. Some boat off Russia coast. Shooting. Many years ago.” Katerina says, her voice firm, her gaze cold. She barely even looked at the paper. I get the feeling she knows more than she’s letting on.
“But if you just read—”
“Told you, slatka . Nothing important,” she interrupts and looks away.
I put the newspaper back in my pocket, my heart pounding.
Alexander changes the subject, “So how about Monroe? Is he still with the police force?”
Isaac shakes his head. “No, Harvey ousted him. But he’s gone. He fled the city after the arrest warrant was issued.”
“Shit,” Alexander says, running a worried hand through his tousled dark hair. He shakes his head, a sigh escaping his lips. “The Veles—it’s grown.”
This is our life now. We’re surrounded by enemies.
“They many, many new devushka arrive at the ranch,” Katerina says, her eyes scanning the room. “Veles. The Raven. Fight them, da? ”
“Not until we figure out what they are up to,” I say, my voice firm.
“And how do we do that?” Katerina asks, her gaze sharp, a challenge in her tone.
“We’ll be smart about it,” I say. “I’ll help.”
A figure approaches in the doorway. It’s Zara. She makes eye contact with me, a knowing glint in her eyes, and winks.
“Zara,” I say, gesturing for her to approach. “I want to learn how to fight.”
Alexander’s jaw clenches, his voice a low growl, “You will do no such thing!” His eyes narrow, a storm brewing behind them, and I feel trapped, like a bird caught in a cage.
“I decide that, not you, Alexander,” I say, my voice steady, a quiet defiance that surprises even me. “It’s my life and my body.”
He holds my gaze, his eyes burning with intensity like a dragon spitting fire. “It will just encourage you to get in trouble,” he says.
“It’s not about getting in trouble,” I say, my voice rising, a wave of frustration washing over me. “It’s about being strong. I’m tired of being a freakin’ damsel in distress.” I point towards Zara, a bloody crack visible on her lip, a symbol of the strength I desperately crave.
“Ava,” Isaac says calmly, “Alexander is right. It’s too dangerous. It’s not a good idea.”
My anger boils over. “I’m not asking for your permission, Isaac .”
Alexander lets out a guttural sound. He slumps back in his chair, his anger like a storm cloud hanging low. The room feels like a tomb. I have to get out. I need air, and I need space.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Alexander grunts.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, my voice tight as I brush past Zara, my shoulder connecting with hers. I notice her staring at Alexander, but I brush it off.
“Ouch,” she says, a playful edge to her voice. “Good start, little Ava.”
I rush down the corridor, her mocking laughter echoing behind me.
That’ll be an excellent motivation to punch her in our first lesson. If she’ll agree to teach me—
I reach the entrance, my breath ragged with anger. I scan the walls and stand, desperately searching for an umbrella. Even if it’s raining, I need to get out. My tears threaten to spill, and my cheeks are flushed. Where the hell is there an umbrella around here?
I turn, my gaze drawn to a scene unfolding at the foot of the grand staircase.
Two girls stand facing each other, their energy crackling like static electricity. One has her lips painted a bold blood orange, her dress a flash of glitter, and she looks like she belongs in an eighties discotheque. Her face is pale and drawn, and she looks familiar to me.
Where have I seen her before?
She fidgets, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her dress, her eyes darting around the room, seeking a way out.
The other girl, dressed in a plain T-shirt, her eyes filled with a weary exhaustion that seems to have etched itself onto her features, is trying to hold her back. Her shoulders are puffed, and her gaze is on the colorful woman trying to pass her.
I move closer.
The girl in the T-shirt pushes her back, “You’re not leaving!”
“Try me!” the girl in the dress hisses, getting in her face, tilting her head, and staring at the other woman.
“Why is she dressed like that?” I ask one of the women standing nearby. My voice is sharp. “She can’t leave, can she?”
The girl with the makeup, her smile a little too wide, her gaze a little too eager, answers. “I can hear you, you know!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” I stammer.
“As a matter of fact,” she interrupts me, her voice sharp, “I got a job. At a new beauty salon in town.”
Beauty salon? My mind snaps to attention, searching for the connection, and it hits me fast, like a bolt of lightning. The one I saw at the waterfront when Alexander was getting a new phone.
Is it a coincidence?
I can place her face now. I saw her earlier today. She’s the pale woman that was standing behind Dorthea. It’s like the puzzle pieces are aligning. I can feel the adrenaline surge, a prickle of fear quickly overtaken by a chilling sense of certainty.
I raise my eyebrows, a suspicion taking root in my gut. “And you’re going out now? Dressed like that at 2 a.m.?”
The hushed whispers of the other girls create a soundscape of anxiety.
The girl in the dress continues her firm voice: “As a matter of fact, I know the owner. I need to get out of this place. We’ve been trapped here for weeks. This isn’t a life! It’s a prison. Besides, the manager said I could sleep there and start my shift in the morning.” Her eyes blaze with defiance, her lips drawn into a thin line.
“Is that safe?” I ask.
The girl in the T-shirt, her eyes filled with frustration and concern, chimes in, “That’s exactly what I told her!”
I want to say more, to warn her, but I’m not sure what I’d say. I know what happens to people who think they can escape.
Before I can even form a thought, the girl in the dress pushes past her friend, her movements a flurry like a storm of energy breaking free. She shoves past me and tears the door open.
“What about the guards?” I ask, widening my eyes. Is she serious?
“I know a shortcut around the guards,” she shouts. “Don’t fuckin’ try to stop me!”
She disappears into the darkness, a fleeting flash of color. I feel a sudden wave of helplessness.
Zara’s finger jabs my shoulder, pulling me back to the present. She doesn’t seem fazed by the girl’s escape, her expression a mix of amusement and hardened acceptance.
“I still up, you want to train now, da ?”
“But—” I stutter, “the girl?”
Zara sighs, “That girl is a self-destructive, messy, as you Americans say. Beyond help. Stupid.”
“Right—” My throat tightens. I know she’s right, but how can she just let her leave?
“In my world – weakness is death. You know that, slatka. Or do you prefer I call you sweetie?”
Before I can answer, Alexander appears behind us, his gaze sweeping over the gathering. His eyes are like a dark storm. He doesn’t need to say a word. Everyone in the room knows he’s the alpha, the one who commands respect and fear in equal measure. His eyes, possessive and demanding, scan me, a silent warning, a reminder of the boundaries he sets.
A few of the girls, drawn to the scene, whisper amongst themselves, their voices a soft murmur that feels like a threat.
“Oh, this Alexa ?” one of them says, her voice thick with a heavy Russian accent.
“ Da , beautiful, huh?” another girl, a stranger to me, says from the corner, her gaze lingering on Alexander, a hint of something else in her eyes, something I can’t quite place.
Alexander doesn’t acknowledge them. He never does. He doesn’t need to.
“You’re not training with this one,” he snaps, his voice sharp and cutting through the silence. His finger is pointed at Zara. “She bad news.”
He starts to climb the stairs. When I don’t follow him, he stops. His lips are tight, his brow furrowed. “Ava Parker, come with me now. We’re going to sleep.”
He might own me in love, but I’m still my own person. I’m not his puppet. I’m tired of being a good girl. A weak girl.
I might be marked by his touch, but I won’t be the one who breaks.
“I’m training now,” I say, stepping backward towards Zara. I grab the railing of the stairs to steady myself, bracing for the storm brewing in Alexander’s eyes.
“Let’s go, Zara,” I say, my voice firm.
Zara nods and sends me a sly smile. Her gaze sweeps over Alexander, her eyes sharp and knowing. “The world is full of bad guys, Ava. You need to be ready to fight them.”
I know she’s right. I’m not going to wait for them to come for me. I’m going to be ready.
Alexander stands there, fuming, running a hand over his beard as we walk past him. I can feel his eyes burning into my back, but he doesn’t touch me. As we reach the top of the staircase, I sigh and hurry after Zara, who is already steps ahead of me.
“First lesson, your shape!” she says, her voice sharp and unfriendly.
Just what I need. I’m not looking for a friend, I’m looking for a teacher. A coach. And Zara is just right for the job.
I look around at all the faces staring at me. I wonder if this house ever sleeps?