Chapter 24
Olivia
They keep underestimating me.
I see it every time the guards look through the door.
Every time they talk around me instead of to me.
Doctor.
Woman.
Hostage.
Something fragile tied to a chair waiting to be rescued.
Good.
Let them believe that.
The door creaks open again.
Same man.
Same controlled expression that never quite reaches his eyes.
Light spills across the concrete floor as he steps inside carrying the smell of cigarette smoke and cold night air with him.
My wrists ache where the rope cuts deeper into raw skin when I straighten slightly against the wall.
He notices immediately.
His gaze flicks toward the blood staining my bandage.
Then back to my face.
“You wake.”
“I try not to make dying a habit.”
The corner of his mouth shifts faintly.
Not amusement exactly.
Interest.
Better.
Interested people pay attention.
And people paying attention can be manipulated.
He crouches in front of me again, elbows resting loosely against his knees while he studies me like a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet.
“You are not afraid.”
Not a question.
I hold his stare evenly. “Should I be?”
“You should.”
Probably true.
Fear curls low and cold inside my stomach every second I’m trapped in this room.
But fear and panic aren’t the same thing.
Panic gets people killed.
Fear keeps them sharp.
I shift slightly against the wall, ignoring the sharp burn in my ribs.
“I’ve heard that before.”
His eyes narrow fractionally.
“You believe your people come.”
Not believe.
Know.
I let the certainty settle fully into my expression before answering.
“They’re already looking.”
The silence stretches.
I can almost see him measuring the confidence in my voice against whatever plan he built around taking me.
Good.
Let him question it.
“They die if they come here,” he says finally.
Flat.
Certain.
Wrong.
I tilt my head slightly. “You really think that?”
His expression hardens a fraction.
There.
A crack.
Small.
Still there.
He shifts closer, lowering his voice. “You think too highly of them.”
“No.” I hold his gaze steadily. “I think you don’t understand who’s coming for me.”
That lands harder.
I see it in the way his jaw tightens before he masks it again.
Interesting.
He expected fear.
Begging maybe.
Not this.
Not someone sitting tied to a chair calmly dismantling his confidence piece by piece.
“You are valuable,” he says carefully now. “Doctor. American. Connected.”
There it is.
Leverage.
Pressure.
Negotiation.
This was never random.
I lean forward slightly despite the pain slicing through my side.
“You’re building something.”
His face doesn’t move.
But his eyes sharpen instantly.
Hit.
“You want influence,” I continue quietly. “Political pressure. Attention. Control.”
Still silence.
But now he’s listening.
Actually listening.
“You took the wrong person.”
That finally changes something.
His head tilts slightly. “Explain.”
Simple.
“You think I’m the leverage.” I hold his stare. “You think they’ll negotiate to get me back.”
“They will.”
I almost smile.
“You’re right about one thing.”
His mouth curves faintly again.
Then I destroy it.
“They’re coming.”
The smile disappears immediately.
Good.
“But you’re wrong about what happens when they get here.”
Silence thickens inside the room.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
I lean back slowly against the wall again and let the next words land carefully.
“They won’t negotiate.”
His jaw flexes.
“They won’t hesitate either.”
Outside the room, voices drift faintly through the hall.
Somebody laughs.
A vehicle door slams.
Normal sounds.
Ordinary sounds.
And suddenly I wonder if any of them realize how close they are to dying.
“They’ll burn this place to the ground,” I say softly. “And they won’t care who’s standing inside when they do.”
The room goes completely still.
Because now he’s imagining it.
The attack.
The blood.
The chaos.
Doubt slides quietly into his expression before he buries it.
Too late.
I already saw it.
And doubt?
Doubt gets people killed.