16. The Big Boss
The cold concretebites into my skin. Each breath is a shallow rasp as I fight to control the tremors that wrack my body. I squeeze my eyes shut, seeking refuge in the darkness behind my eyelids, but it offers no escape. The image of Kovacs, his cold eyes and cruel smile, haunts me. And the thought of this “boss” he mentioned— a chill creeps down my spine, settling like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
Hours crawl by. Time stretches and distorts, each minute an eternity. The silence is a living thing, pressing down on me, suffocating me. The musty air hangs heavy, thick with the stench of mildew and despair. Every creak of the building, every distant groan of metal against metal, makes me jump.
Then I hear it – a shuffling noise outside the door. My heart leaps into my throat, hammering against my ribs. I hold my breath, listening intently. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate. Coming closer. They stop right outside my cell. I shrink back against the wall, my muscles coiled tight, ready to spring. But there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
A key rattles in the lock. The metallic clang reverberates through my bones. The door creaks open. I can’t see anything. Darkness presses in from all sides.
“You’re a tough one, aren’t you?”
The voice is a low rumble, a sound I’ve heard before, but it dances on the edge of my memory, refusing to reveal its source. I press my lips together, a thin, defiant line. I won’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
Footsteps. He’s coming closer.
“You’re not like the others, Ava,” he murmurs, his voice a silken caress that does nothing to ease the terror coiling in my gut. “You’re special.”
His scent hits me then—expensive cologne, a hint of something spicy, familiar. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My body screams at me to run, to fight, but I force myself to remain still.
He steps behind me. I feel the heat of his body radiating towards me, a wall of warmth that feels suffocating. His fingers brush against my bare arm, sending a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I inhale sharply, the scent of him both intoxicating and terrifying.
“I’ll let you sleep,” he whispers, his voice a low growl that sends goosebumps erupting across my skin. “And we’ll see if you’re more willing to talk tomorrow, beautiful.”
I hold my breath, my entire body rigid as he lingers behind me for a moment. Then, with a rustle of fabric against fabric, he retreats. The door clangs shut, sealing me back in the darkness. But even in the silence, I can still feel his presence, his touch a phantom burn on my skin. And as my mind races, trying to identify the haunting voice that makes me feel colder and more insidious than any I’ve felt before.
My nightmare is far from over.
* * *
The harsh clanging of the cell door jolts me awake, my body stiff and sore from the concrete floor. The damp, musty air of the room clings to me like a shroud. Heavy footsteps echo down the corridor, drawing closer.
What now—
The door creaks open, and a guard enters, his face grim and shadowed, but at least it isn’t the leering predator from the night before. He places a tray of food and a cup of water on the floor, his movements robotic.
I pick at the meager offerings. The food is bland.
I think about the man from last night; his voice is haunting me.
The guard returns and leads me out of the cell, down the hallways, and into another room, this time without the blindfold. It’s a stark space, with its bare walls and solitary chair.
Hours seem to pass as I wait, the ropes binding my wrists and cutting into my skin, leaving a trail of raw, stinging pain and small pools of blood in my palms.
Then, I hear it again—the voice—the low, husky drawl that freezes me up instantly, the voice from my dreams. It’s the voice of the man from last night.
Something isn’t right.
My stomach coils as the door opens, and he strides into the room. Tall and imposing, he radiates authority. He approaches me, his dark eyes locked on mine, his gaze intense.
“Ava,” he says, his voice deep, sending a tremor through my body. “We need to talk.”
“Dexter?”I gasp, the air catching in my throat.
Gone is the awkward, boyish photographer from the office, replaced by this— man. His clothes, no longer the casual attire of a creative professional, are sharp and expensive. His body language is confident, bordering on arrogance.
I try to maintain my composure as he circles me like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes scrutinizing me, dissecting my every reaction.
“You’re a smart girl, Ava. You know the game. So why the charade? It’s boring me.”
“Dexter, I—”I stammer. “Why?”
“Why not, Ava?”he counters, his lips twisting what is supposed to be a smile.
I square my shoulders, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I have nothing to say to you,”I reply.
Dexter, it makes sense now. His intrusive questions, his snooping around in my office, how Kovacs got into my office, and how Alexander knew about Cole’s sexual assault. They have surveillance in Spectrum, thanks to Dexter. But why? Still, something is missing. A motive.
“All this time in the office,”I say, “talking, working together—was that all a lie?”
He leans closer, his breath hot against my skin, his lips brushing against my hair. “Ah, just like last night.”
“Answer my question,”I spit.
Why am I being so bold? This can hurt me— But I can’t stop.
He steps back, and a flicker of amusement dances in his eyes. “Why so feisty? This is so unlike you,”he muses. “But I’ll answer your questions, and maybe that will teach you to answer some of mine, too.”
He makes a low, strange sound. “You know what? I love office-Dexter. He’s real, a gentle soul. I am a decent photographer, one of the many skills my father forced upon me at boarding school. ‘Stay away for six months, Dexter, that’s fine,’”he mimics, his voice drips with bitterness. “But enough about me. I just need to know if you know enough about us, about the Europeans, the Veles Network, to give us away.”He flashes a grin.
Who are you?
“I’m not talking,”I declare. “Not to you, not to any other part of this— this organization.”I look around, searching for any means of escape, but the room is bare. The walls are solid.
“We’ll see about that,”he says, his eyes never leave mine, a promise and a threat all in one.“
“How did you do it? You’re a fuckin’ photographer.”The curse in my mouth feels good as if I’m on their level.
Dexter leans closer, a gleam in his eyes. “You want to know how I financed Veles, Ava?”he asks. “Smuggling is just the start. We moved art, Ava. Priceless masterpieces stolen from private collections. Forged documents, fake provenance – all easy enough to create when you have the right people in your pocket.”
He gestures to my bound hands. “Even your design skills served me, Ava. Remember those brochures you created for a high-end art auction? I had my people swap them out with ones containing subtle alterations, fake details that would raise no suspicions until it was too late. Good thing I had the cameras installed at Spectrum, it served me well.”
Cameras were used to serve the Veles Network, andSpectrum was used as a cover. I wonder what else he hides there?
My stomach lurches.I’vebeen a pawn in his game, andmy work has been used to further his criminal enterprise. The world I thought I knew, the world of art and design, has been corrupted and twisted into a tool for deception and greed.
Why is he telling me this? That means he won’t let me go, doesn’t it?
I dare ask another question:“Why the robberies?”
“A little cash was needed to get started again. Now you can answer a question for me, can’t you?”
“Idon’t know anything!”I grit my teeth.
“Sure—You’ll talk eventually. Everyone does. Everyone breaks, Ava. But I don’t mind you staying for a while. We had fun last night, didn’t we?”
I fight to maintain my composure as he moves closer. His body fills the small space with a suffocating intensity. “You’re a tough one,”he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. I like that. But make no mistake. I’ll get what I want from you, one way or another.”
With that, he turns and leaves the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving me alone with the chilling echo of his words and the terrifying realization that I am trapped and at his mercy.
Moments later, Kovacs enters, carrying a small screen. He sets it down in front of me, a sly smile playing on his lips as he turns it on. With a rough hand, he pulls my hair, forcing me to look at the images flickering on the screen.
“Now watch, princess,”he says, his voice cold. “Just sit back and enjoy the show.”
The grainy images on the screen flicker before me, a disorienting kaleidoscope of blurred shapes and distorted movements. I lean closer, my eyes straining to make sense of the scene, but it’s like peering through a dense fog, the details obscured, the figures shifting and morphing into unrecognizable forms.
And then, as if a veil is lifted, the image sharpens, the outlines solidifying into a scene that sends a jolt of ice through my veins. My apartment. My haven. And there, amidst the familiar furniture and scattered belongings, are Tyler and Sarah, their faces worried as they search the room.
My heart pounds against my ribs.
They are looking for me, their movements frantic, their voices hushed whispers that I can’t quite make out. I can’t let anything happen to them, I think, the realization hitting me with the force of a blow.
Kovacs’s voice breaks through my thoughts, shattering the fragile barrier of my resolve. “Isn’t it just adorable?”he sneers, his eyes fixed on the screen, a smile twisting his lips. “Isn’t it cute how worried they are about you?”
You bastard!
I freeze, my body tensing as his words sink in, their meaning clear and terrifying. He is using them, using their love and concern for me as leverage, a weapon to break my spirit, to force me to talk.
He leans closer. “I’ll give you until tomorrow to think about it,”he hisses, running a hand over his bare scalp.
The guard returns, his rough hands gripping my arms, pulling me away from the screen, away from the sight of my friends.
As he escorts me back to the cell, I stumble, my legs weak, my body heavy. What will happen to them if I don’t comply?
The cold, hard floor offers no comfort, and I curl up on my side, drawing my knees to my chest, seeking warmth from the chill that seeps into my bones.
The night stretches on like an eternity. Who will come to me tonight? I wonder, a shiver running through me as I hug myself.
The silence is broken by the creak of the cell door opening. A figure emerges from the shadows.
My heart leaps into my throat, its rhythm drumming at my temples. The guard, I think, bracing myself for his unwanted advances. Is there a weapon somewhere?
But then I hear his voice, low and smooth like a phantom hand traces a cold path along the curve of my spine, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. It isn’t the guard. It’s Dexter.
How naive of me to think it could be anyone else.
He approaches, his presence steals the air from my lungs. His eyes, dark and intense, seem to pierce through me, seeing into the depths of my terror.
“What will you do now, Ava?”he asks, his voice a low purr that sends chills down my spine. “Without Alexander, without Tyler? You poor, pretty girl.”His words are infused with mocking sympathy.
I remain silent, my body frozen. He is starting to scare me more than Kovacs, his unpredictable nature, his sudden shifts from the bumbling office colleague to this monster, leaving me feeling like a mouse trapped in the claws of a cat.
He places a hand over my mouth, silencing the scream that threatens to erupt from my throat.
“Now you’re here, alone with me,”he whispers, his voice husky with a dark desire. “Nothing to protect you. No office, no man. I’ve always been attracted to you, you know? You never saw me. You were always strolling around the office with your long hair and those thin shirts, your lips all pouty, your skirt always a little shorter than it had to be. Tempting me. Shoving it all in my face.”
Tears prick in my eyes hearing his words. How could I have been so blind? How could I not have seen the darkness that lurks beneath his facade?
I try to move, to fight back, but my body won’t obey. He is too strong, and his presence is overwhelming.
“Nothing to say?”he growls and studies my body.
Don’t speak, Ava. It will only antagonize him.
“Oh, I promise you, when I get between your legs, you’ll have plenty to say,”he growls, his voice thick with hunger. He presses his body against mine, his hips grinding against me, his hand still clamped over my mouth, stifling my cries for help. “I’m a very powerful man, Ava, but you never saw it, did you? You never paid me any attention.”
He reaches down, his hand closing around my breast, his touch sending a wave of revulsion through me. He squeezes my now exposed breast painfully hard, and I tense. His other hand moves lower, his fingers tracing the outline of my body, lingering between my legs. With a rough motion, he uses his knee to pry my legs apart, his touch violating and invasive.
Tearing off my panties, he stands up over me, “Fuck yes, you’re finally mine. I owe you tonight, and no one will come save you.”
I stifle my cry and try to fight him, but it is no use. “Tonight, you’ll be begging for my dick, beggin’ me to let you have a taste. I’ll fuck you mindless until you can’t stand upright.”
He thrusts his hand up inside me. I cry out in pain, but he doesn’t care as he continues to violate me, thrust by thrust.
I’m not weak anymore, I tell myself like a mantra. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I realize that no one will hear my cries, and no one will come to save me. So you save yourself, Ava.
The icy grip that paralyzed me shatters, replaced by a surge of primal rage. My body, no longer a passive vessel of terror, becomes a weapon. With a guttural snarl that rips from my throat, I sink my teeth into the flesh of his hand, the metallic tang of blood flooding my mouth as I channel every ounce of my strength into the bite. Simultaneously, my knee shoots upwards, connecting with his groin in a sickening thud that reverberates through my own body.
He crumples, a strangled cry escaping his lips as he doubles over in pain, his grip loosening. I shove him away, scrambling to my feet, the cold concrete floor biting into my bare skin. Without a second thought, I bolt towards the door, flinging it open and escaping into the dark hallway, the echo of his pained groans and the stench of him fading behind me.
Panic propels me forward, my bare feet slapping against the cold, hard floor. The building seems to twist and turn around me, each corner revealing another identical hallway, another dead end.
Every door I pass feels like a potential escape, a promise of freedom. But each handle I try is locked. The sound of heavy footsteps echoes through the hallway, drawing closer. Their rhythmic thud sends a chill down my spine – they’re hunting me.
I push onward, my legs burning, my lungs screaming for air, the taste of blood and adrenaline thick in my mouth. The building seems to stretch on forever, an endless maze of identical corridors and locked doors. Hope dwindles with each passing moment. I’m dizzy, and the walls are closing in on me, the air growing stale.
Then, just as I am about to succumb, a sliver of light appears in the distance. I surge forward, my legs pumping, my heart pounding.
What’s that? A door ajar?
I burst through the door, finding myself in a small, dusty room, its only window boarded up.
I scan the room, searching for anything I can use to barricade the door to buy myself a few precious minutes. But the room is bare, offering no tools, no weapons, just the echo of my own breath.
The pounding on the door begins and vibrates through the floorboards. The doorknob rattles violently, and I know it won’t hold for long.
I search for another escape route, a hiding place, anything to avoid being captured again. But the room offers no sanctuary, no escape from the inevitable.
The door splinters and bursts open with a deafening crash, a figure silhouetted in its opening. My breath catches in my throat.
Then, I see him. The unmistakable wild dark hair, the broad shoulders, the fierce determination in his eyes. Alexander. His presence fills the room, pushing back the darkness.
“Ava, are you hurt?”he asks, panting.
Tears stream down my face, hot and salty. “Yes,”I choke out, my voice trembling, barely recognizable as my own. “I’m okay—”
He strides towards me, his eyes searching mine as he pulls me into his arms.
“I’ve been looking for you,”he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough with emotion, his breath warm against my skin. “I couldn’t breathe, not knowing where you were.”
I cling to him, my tears soaking his shirt, my body trembling with the aftershocks of Dexter’s assault. The world outside fades away for a second as I focus on the steady beat of his heart, the feeling of being home.
“I’m so glad you found me,”I whisper.
He holds me, his hand stroking my hair, his touch a silent promise of protection. “I won’t let anything happen to you,”he vows. “I’ll keep you safe now.”
We stand there for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes. Then, with a sigh, he pulls away, his gaze hardening. “We have to go,”he says, his voice urgent. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
I nod. Hand in hand, we turn and face the dark, twisting corridors, ready to fight our way back to freedom, back to each other.