13. The Price of Power
The airin the building I’m in is thick. It’s not the kind of air that breathes life; it’s the kind that holds your breath hostage. The heavy, insulated doors shut with a soft thud, a sound that seems to absorb any noise, any hope of escape.
“No one can hear you scream,”Dexter had said, growling, as he showed me the cell. “Not in a million years.”
This place feels more like a tomb than a building. My gaze scans the room, landing on the worn, peeling paint on the walls and the cold, hard metal bars that cage me. I trace the metal with a trembling finger.
Where am I? What is this place? It looks like an old house or apartment building, but it has been modified to hold people here. Cold, icy tendrils run down my back as I scan the room.
Across from me, slumped on a cot, is Michelle. She looks exhausted, her eyes red-rimmed, her features drawn, and her hair a dull, lifeless mass. No, no, no, they got her too.
“Ava,” she whispers. Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of fear in their depths. “What the hell is happening?”
“Dexter is happening,” I say, the word a bitter pill. “He’s back.”
“Dex brought us here? The fuck?” she says, widening her eyes. “He wouldn’t hurt me, you know?”
I’m unsure, but I let her stay in that hope momentarily. I can’t afford for her to panic.
The door creaks open again, and a rusty groan reverberates through the room. Dexter enters, his face a mask of icy fury, his eyes gleaming like shards of ice. He strokes his chestnut beard as he moves closer to the bars. The clang of keys, a metallic sound, unlocks our cage. He looks like a villain straight out of a bad movie, but the tendrils that run down my spine tell me this is no fantasy.
“Michelle,” he sneers. “It’s good to see you.” His hand rests gently on her shoulder, a gesture that feels as threatening as a gun. “I’m glad to see you awake.”
He turns to two men standing behind him, their muscles bulging beneath their tight t-shirts, their faces a grim mask of obedience. “Take her to a safe place,” he says, his voice a clipped command, pointing at Michelle.
The men close in on Michelle, yanking her roughly from the cot. “Don’t mess with her,” Dexter snarls, his voice a cold, sharp command. “She’s precious cargo!” The men loosen their grip on her arm, but their faces are grim, their movements harsh. Michelle flinches, a tear tracing a path down her cheek, her body trembling as she’s pulled from the makeshift bed.
“Ava,” she cries. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, Dex— Please.”
“She’ll only get what she’s been begging for this whole time,” Dexter says, his voice chilling. “What she deserves.”
The men drag Michelle to Dexter, who stands there, his eyes glued to her, a master surveying his servant. He leans in and kisses her, a rough, possessive claim. She doesn’t dare to resist, her body stiffening, a mixture of fear and revulsion radiating from her. But as her eyes meet mine, she manages a subtle mime, a silent plea. “I’ll help you.”
You can’t help me, Michelle.
My stomach drops. I watch them leave the cell, the lump in my throat growing with every passing second. Dexter and two of his men remain in the room, their eyes fixed on me. My fingers clench into fists, my heart flapping in my chest. My eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape, a way to break free, but I’m trapped. I am the one who’s left behind, the one who’s about to face his wrath.
I instinctively close my legs, my muscles tightening. Dexter turns back to me, watching me as a puppetmaster would gaze at his doll.
“Let’s have some fun, Ava.”
“I know you like to see me hurt,” I say, my voice steady. “I know you like to watch me break.”
“You know I do,” he says, a cruel smirk spreading across his face. The thrill of my fear is intoxicating for him, a sick, twisted pleasure he relishes.
“I won’t give you the satisfaction,” I say, my voice hard. “Whatever you do to me, Dexter.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says and gestures towards the men waiting, their eyes fixed on me, a hungry anticipation burning in their depths. “Take her to the red room,” he says, his body taut with a barely contained excitement, like a coil about to spring.
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.”
My mind races, a desperate search for a lifeline. I have an idea. It might be a long shot, but it’s my only chance.
“Wh-what about Alexander?” I stutter, my voice trembling. “Doesn’t he get to watch?”
Come on, Ava. Play his game.
Dexter, momentarily broken from his trance, looks at me, his brow furrowed. “What?” he says, tilting his head, a mixture of confusion and annoyance in his eyes.
“You said you wanted to make him suffer,” I say, my voice steady, but my stomach twists and turns. I lick my lips, pushing my breasts forward, meeting his gaze with a defiant challenge. “There’s nothing more torturous than seeing us together, Dexter. You and me. Like it was always meant to be. I’ll be your fuck-girl. You get your revenge.”
A low growl rumbles from his throat, and I feel him hardening against me. “Shit, yeah,” he moans, his voice rough. “You’re right.”
He’s turned on by this, the danger, the power play. I can use this against him. I tickle his inner thigh with my foot, a gentle, teasing touch. He moans again, harder this time, his body pressing against mine. “Oh, fuck yes, Ava,” he says, his voice rough. His hand reaches for my leg, his fingers tracing the line of my knickers.
All I want to do is punch his face, grab his gun, and shoot him. But I’m playing the game.
“Alexander?” I ask, drawing out the name, my voice a soft purr. His trance is shattered. “And what about the Raven?” I ask, my voice innocent, my gaze meeting his. “Does he get to watch you toy with me, too?” I spread my legs invitingly.
The men shift, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. The glint of the guns makes me shiver. His eyes narrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. I’m playing a dangerous game, but I have no other choice.
“What do you know about the Raven?” Dexter asks, lowering the knife he’s been pressing against my inner thigh.
Not enough.
“I know you don’t like him, neither does Alexander,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “Nor I.”
“To hell with them both,” Dexter snarls, his anger a wave crashing over me. “Fuck you all.”
So Dexter doesn’t like the Raven?
He throws back his head and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that grates on my nerves. ”I don”t want to hear about them. Especially Alexander. I”ll fuck you again once my men get him here. Your dear Alexander,” he mocks, the words dripping with venom. ”You know, he”s not gonna save you now. Just like he left you four years ago, he”ll leave you again. You”ll see.”
A slow burn ignites in my chest, a fire that starts as a dull ache and grows with each mocking word. My hands clench into fists, nails digging into my palms. ”He didn”t leave me,” I say, my voice tight with a simmering fury. ”You forced him to leave. You drove him away.”
Dexter chuckles, a chilling sound. “I didn’t make him leave. I would love to take credit for that—I enjoy seeing Alexander suffer. But that was all the Raven. He drove him out, threatening to kill Michelle if Alexander didn’t stick with Kovacs and me, doing his dirty bidding.”
So that’s why Alexander left. I take a step back, my mind reeling.
What was the Raven’s beef with Alexander? What had he done to piss him off so much that he would threaten to kill his sister? It doesn’t make any sense.
I gasp, my mind reeling. “The Raven was behind it all?” I whisper. No one answers me.
It all clicks into place. Dexter hates the Raven, and the feeling is mutual. That”s why he came back, trying to seize control of Veles again. The disappearances, the murders of Irina and Boris—likely people loyal to the Raven. People vanishing, silenced, and replaced with loyalists. Now, the Raven is enraged. They”re locked in a silent war, and I”m a pawn in their deadly game.
Dexter leans in closer, his eyes burning into me, a cruel amusement playing on his lips. He’s enjoying this. The power he holds over me, the fear I can’t disguise.
“But you think you know everything, sweet little Ava,” he says, his voice a purr. “Just because you’ve got a crush on a criminal?”
He runs his finger along the edge of my knickers, a light touch that makes me shiver. My breath becomes ragged as he pushes his finger against my clit, the touch sending a jolt through me. I instinctively close my legs, but two of the men push them open. I can’t look away. I’m trapped, frozen, unable to move.
He lingers, his finger pressing against my sensitive flesh, a cruel tease. His touch makes makes my skin crawl. I’m ready to scream. I’m prepared to fight. But he’s not done. He inserts his finger deep inside of me and lets out a heavy sigh. He twists his fingers in rough motions, making me squirm.
“Fuck, yes, Dexter. Make her come,” one of the men says.
Instead, Dexter retracts his fingers, pushes them into his mouth, and closes his eyes, savoring the wetness of my inside on his lips.
“Fuckin’ tasty, Ava,” he whispers, his gaze locking onto mine. I try to look away, but one of the men grabs my cheeks, forcing my gaze back onto Dexter.
“You’ll watch him enjoy you,” the man says with a cruel smirk. “You should be thankful. Most girls don’t get this kind of attention in here.”
My stomach churns. What is this place? How many girls have suffered here before me? Dexter is sick and twisted. This isn’t just a prison. It’s a cult. Their grip tightens, reminding me that I’m trapped in a game. And it’s a game I can’t win.
Dexter’s hand runs up my inner thigh, and I struggle to keep my composure. The room feels smaller, the air heavier. I know what’s about to come. He stops momentarily and stares at my apex, taking me in.
Come on, Ava. Think of something.
“The Raven says you can’t control the city,” I lie, my voice steady, a desperate attempt to shift his focus, to buy myself a few precious seconds. “He says you’re too young, too soft. He says you’re a pretender to the throne.”
A flicker of anger crosses his features. “When did he say that? You’re lying. I’m no fucking softie,” Dexter murmurs to himself. He runs his fingers over my breasts. “The Raven will learn, and so will you.”
A scream echoes from the other side of the building, sharp and piercing, making me jump. Michelle?
One of the tattooed arms cups my other breast, squeezing it hard. My nipple involuntarily reacts to his touch, hardening instantly.
“Fuck, she’s ready for us. Come on, Dex, let’s have some fun with her,” he gasps.
“Screw you,” I whisper, almost inaudible.
“With pleasure,” he slithers. “All of you, I’ll fuck your tight hole so hard you’ll be screaming in pleasure for mercy before you come all over me.”
Dexter pauses, his eyes flicking from my breasts towards the sound. “Stop,” he says, his voice sharp, a command to the men. He looks back at me. “I’ll deal with her later,” he says. “By myself. Finish what I started a long time ago.”
He releases me with a shove, and I fall back on the leather bench, my mind racing.
“Oh, come on, Dex!” One of the other men shouts.
“I said, later!”
He leaves the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Fear pulses like a live wire through my veins. Please leave, please leave. The men stand there, their gazes fixed on me, their bodies tense, their pants bulging, ready to act.
“Come the fuck on,” Dexter shouts, and the men finally get up to leave the room. The one with the snake tongue locks eyes with me, “I’m not done with you, beautiful.”
The door slams shut behind him, leaving me in the silence. I sink to the floor, tears streaming down my face as I grapple with —everything.
I’m alone again. But this time, the fear is different. This time, it’s cold, sharp, a knife twisting in my gut. I’m a target. And I’m not sure if I’ll survive this even if they don’t kill me.