CHAPTER 4 – Leona
I wake before sunrise, my fingers wrapped around the pen I dismantled overnight. Hours of careful work, extracting the metal ink tube and sharpening it against the bathroom tile until it formed a crude but effective weapon. Not ideal, but it will have to do.
The man outside my door—not Marcus, but one of his silent guards—knocks precisely at seven. "Breakfast in fifteen minutes. Mr. Drake expects you downstairs."
My pulse quickens.
"I'll be ready."
I dress quickly in clothes from the provided wardrobe—dark jeans, a loose blouse that conceals the makeshift weapon tucked into my sleeve. My hair goes up in a tight ponytail, practical for what I'm planning.
When the guard returns, I follow without resistance, memorizing our path through the penthouse. Left from my room, down a corridor with three visible cameras, into an elevator requiring a keycard. The guard stands too close, his bulk filling the small space.
The elevator opens to a lower floor—still part of the penthouse but designed for entertaining. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase Port Hollow spreading out below.
Marcus sits at a glass table in the center of the room, reading something on a tablet. No security visible, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He looks up as I enter, and the intensity of his gaze makes my skin prickle.
"Sleep well?"
"Wonderfully. Five-star accommodations for a kidnapping victim."
A smile touches his lips as he gestures to the chair across from him. "Sit and eat."
The table is set with a breakfast that would be mouthwatering under different circumstances—fresh fruit, pastries, coffee in a silver carafe.
I sit cautiously, eyes scanning for exits. Two doors other than the elevator, both likely locked. The windows, though large, would be impossible to break without tools.
"You're assessing escape routes." He doesn't look up from his tablet. "There aren't any."
"Everyone makes mistakes. Even you."
Now he looks at me, gray eyes calculating. "True. Taking you in might be one of them."
"No one's forcing you to keep me here."
"Circumstances are." He pours coffee for both of us, sliding a cup toward me. "Drink. It's not drugged this time."
I don't touch it. "Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."
Marcus sighs, reaches across the table, and takes a sip from my cup. "Satisfied?"
The gesture is oddly intimate, his lips touching where mine would be. I push the thought away and take the cup, careful not to disturb the weapon in my sleeve.
"You have three options, Leona." Marcus leans back, watching me over the rim of his cup.
"First, you can continue resisting, making this arrangement unpleasant for both of us.
Second, you can attempt to escape, likely ending up dead within hours.
Or third, you can cooperate, making your stay here comfortable until the situation resolves. "
"What about option four? You let me go, and I handle the Delgados my own way."
He laughs, the sound unexpectedly rich. "And what way is that?"
"I could disappear. New identity, new location."
"With what resources? What connections?" He leans forward. "The Delgados have eyes everywhere. Without my protection, you'd be dead or worse before you crossed the city limits."
I shift in my chair, feeling the weight of the makeshift weapon against my skin. I need him closer. Vulnerable. "Why does my safety matter to you at all?"
"It's not personal."
"Then what is it?"
He sets down his cup, eyes narrowing. "Business. Strategy. The fact that your brother—"
The rest happens in a blur. I lunge across the table, coffee cups scattering as my weapon arcs toward his throat. But Marcus moves like lightning, his hand closing around my wrist mid-strike, twisting until pain shoots up my arm. The makeshift blade clatters to the table.
He's around the table in one fluid motion, yanking me from my chair. I kick backward, connecting with his shin, but it's like hitting concrete. His arm loops around my waist, lifting me off the ground as I struggle.
"Bad choice." His breath is hot against my ear, body pressed against my back.
I thrash against his hold, but he's immovable, a wall of muscle and control. "Let me go!"
"So you can try to kill me again? I don't think so."
He drags me toward a side door I hadn't noticed, kicking it open into what appears to be a private office. With one arm still locked around my waist, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out something metallic that clicks around my wrist.
Handcuffs. Cold steel bites into my skin as he cuffs first one wrist, then the other—in front of me, at least, rather than behind.
He releases me and I stumble forward, turning to face him with fury burning in my veins. "You can't—"
"I can, and I have." He straightens his shirt, composed as ever despite my attack. "Since you can't be trusted alone, you'll spend the day with me. Consider it an education."
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"That's why I added the handcuffs." He takes hold of a chain connecting the cuffs, tugging me forward. "You don't have a choice."
The proximity is suffocating—his cologne filling my senses, the heat of him just inches away. Worse is the knowledge that my best escape attempt has failed before it really began.
"This is kidnapping."
"This is protection." He attaches the other end of the chain to his own wrist, effectively tethering us together. "With consequences for your actions."
Before I can respond, his phone rings. The conversation is brief, his expression darkening with each word.
"Change of plans." He disconnects the call, already moving toward the door and pulling me with him. "We're leaving."
"Why? What happened?"
"Delgado men have been spotted near the building."
My heart races as he pulls me back toward the elevator, moving with purposeful speed. "How did they find me?"
"That's what I intend to find out."
The elevator descends rapidly to the parking garage. Marcus keeps me close, his body partially shielding mine as we exit. Three men in suits—his security team—wait beside a black SUV with tinted windows.
"Status?" Marcus asks one of them.
"Six hostiles confirmed at the south entrance. Another team likely coming from the east. We need to move now."
Marcus guides me toward the vehicle, hand firm against the small of my back. The garage feels exposed, shadows hiding potential threats. Every instinct screams danger.
A shot rings out, echoing through the concrete space. One of Marcus's men crumples, blood blooming across his chest.
"Down!" Marcus shoves me behind a concrete pillar, his body covering mine as more shots scatter in the air.
The remaining security men return fire. Marcus releases the chain connecting us just enough to draw his own weapon—a matte black handgun that appears in his hand as if by magic.
"Stay behind me," he orders, eyes scanning the garage.
Three men in tactical gear emerge from behind cars, weapons raised. Marcus fires twice in rapid succession. Two men fall. The third dives for cover.
More shots. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the space. Marcus moves with lethal grace, each shot finding its target despite the chaos. I press against the pillar, handcuffs limiting my movement, heart thundering in my chest.
A shadow moves to our left. "Marcus!"
He turns at my warning, firing just as a fourth attacker emerges. The man staggers but doesn't fall, raising his weapon toward me.
Marcus moves without hesitation, placing himself between me and the gun. His return shot is deafening, the attacker's head snapping back with the impact.
The garage falls silent. Marcus turns to me, eyes searching. "Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, unable to speak, the reality of the situation crashing over me. These men came for me. They would have killed me—or worse, taken me to the Delgados.
And Marcus just risked his life to prevent it.
"We need to move." He pulls me toward the SUV where his remaining man waits, engine running.
The drive is tense, Marcus making calls while keeping me close to the seat beside him. I'm still processing what happened, the sound of gunfire echoing in my head, the image of men falling etched in my mind.
"Where are we going?"
"Secondary location. The penthouse is compromised for now."
We drive for nearly an hour, taking a circuitous route through the city before entering an underground parking structure. This one is smaller, serving what appears to be a private residence rather than a luxury high-rise.
Marcus guides me from the vehicle into another elevator. The chain between us pulls taut with each movement, a constant reminder of my captivity—and of how close his body is to mine.
The elevator opens to a loft apartment, industrial in design but no less luxurious than the penthouse. Marcus leads me to a window overlooking a different section of Port Hollow.
"Wait here." He unlocks the handcuffs but keeps a firm grip on my arm. "There's something you need to see."
He gestures to one of his men, who opens a laptop on a nearby table. Security footage appears on the screen—a residential street I recognize immediately. My apartment building.
Two black SUVs are parked outside. There are armed men entering the building. Minutes pass on the timestamp. Then flames erupt from the third floor—my floor.
"This was taken last night," Marcus says quietly.
I watch in horror as the fire spreads and as emergency vehicles arrive too late. As body bags are eventually carried out.
"My neighbors..."
"Casualties in a war you didn't start." Marcus's hand tightens on my arm. "This is what we're dealing with, Leona. The Delgados aren't playing games. They want you, and they'll kill anyone who gets in their way."
The full weight of the situation crashes down on me. This isn't just about me anymore. Innocent people are dying because of my connection to Cody, to Marcus.
Marcus turns me to face him, his gaze intense.
His eyes drop to my lips for the briefest moment, and despite everything—the danger, the deaths, the fact that he's essentially my captor—heat flares low in my belly.
"I hate this," I whisper. "I hate needing your protection."
"I know." His thumb traces the line of my jaw, a touch so unexpected it freezes me in place. "But you do need it."
The first leash tightens, invisible but binding. Not the handcuffs, not the locked doors, but something far more dangerous—the knowledge that without Marcus Drake, I'm already dead.
And the worst part? The part that terrifies me more than the Delgados, more than captivity?
The heat that spreads through me when he touches me, when he stands too close.
The way my body betrays me, responding to the very man I should fear most.