35. Lena
Lena
The blindfold comes off without warning.
Light hits me all at once. I squeeze my eyes shut on instinct, head turning away as my vision burns. For a few seconds it’s just white and blur and the afterimage of darkness still clinging to everything.
Then it starts to settle.
Edges come back first. The outline of the room. Bare walls. Concrete floor. A single overhead light humming faintly. No windows that I can see. No obvious exit from where I’m tied.
And him.
He’s standing a few feet in front of me, watching.
The mask is the first thing I register. It’s familiar in the worst possible way, the same kind the three of them wore the night everything started, stripped down, impersonal, designed to hide everything that matters.
It sits wrong on this man, though. Not because it doesn’t fit, but because it feels like a choice instead of a necessity.
His shoulders are broad, posture relaxed in a way that says he’s comfortable here, comfortable with me like this, like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
My cheek throbs where he hit me.
I test my jaw carefully. It hurts, but not enough to matter. Not enough to distract from the anger building under my skin, hot and immediate, stronger than the fear for one reckless second.
I look straight at him. “You could have just asked for my attention,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake as much as I expect it to.
He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches me.
“So what now?” I ask. “You going to monologue? Or is this the part where you tell me what I supposedly did to deserve this?”
Still nothing.
The silence stretches just long enough to make me aware of my own breathing again, the restraints biting at my wrists, the way my body is still recovering from whatever he used to knock me out.
I lean forward as much as the chair allows. “You know they’re coming,” I say.
That gets the smallest tilt of his head.
“Those men?” I continue. “They’re not the kind of people you get to walk away from after this.”
He takes a step closer.
Slow. Unhurried.
My pulse kicks harder, but I don’t look away. “Good,” I add, because I can’t seem to stop myself now that I’ve started. “You should be worried.”
That’s when he reaches up and pulls the mask off.
For a second, I don’t understand what I’m seeing.
A face. Not familiar in the sense that I know him, but human enough to register. Lines at the corners of his eyes. Stubble along his jaw. A mouth that looks like it knows how to smile and chooses not to.
He lets me see him. Just like that.
And everything inside me drops.
Because that means something.
People who plan to let you go don’t show you their face.
My anger falters, replaced by something colder and far more dangerous.
He’s not worried about being recognized. He’s not worried about me walking out of here and telling anyone what he looks like.
Which means?—
Oh.
The thought doesn’t finish. It doesn’t need to.
My mouth goes dry.
I stare at him, really seeing him now, and for the first time since I woke up in that chair, fear settles properly into my bones.
He’s older than me. Not by a little. A lot. Maybe late forties, maybe more. Still in shape, though.
I pull against the restraints once, testing them again even though I know it won’t help.
“You know,” I say, softer now, not because I want to be, but because something in me is recalibrating, “there are easier ways to charm a girl.”
He doesn’t move away. If anything, he settles in front of me like we’ve reached the part he’s been waiting for. “Do you know why you’re here?” he asks. His voice is level, almost conversational. That makes it worse.
“No,” I say. “But I’m sure you’re dying to tell me.”
Something flickers in his expression. Approval, maybe. Or irritation that I’m not playing the role he expected. “I hate them,” he says.
“Congratulations,” I reply. “You’ll have to narrow it down.”
“The three men,” he clarifies, like I’m slow. “The ones you were with.”
My stomach tightens, but I keep my face still. “That’s a crowded club,” I say. “You’re going to need a membership card.”
His eyes harden. “They think they’re untouchable,” he continues, ignoring me. “They walk into places like they own them. They interfere where they shouldn’t. They destroy things they don’t even understand.”
There’s something building under his voice now. Like he’s been holding this in for a long time and doesn’t intend to stop once he starts.
“And your solution was to kidnap me?” I tilt my head slightly. “That’s… creative.”
He steps closer. “My solution,” he says, “was to take something that matters to them.”
“Bold assumption,” I say lightly. “You don’t actually know me.”
He lets out a short breath that might be a laugh if there was anything amused in it. “I know enough.”
“Clearly not,” I shoot back. “You’ve made this entire plan around the idea that I’m important to them, which is flattering, but also a little unhinged.”
“My life was ruined because of people like them,” he says. “Because of your father.”
That catches me off guard. For a second, I forget the fear, the restraints, the room.
“My father?” I repeat.
“Yes.”
I blink at him. I can’t help it.
“That’s impressive,” I say. “Considering I don’t even know who my father is.” The words are out before I can think better of them.
His hand moves faster than I expect. The backhand snaps my head to the side. Pain bursts across my cheek, bright and immediate, my vision blurring for a second as the world tilts and rights itself again. I taste blood.
“Don’t play games with me,” he says.
My head is ringing, but I turn back to face him anyway. “I’m not,” I manage. “You’re giving him a lot of credit for someone who never showed up.”
His expression twists. “Of course he didn’t,” he snaps. “Men like him don’t stay. They break things and leave other people to deal with the consequences.” His voice is louder now, not shouting, but closer to it. Controlled anger slipping just enough to show what’s underneath.
“No one cares about you,” he goes on. “Do you understand that? No one. You’re a tool. A means to an end. Something they’ll use until it stops being convenient.”
Tears gather in my eyes. I look back at him defiantly.
Because if that were true, if I really didn’t matter, if I was exactly as disposable as he’s trying to convince me—then this wouldn’t be happening.
“Then you wouldn’t have brought me in here,” I say quietly.
His eyes narrow.
“You needed me to matter,” I say. “Otherwise, none of this makes sense.”
Silence stretches between us.
For a second, I think he might hit me again.
Instead, he just watches me. And I hold his gaze.
He reaches into his pocket, and my breath catches despite myself. When his hand comes back out, there’s a knife in it.
Everything in my body goes still again.
He looks at me like he’s measuring something. “Let’s see,” he says quietly, “how much you really matter when I start sending you back piece by piece.”
And just like that, the room shrinks around the edge of the blade.