Chapter 7 Lena
I didn’t trust any of it. Not my two alpha handlers who now lingered near me every moment of the day, and not the seemingly, kind doctor who sat patiently through appointment after appointment, asking questions I never responded to.
Part of me warned that my escape, near interrogation, and sudden shift to therapeutic rehabilitation were all part of an elaborate ruse coordinated by Marco.
Maybe Silas and Knox were secretly on his payroll.
I was almost certain that the moment I opened my mouth and gave them even a single piece of intel, Marco would reveal himself, and his punishment for betrayal would be brutal.
Even now, as I sat in the conference room, my eyes kept darting to every corner, searching for him.
Knox’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Lena, how did you like your breakfast this morning?”
I said nothing.
Eggs. A strip of crispy bacon. A small bunch of grapes.
I pushed the eggs around the plate and nibbled at the corner of the bacon, cautiously testing both. But the grapes… I couldn’t stop myself. I ate several, then when he wasn’t watching, slipped a few more into my pocket for later.
Yesterday, Knox had served me strawberries, yogurt, and granola for breakfast. I wasn’t used to the variety. The choices alone had made my stomach twist, anxiety crawling up my throat as I stared at the bowl.
Breakfast in captivity had been the same every morning. A small bowl of oatmeal. Mushy, flavorless oatmeal. Safe though, because it never changed.
My dreams were filled with breakfasts like these.
I had imagined them in quiet moments, rich with color and choice, the kind of meals that meant freedom.
Now that they sat in front of me, a dream made real, my body revolted.
Every instinct screamed that it was a trap, because too many options meant danger.
I worried that the food would make me sick, hurt me, or worse, be taken away the moment I let myself enjoy it.
I wanted it.
And I was terrified of it.
Knox stood, rounding the table, his arm nearly brushing mine. I instinctively flinched inward, until I realized he was just reaching to clear away my plate, not touch me. Suddenly, I was embarrassed that I had acted that way. Shame crept in.
“Can I have your drinking glass? I’m going to get you some more water. Omegas needs to stay hydrated," he said, ignoring my sharp flinch.
I passed it to him, keeping my eyes down. His fingers brushed mine in the transfer, quick and unintentional, but the contact was enough to draw a panicked sound from my lips.
"Sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to touch you."
But then he paused, turning to look at me.
"Does it really hurt?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. What did he mean? My head tilted slightly.
“When we touch you,” Knox clarified, “even a little… you seem... pained.”
I said nothing.
Knox was observant. Far more so than his brother.
Despite being twins, they had very little in common beyond their striking appearance.
Both were massive, broad-shouldered like all alphas, and built for dominance.
Handsome in a severe way, with square jaws and sharp noses carved into perpetually stern faces.
Adorned with matching blonde hair, so pale it gleamed like silver, and glacial blue eyes that cut straight through you.
Silas wore his buzzed tight along the sides, the longer length on top brushed back into sharp, aggressive peaks.
A thin scar split his brow, cutting through the thick hair and giving him a permanently angry look.
Knox, by contrast, wore his hair long, pulled back into a loose bun that hung low, with strands that escaped to frame his face. Where Silas looked honed and dangerous, Knox looked controlled and commanding.
Their personalities reflected that divide.
Silas was sharp and cunning. When he smiled, it was cold. When he laughed, it was shallow and humorless. His eyes narrowed the moment his patience was tested, and his fists curled instinctively, as if violence were something he constantly had to hold back.
Knox was not patient, not really, but he tolerated waiting better than his twin brother. Where Silas strained against it, Knox settled into it, using the time rather than resenting it. While he waited, he watched. Not in a way meant to intimidate, but with a quiet, relentless focus.
His gaze tracked everything with analytical precision. Every shift of my weight. Every flick of my eyes. Every hesitation before a movement. He cataloged expressions like evidence, piecing together patterns and meaning where most would see nothing at all.
Just like me.
He noticed my every action, and I had the unsettling feeling that I was revealing things unintentionally.
Even now, he studied me, waiting for my response to his question.
I did my best to stay still beneath his rapt attention.
Both men frightened me in their own way. While their presence had grown less heavy over the past few days, it was never invisible. They dominated the surrounding air too completely, the way all alphas did, filling the space with raw power and authority.
Silas strode into the room, tense as always. Something had shifted since he saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was angrier now, if that was even possible. Did he want something from me? Was he upset that I had turned my body away from his view?
An object clattered onto the table. Silas had dropped a box directly in front of me.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I flinched hard, curling inward as my hands flew up to shield my head and protect anything vulnerable.
My reaction seemed to anger both men more.
Especially Silas.
He let out a low growl, dragging a hand through his cropped hair as he turned away, shoulders tight with restrained frustration.
“Lena,” he said, aggressively. Knox shot him a look, so he stopped, exhaled, then tried again, a bit calmer. “You don’t have to do that.”
His jaw flexed. “I’ve told you. We’re not going to hurt you. You're a protected witness now, remember? Our job is quite literally to keep you safe.”
My eyes narrowed. A few days ago they restrained me to a chair in their torture room. Silas had threatened to hurt me and Knox had put a knife to my throat. I don't know why Silas thought I was suddenly going to just believe I was safe around either of them.
Knox moved then, careful as ever. He slid the refilled glass back in front of me with gentle movements, placing it within easy reach, but not forcing it closer.
“She doesn’t know that yet,” he reminded Silas. “Not really.”
Silas’s breath left him in a short huff, aggravation bleeding out, but he said nothing more.
I lowered my hands from my head, fighting the urge to fold back in on myself. I needed to try harder not to react. Everything I did, no matter how small, seemed to set both alphas off. Silas became volatile and Knox's eyes sharpened in a violent way, even if he was better at stifling his emotions.
My gaze drifted to the object Silas had dropped in front of me.
He grumbled from across the table, not quite meeting my eyes. “To pass the time. Doc said you needed something recreational to keep you busy.” he said, before adding, “It’s a puzzle.”
I forced my expression into something flat and uninterested, even as my heart began to hammer. It had been a long time since I had access to anything like it. A puzzle. A game. Anything meant to occupy the mind instead of punishing it.
In Marco’s captivity, days had stretched endlessly, empty and suffocating, with little stimulation beyond fear and waiting. Any gift had always come with strings attached, temptation baited with expectation.
Was that what this was?
If I accepted it, would they expect me to give them something in return?
Before my mind could weigh the danger, my eager body reacted, hand reaching for it, fingers tracing the corners of the box with quiet, reverent attention. A small sound slipped from my throat before I could stop it.
Both men noticed.
Their gazes followed my movement, tracking my hand, then lifting to my mouth where the sound had emanated from. Their expressions shifted into something unfamiliar.
Not anger.
Not impatience.
Something else...
Heat crept up my neck. I pulled my hand back quickly, tucking it into my lap as if I had been caught doing something wrong.
“Do you like puzzles, runt?” Knox asked, his head tilting as he studied me.
The question landed gently, but my pulse still raced.
I barely knew whether I liked puzzles or not. The last five years had decimated the person I was before Marco. Torture has a way of doing that. Erasing who someone is leaving a new, unrecognizable person in their place.
But a memory stirred, logged deep in the recesses of my mind.
My mother’s hands guided two puzzle pieces together, the purple edges revealing where they fit.
Even though I was no older than eight, I could still remember where to place each piece, the final image of a hot-air balloon clear in my mind.
In the memory, I reached for them, arranging the pieces, trying to make the picture whole while my mother watched me with a strange expression.
She often looked at me like that, as if I were something unfamiliar to her. As if the way my mind worked was too different, too dangerous. I used to wonder if that had made it easier for her to sell me.
There was no point in thinking about those things now. She was dead. Marco had made sure I knew, delivering the news with a taunting cruelty. In truth, everyone I had once known was either dead or long gone. The world had changed so much in the past five years. So had I.
But puzzles… I guess I still liked puzzles.
My eyes lifted to Knox’s, and I nodded. Small movements of my head had become a safe, effective way to communicate with them. And when I responded to them, they didn't seem so angry. Especially Knox, who appeared to find a sense of accomplishment in having drawn any form of communication from me.