Chapter 62 Ronan
Ronan
Location: Eastern Europe — Forward Operations Vehicle
The screen lights up without warning.
No alert.
No encryption handshake.
Just signal.
Lena’s breath catches in my ear a split second before the feed stabilizes.
And then—
I see him.
The camera angle is deliberate. Wide enough to show the restraints. Close enough to make the damage unmistakable.
Steel chair. Concrete floor. His wrists were bound behind his back. One eye swollen shut, blood dried black along his temple. His chest rises unevenly, ribs bandaged so tightly it’s a wonder he can breathe.
One of mine.
The vehicle goes silent.
No one speaks. No one moves.
I don’t blink.
Because Malenkov wants me to.
A second figure steps into frame—another chair, another body. Bruised. Pale. Still conscious.
The last two.
Four years.
Four years of planning this moment.
“This is a live feed,” Malenkov’s voice says smoothly, distorted just enough to remind me he controls the distance. “There will be no delay.”
My jaw locks.
“Malenkov,” I say into the open channel. “You’re behind.”
A pause.
Then a faint smile in his voice. “Am I?”
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees, posture loose. Predatory. Calm.
“You lost Jonah,” I continue. “You lost your tunnels. You lost control of the board.”
The man on the screen coughs. Blood darkens the bandage.
Malenkov ignores it.
“I lost a piece,” he replies. “You lost leverage.”
Wrong.
Aaron shifts beside me. I feel the tension rolling off Delta Five—tight, coiled, ready. No one needs orders. They’re already building the kill box in their heads.
“You think I’m going to rush,” I say quietly. “That I’ll trade position for panic.”
The feed cuts—then returns tighter.
A guard steps into frame.
Raises his baton.
I don’t move.
Because this is where Malenkov always miscalculates.
“Do it,” Malenkov says.
The baton comes down.
Once.
Twice.
The man grunts—but he doesn’t scream.
He lifts his head instead. Swollen eye fixing on the camera like he knows exactly where I am.
Like he wants Malenkov to see it too.
My chest burns.
Lena’s voice is steady now. Cold. “We have eyes on the ravine. Jonah’s moving as predicted.”
Good.
“Delta Five,” I say calmly, never looking away from the screen. “Phase three.”
No hesitation.
Miles is already rerouting assets. Jase locks new coordinates. Aaron shifts the vehicle into motion.
Malenkov’s voice cuts in again, silk over steel. “You don’t get to choose the timeline anymore, Pierce.”
I tilt my head.
“No,” I say. “You don’t.”
Because every second he’s focused on breaking my brothers—
Jonah is rewriting the terrain.
And when Malenkov realizes what he’s actually given me—
It’ll already be too late.