Chapter 4 Lena
Lena
The hood went on without warning.
Rough fabric pulled down over my head, cutting the world into sound and sensation—hands gripping my arms, boots moving fast, the scrape of concrete giving way to open air. Night pressed cold against my skin. Wind. Engines.
An aircraft.
My pulse steadied instead of spiking.
This is movement, I told myself. Movement means cracks.
They hustled me up metal steps, forced me forward, seated me hard. Restraints snapped around my wrists and ankles—not tight enough to cripple, but not loose either. Deliberate. Always deliberate.
The hood stayed on.
I counted anyway.
Eight steps from ramp to seat.
Two voices close.
One farther back—commanding, calm.
Turbines whined louder.
Then—conversation.
“…should’ve moved her sooner.”
“She was never scheduled for termination.”
A pause. A shrug I could hear in the cadence. “Doesn’t matter now. Pierce is in Tunisia.”
My breath caught.
Pierce.
Not a common name. Not here. Not spoken like that.
Someone laughed—soft, humorless. “Ronan Pierce doesn’t miss twice.”
Ice slid down my spine.
Another voice cut in, sharper. “Enough. She’s insurance. As long as she breathes, he stays predictable.”
Predictable.
My heart pounded hard enough that I was grateful for the hood. They couldn’t see the reaction. Couldn’t know what they’d just handed me.
They hadn’t kept me alive because I was weak.
They’d kept me alive because I was valuable.
Because—Ronan Pierce—was coming.
The aircraft lurched as it began to taxi.
“She’s the last one connected to his failed op in Morocco,” the commanding voice continued. “And the only asset we have that can still unbalance him.”
Failed op.
My chest tightened.
They hurt me because they thought pain softened people.
They didn’t kill me because I was their leverage.
I swallowed hard, muscles trembling—not from fear, but fury.
I wasn’t bait.
I was a variable they no longer fully controlled.
The plane lifted, weight pressing me into the seat. I used the force to test the restraints—just enough to map them. Plastic cuffs reinforced with wire. Cheap. Efficient. Breakable with leverage.
Good.
Very good.
If Ronan Pierce was real—if he was close enough to worry them—then time was no longer on their side.
And neither was I.
As the engines roared and the aircraft climbed into the dark, I centered my breathing and made a promise to the man whose name they’d spoken like a curse.
I’m still alive.
And I won’t let them use me against you.
Somewhere below, the world stretched open.
And somewhere out there, Ronan Pierce was moving closer to the storm they’d created.
They thought keeping me alive made him vulnerable.
They were about to learn—
It made both of us dangerous.