Chapter 40 Ronan
Ronan
Location: Eastern Europe — Subterranean Holding Site (Primary)
This place was built to disappear people.
No perimeter lights. No visible structures. Just a decaying concrete bunker half-swallowed by forest and snow, its entrance disguised beneath rusted machinery and weeds.
Lena was right.
This is where he’d keep the one he wanted to break slowly.
I crouch beside the breach point, gloved hand pressed to frozen ground, listening. The earth hums faintly beneath my palm—power lines, ventilation, human presence.
Deep.
“Confirm,” I murmur.
Miles’ voice comes through comms, tight. “Thermal shows multiple heat signatures below ground. Heavy concentration in the central corridor. Guard rotation every ninety seconds.”
Aaron adds, “No transfers logged. He thinks Cal is secure.”
Good.
That means Malenkov is arrogant.
And arrogance gets men killed.
“We’re not ghosting this,” I say quietly. “We’re punching straight through.”
No one argues.
Explosives bloom in controlled fury—concrete rupturing, steel screaming as the bunker’s roof collapses inward. Alarms finally wail, echoing through the underground chambers.
We drop through smoke and debris into hell.
Gunfire erupts instantly.
I move through it without thought—muscle memory and rage guiding every step. Guards fall. Doors blow. Shouts in Russian bounce off the walls.
“Left corridor!” Aaron calls.
“Taking it,” I answer.
The air grows colder the deeper we go. Damp. Stale. Heavy with despair.
Cells line the walls—empty, open, abandoned.
Then—
A sound.
Not a scream.
A whisper.
“…Pierce…”
My blood freezes.
I follow the sound, boots skidding on wet concrete as we round a corner into a narrow chamber.
Cal hangs shackled to the wall, wrists bound low now, head slumped forward. His body is bruised, gaunt, and trembling violently. His lips are cracked and bleeding.
Alive.
Barely.
“Cal,” I say, voice low but fierce. “Look at me.”
His head lifts slowly.
Eyes unfocused at first.
Then they lock on mine.
The moment stretches—silent, impossible.
“You’re… not real,” he whispers. “You’re what they use when I stop sleeping.”
I step closer, ignoring the gunfire echoing down the corridor.
“I’m real,” I say. “And I’m here.”
His breath shudders violently. “Sir....”
I reach him and cut the restraints, catching his weight as his knees give out.
“I’m getting you out of here,” I say firmly.
That’s when the lights cut out.
Emergency strobes kick on—red, violent, pulsing.
Malenkov’s voice fills the chamber, calm and intimate.
“Lieutenant Pierce,” he says smoothly. “You came for your men, but they won’t live for long.”
I turn slowly, rifle raised.
Explosions rock the upper levels.
“Multiple hostiles inbound!” Miles shouts. “This was always a trap!”
Of course it was.
Malenkov never intended to keep Cal.
He intended to use him.
I sling Cal over my shoulder, his weight light—too light.
“We’re leaving,” I snap.
We move through fire and smoke, bullets tearing chunks from the walls around us. Aaron clears ahead, Jase covering our six, Miles calling paths through collapsing corridors.
The bunker starts to fail—structural supports screaming as fire spreads.
We hit the extraction tunnel just as the ceiling caves in behind us.
The blast throws us forward into darkness.
Then cold air.
Then night.
The helicopter drops out of the sky like salvation, ropes slamming down.
Aaron and Jase haul Cal aboard first. I follow last, covering until the very end.
The bunker collapses behind us in a thunderous roar.
As the bird lifts, Cal clutches my sleeve weakly.
“I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “All of you.”
I grip his hand.
“You’re not allowed to think that anymore,” I tell him. “We’re not done. We’ll get the rest of the team.”
Far below, fire eats the earth.
And somewhere in the dark—
Malenkov watches the feed cut to black.
This time, he didn’t just lose a prisoner.
He lost control.