Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Pain woke Lena again. Not the sharp, immediate kind that came with being shot or cut with a knife. This ran deeper. A collection of aches that seemed to have settled into every inch of her body.
Lena opened her eyes—correction, eye—and stared at the stained, metal door. Her head throbbed worse than before, and her jaw ached where Henry’s guard had struck her. Her ribs screamed, and the strain from having her hands bound behind her back pulled at her shoulders.
But hey, at least I’m still alive.
The sarcastic thought nearly made her chuckle, but she didn’t dare put that kind of pressure on her tender ribs. Almost instantly, she felt remorse.
She shouldn’t be laughing. Not when Rafe was out there somewhere, dealing with his own set of problems. Her kidnapping, for one. And then there was the looming threat that awaited him.
This whole thing had been devised as an elaborate trap to torture and lure him in. It was a trap, and she was the bait. She could see it all so clearly now.
Now that it was too late. Rafe had already been sent that picture. Lena could only imagine his reaction when he’d first opened Henry’s message. She knew what fear did to him, because she’d seen it in his eyes when she’d insisted on staying with him at the cabin.
He was so scared he’d lose her that night . . . and now, he had. It wasn’t on her. Neither of them could have ever seen this one coming. But still, she hated the idea that she could become the source of that same kind of pain.
Lena squeezed her eyes shut, and almost immediately, she heard her inner self shout out to her—
Enough!
Her eyes opened because her subconscious was right. She wasn’t going to sit here crying poor pitiful me. She was a seasoned CIA operative, dammit. She’d survived wars, assassins, bombs, and bullets. Betrayals and men who had believed killing her would be easy.
She wasn’t going down easy. Lena certainly wasn’t going to die at the hands of some spoiled, entitled kid with a grudge.
Henry’s not a kid.
No, he wasn’t. Henry Stanton was a killer, just like his father. And that meant she couldn’t underestimate him.
The realization settled some of the tension inside her. A reminder that she had killed people, too. All bad, of course. Men who had intended to hurt innocent people and destroy countless lives.
There was a stark difference between her and someone like Henry. But she knew what killers were capable of, and Lena also knew how to survive them.
She drew a slow, careful breath before testing the restraints again. Before, she hadn’t had much time to truly attempt an escape, thanks to her alone time being interrupted by Henry and his goon.
Now was different. They were gone, and the hallway had grown silent.
Lena lowered her gaze and studied the folding chair. Cheap metal. Lightweight. Could be useful if she could get herself free.
She still faced the door, and somewhere beyond stood at least one guard. Probably armed. Probably bored.
Let’s hope so.
Bored people made mistakes.
Lena shifted her wrists carefully, ignoring the biting pain as she worked one hand inward. With her thumb toward her palm, she kept working against the thin plastic strip.
She didn’t rush. If Stanton wanted her dead, she’d already be gone. No, she was bait, and as such, they’d keep her alive until Rafe arrived.
Part of her—a huge freaking part—wanted that to be now. But the other part had Lena hoping he and his team would wait at least until she was free. That way, she’d be an asset, as opposed to a liability.
You’re beat to hell and weaponless. Not sure how much help you’ll be.
She ignored the useless thoughts and kept working against the ties that weren’t designed to come apart. Lena then pulled her knees toward her chest as far as the restraints at her ankles allowed. She leaned forward, the move sending a burning stretch through her arms as she moved.
Then she began to rock herself side-to-side. Again, and again, and—
Lena braced herself as the chair started to tip. Her shoulder slammed against the floor, the impact sending a burst of pain through her arm and ribs. But she bit down hard enough to taste blood to keep from screaming.
When she no longer felt the need to vomit, she allowed herself several slow, deep breaths.
You can do this, Price. Don’t you dare give up now.
Lena looked down, noticing the way one of the chair’s legs had bent. Hope flourished. The new angle gave her the leverage she needed.
She twisted that ankle and leg. Hard. The plastic tie stretched and pulled, eventually snapping against the incessant strain. With one down and three to go, she wasted no time moving on to the remaining ties.
One of her wrists finally broke free. Her other ankle. The final tie. Less than a minute later, Lena was standing.
The room tilted violently, and she caught herself against one of the chair’s upside down legs. When the dizziness had passed, she scanned the room again. Her eyes landed on the narrow space between the door’s hinges and the wall.
It was all she needed.
Lena began walking that way. Every step hurt. Her ribs protested; her head pounded, and her knees felt weak. But she kept moving, refusing to stop until her back was pressed against the wall.
And then, Lena waited.
One minute passed. Two. Three. To her, time no longer mattered. Henry would come back. Men like him always returned. If for no other reason than to see their victims broken.
They didn’t break me.
Not even close. It would take a lot more than some bruised ribs and a busted lip.
As she waited, Lena closed her eyes and pictured Rafe’s handsome face. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t let Henry take him away from her. And she damn sure wouldn’t be the reason Rafe died.
Footsteps sounded outside. Lena opened her eyes. A lock clicked, and the door started to open. Henry stepped inside, already running his arrogant mouth.
“I have to admit, Director Price, I was beginning to wonder if you were going to—”
He took two steps into the room before he realized the chair was empty. Lena didn’t wait to move. She slammed into him from the side, wrapping one arm around his neck as they crashed into the wall.
Henry grunted, caught completely off guard, but he was stronger than she’d expected. He twisted, trying to throw her off, and Lena drove her knee into his thigh.
She reached beneath his jacket for his weapon. Her fingers wrapped around the butt of his gun. Henry caught her wrist, and they struggled for the weapon’s possession. His shoulder slammed into hers as he tried to wrench her away.
Lena tightened her hold, refusing to give up. Instead of fighting against him, she twisted the same direction. Once again, her move took the narcissistic jerk by surprise.
The guard appeared in the doorway right as she ripped the gun from her captor’s hand. His attention was on Henry, rather than her.
His mistake.
Lena brought the weapon up and fired. The guard dropped as Henry swung his arm up. His elbow slammed backward into her face.
Pain exploded across the bridge of her nose. Lena stumbled back, and Henry struck her again. The gun flew from her hand as she hit the floor with a thud. The impact drove what little air remained in her lungs from her body.
Before she could even think about moving, Henry drove his boot into her side. She cried out as agony tore through her.
Lena curled herself into a protective ball and saw the gun lying only a few feet away. Her training took over. She scrambled toward it. Her fingers wrapped around the weapon’s grip.
Henry kicked the gun from her hand.
No!
It slid away, and she pushed through the pain to lunge for it again. Lena almost had it, she was almost there when—
Henry’s boot came down on her hand.
Bones cracked as her scream tore through the room. For one horrifying second, she couldn’t breathe. The pain was white-hot. Blinding. Unyielding as it radiated up into her arm. Her entire body seemed to tremble because of it.
And when Henry stomped on it again, another sharp burst of agony ripped through her.
I’m going to be sick.
She turned her head to the side, but somehow managed to keep it in.
“That’s for my father,” he spat.
Her vision blurred and blood ran from her nose. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, and her hand felt as though it had been crushed by a two-ton truck.
Henry crouched beside her.
“Oh, I know it wasn’t you who shot him in the hand. It was Owens’ daughter. But since you’re here, and she’s not . . . do you have any idea what it was like watching my dad live with a mangled hand?” His voice grew strangely calm. “The entire thing is useless, thanks to her.”
Lena stared at him through the thick haze of pain. “She sh-should have . . . sh-shot him . . . t-twice.”
His expression turned to stone before the crazed man’s mood shifted again. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”
“S-so I’ve . . . heard.”
It hurt to breathe. To move. To think. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of begging him to stop.
Henry stood and looked down at her with a cold, entitled expression. As though her suffering brought him insurmountable joy.
Because it does.
Because he was a twisted freak who got off on other people’s pain.
“Your problem, Lena, is that you still think you’re going to win.”
His smile was pure evil, and she hated that, this time, she wasn’t sure he was wrong.
Maybe this was the one time the bad guys would win. Maybe she’d finally run out of ways to survive.
Lena’s eyes closed, sending a single tear down her cheek. Not for herself, but for the man that she loved.
Please, God. Please let him get here in time.
If he didn’t, she prayed that somehow, someday, he’d find a way to be happy. Fully and truly, the way he deserved. If it couldn’t be with her, then someone else. Someone also deserving of the love he had to give.
Until then, Lena was still alive, and she had every intention of seeing Rafe’s gorgeous face again. But he’d better hurry, because something told her Henry’s mental state was more volatile than she first believed.