Chapter 20 In the Lion’s Den
Chapter twenty
In the Lion's Den
Mariana
I've been driving for three hours, checking my mirrors obsessively, when the gas light comes on.
Shit.
The next exit has one gas station—the kind that looks like it hasn't been renovated since the seventies. Perfect place to get cornered.
My hands shake as I pump gas. Mikhail surrendered himself for me, for our baby. The image of him in zip-ties, being led away by Harrison's men, plays on repeat in my mind.
"Mrs. Kozlov?"
I spin around. A man in a federal suit, badge visible. Not threatening, just... there.
"Agent Williams sent me," he says carefully. "To ensure your safe passage."
Something's wrong. Williams wouldn't send just one agent.
"I'm fine," I say, hand moving to my weapon.
"Of course. But given the circumstances, he thought you might need—"
The dart hits my neck before I can draw. The world tilts sideways.
"Sorry about this," the agent says, catching me as I fall. "Orders are orders."
The last thing I see is a black van pulling up.
I wake in stages. First, the headache—brutal and pounding. Then the nausea, probably from whatever they drugged me with. Finally, the realization that I'm zip-tied to a chair in what looks like an abandoned warehouse.
Original. Harrison's nothing if not predictable.
"Ah, she's awake."
Harrison steps into view, no longer playing the wounded victim. His shoulder is properly bandaged, and he's changed into a fresh suit. Behind him, Pavel lurks in the shadows.
"You promised," I say, throat dry. "The deal was—"
Harrison pulls up another chair, sitting close enough that I can smell his cologne. Expensive. Probably bought with blood money. "You should have known better."
"Where is he?"
"Nearby. Would you like to see him?"
Before I can answer, they drag Mikhail in. He's conscious but battered—split lip, bruised eye, blood on his shirt. When he sees me, rage flashes across his face.
"You gave your word—"
Pavel hits him, dropping him to his knees. "Shut up."
"Mikhail!" I strain against the zip-ties, but they're too tight.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, ignoring his own injuries. "The baby—"
"We're fine."
"How touching," Harrison says. "The happy family, together at last."
"What do you want?" I ask.
"What I've always wanted. Control. Power. Money." He stands, pacing. "You cost me twelve million dollars. Exposed my network. Destroyed twenty-three years of careful planning."
"Good."
He backhands me, the slap echoing in the empty space. Mikhail lunges forward, but Pavel's men hold him back.
"Touch her again and I'll kill you!" Mikhail snarls.
"You're in no position to make threats." Harrison nods to Pavel. "Show them."
Pavel brings in a laptop, turns it toward us. The screen shows what looks like a medical facility. Women in beds, some reading, some sleeping.
"Forty-three women," Harrison says. "All thinking they're in witness protection. One word from me, and the gas gets released."
"You're a monster," I say.
"I'm a businessman. And you've cost me significant revenue." He pulls out his phone, shows me a photo that makes my blood freeze.
It's my mother. At her apartment. Current timestamp.
"No—"
"Oh, yes. Your mother, Mikhail's sister, forty-three other women. All waiting for my decision about their futures."
"We gave you what you wanted," Mikhail says. "We surrendered."
"You gave me problems. Media attention. Federal investigation. Even with you both dead, it'll take years to rebuild what you destroyed."
"Then what's the point of this?"
"Satisfaction." Harrison pulls out a gun. "And cleanup."
He aims at my stomach.
"No!" Mikhail fights against his captors. "Kill me, not her!"
"Kill you?" Harrison lowers the gun, laughing. "Oh no, that would be too easy. Too quick." He nods to Pavel. "He's getting noisy. Time to take him to the basement."
"No!" I struggle as they drag Mikhail away. "Don't—"
"Relax, Mrs. Kozlov. He'll be alive. For a while." Harrison circles my chair like a predator. "I have something special planned for both of you."
They drag Mikhail out despite his struggles, and the last thing I see is his dark eyes promising he'll find a way back to me.
Pavel follows them with a satisfied smile.
"Now then," Harrison says once we're alone except for two guards. "Let's discuss your future."
"I don't care what happens to me. Just don't hurt him."
"Oh, I'm not going to hurt him." Harrison pulls out his phone, checking the time. "Pavel is."
"No—"
He pulls out a tablet. "In fact, let's watch, shall we? We have cameras everywhere."
The screen shows a concrete room—live feed. The men are seen entering, followed by Pavel, and chaining Mikhail to a chair.
I see his lips moving, but the camera is far away and I can't make out what he's saying.
The next thing that happens is that the men respond to a signal from Pavel and begin brutally beating Mikhail..
"Please don't—"
"Just watch."
On screen, Pavel gets close with what looks like a cattle prod. The torture begins immediately. Professional. Methodical. Designed for maximum pain. Mikhail tries not to scream, but eventually, everyone breaks.
I'm sobbing, pulling against my restraints. "Stop it! Please!"
"Oh, this is just the beginning. But don't worry—we're recording everything. You can watch it again later."
The feed continues for what feels like hours but is probably a few minutes. Then Pavel pulls out a gun, puts it to Mikhail's head. I can see them talking again, but I still can't make up the words.
The gunshot is deafening even through the tablet's speakers. Mikhail's body goes limp, blood spreading across the concrete floor.
"No!" The scream tears from my throat. "NO!"
Harrison closes the tablet. "And that's it. One down, one more to go.. You're alone now."
I can't breathe. Can't think. Mikhail is dead. I just watched him die. The father of my child, the man who saved me, who loved me for exactly who I am—gone.
The grief is instantaneous and overwhelming. My chest feels like it's caving in. This can't be real. He can't be dead.
Guilt quickly begins to creep up my body and take over, making me tremble.
"I can’t raise our baby without him," I whisper.
"Oh, you're not raising the baby at all."
I look up through my tears. "What?"
"You think I'd let Ghost's spawn live freely? No, no. You'll carry to term—under close supervision—then the baby becomes mine. Leverage for future operations."
"You're insane—"
"I'm practical. A child with Ghost's genetics and FBI training? That's a weapon worth developing."
The stress, the grief, the horror of his words—suddenly, pain rips through my abdomen. Sharp, twisting, wrong.
"No," I gasp, doubling over as much as the restraints allow. "Something's wrong—"
Wetness between my legs. Blood, I realize with terror. I'm bleeding.
"The baby—please, I need a doctor!"
Harrison watches dispassionately. "Miscarriage? How unfortunate. Though perhaps for the best—"
"Please!" The pain is getting worse, cramping that makes me see stars. "Please, I'll do anything—"
He sighs. "Fine. Guards, take her to medical. Can't have her dying before she tells us everything about the Morozov operations and signs a few things for good measure."
They cut my restraints and half-carry me to what looks like a makeshift medical facility.
An older man, clearly a doctor under duress, examines me with shaking hands.
"Stress-induced cramping," he says quietly. "No miscarriage yet, but if this continues..."
"Save the baby," I beg. "Please."
He gives me something for the pain, and attaches monitors. The cramping eases slightly, but the fear remains. I could lose Mikhail's baby. The last piece of him.
"She'll live?" Harrison asks from the doorway.
"Both will, if she remains calm and rested."
"Good. Sedate her."
"Sir, that's not advisable—"
"Do it."
The doctor reluctantly prepares a syringe. As the drugs enter my system, making everything fuzzy, I hear Harrison giving orders.
"Put her in the secure wing. Twenty-four hour monitoring. Then we make her start talking. I want to know everything—who the Morozovs work with, their safe houses, their contacts. She'll break eventually. And when she does, we'll send her off to spend eternity with her beloved husband.."
I won't break, I think through the haze.
As consciousness fades, I force myself to observe. Three guards in the hallway. Cameras in the corners but not complete coverage. The doctor keeps medical supplies in an unlocked cabinet. The window has bars but they're rusted.
Gather intel. Find weaknesses. Survive.
For the baby. For Mikhail's memory. For revenge.
The last thing I see before the drugs take me under is Harrison on his phone.
"Yes, Ghost is dead. The woman is secured... No, she bought it completely. Thinks he's really gone... The baby? Still viable. Could be useful..."
Something in his tone makes me wonder, even through the sedatives. The way he emphasized "thinks" he's gone...
But then darkness claims me, and I dream of Mikhail's eyes, promising he'll find a way back.
I wake to harsh fluorescent lights and the antiseptic smell of medical facilities. The monitors beep steadily—both my heartbeat and the baby's. Still alive. Both of us.
"Mrs. Kozlov?"
The doctor from before stands beside my bed, checking charts. We're alone, I realize. No guards in the immediate room.
"The baby?"
"Stable. The bleeding stopped. But you need to remain calm."
"How can I be calm? My husband is dead."
He glances toward the door, then leans closer. "Things aren't always what they seem," he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it.
"What?"
"Harrison likes his games. His psychological torture." He adjusts my IV, using the movement to cover his words. "The video he showed you—"
"Jensen!" Harrison's voice makes us both jump. "Are you bothering my patient?"
"Just checking her vitals, sir."
"Leave us."
The doctor—Jensen—squeezes my hand briefly before leaving. A message?
Harrison pulls up a chair. "Feeling better?"
"Go to hell."
"Such language from a federal agent to her superior."
"Former federal agent. And you are nothing to me."
"I’m your host.," he corrects. "You're my guest until you give birth. Then we'll reassess."
"You mean you'll steal my baby and kill me."
"Possibly. Or perhaps I'll keep you alive. Ghost's widow could be useful. Break you properly, rebuild you as an asset."
"That'll never happen."
"Everyone says that. But grief is a powerful tool. You already believe he's dead. In a few weeks, you'll start accepting it. In a few months, you'll be desperate for any connection to him—even through serving me."
"You're delusional."
"Am I? You're already broken, Mariana. You just don't know it yet."
He leaves, and I'm alone with the monitors and my thoughts.
The video. Something about it bothers me, but I can't think clearly through the sedatives. The lighting? The angle? Or am I just so desperate that I'm imagining things?
Stop it. You watched him die.
I touch my stomach, where our child—or children—grow. "Your daddy was smart," I whisper, then catch myself using past tense and start sobbing again.
The door opens. A different guard, younger, nervous.
"Food," he says, setting a tray down. "Boss says you need to eat. For the baby."
I force myself to eat mechanically. Some part of my training still functions—gathering information automatically. Guard rotations. Camera positions. The fact that Jensen had started to say something about the video before Harrison interrupted.
But what's the point if Mikhail is dead?
For the baby. Do it for the baby.
I curl on my side, hand protective over my stomach. "I'll keep you safe," I promise. "Somehow."
But I can't shake that nagging doubt. The video. Jensen's interrupted words.What if Mikhail is still alive?
I close my eyes, exhausted from grief and drugs. Tomorrow I'll have to pretend to break while staying strong enough to protect this baby. Tomorrow I'll have to survive alone.
Unless—
Please, I pray to whoever might be listening. If there's any chance he's alive, let him find us.
But the monitors beep on, and no one answers.