Chapter 24 Lena
I stared into the opening of the empty pill bottle. My suppressants had run out a few days ago. No refills. It was only a matter of time now.
Heat was imminent.
I’d been working with Dr. Hampton to prepare. She expressed amazement at my progress, always pointing out how far I’d come, even if I still didn’t speak to her, or to anyone, besides Silas and Knox. Some days, it felt like I had made no progress at all. Other days, I barely recognized myself.
So much had changed over the past week, and those changes had sent my fear and anxiety into overdrive, dragging me backward in ways I hadn’t expected.
She said that was normal.
Especially after leaving the safe house.
We had relocated to Silas and Knox’s assigned housing.
Well, I suppose it was my assigned house too, considering I was officially a part of their unit and employed with AIED.
My stomach flipped when I first arrived back at the townhome tucked into one of Arca’s controlled districts.
The area was quiet and heavily monitored, mostly inhabited by Arca personnel.
We headed up the short flight of stairs at the entrance, passing our elderly neighbor, who was watering a tiny pot of flowers on her stoop.
I waved and she smiled back at me. I couldn’t help wondering if the woman had any idea there was an interrogation and torture workshop hidden beneath our shared building.
As if hearing my thoughts, Silas leaned over and whispered in my ear, “If you think we’re dangerous, watch out for Mrs. Lexington. Former ARCA Advanced Security and Intel, back before AIED even existed. I don’t even want to know how many bodies are buried in her backyard,” he said with a chuckle.
When we crossed the threshold, I surveyed the space.
It was so familiar, the same place they had brought me to when I first left jail.
Only this time, I didn’t go downstairs.
I went up.
The stairs ascended, stopping at a narrow landing with a small bedroom at the end of the hall.
Simple. Clean. Almost bare. A bed against one wall, a dresser in the corner, and a comfy chair sat by the window.
No decorations. No personal touches. It felt less like a space someone lived in and more like a room waiting to be claimed.
Except for one thing.
My nest.
The alphas had carefully arranged a massive pile of blankets, soft pillows, and familiar items from the safe house in the corner, spilling over itself in a way that felt comfortable and safe.
Mine.
All mine.
“It’s not fancy or anything,” Silas had said, his voice uneven, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how I would react.
“It’s perfect,” I whispered.
I rose onto my toes and pressed a small kiss to his neck, right over the mark I had left there.
Knox leaned against the doorway, watching us with a faint smile. “You can decorate however you like,” he said.
My fingers lingered in the fabric of the nest, before I looked back at them.
“And you’re sure it’s… safe?” I asked. “He can’t find me here?”
They didn’t hesitate to assure me it was.
Marco’s empire had crumbled. His resources stripped away piece by piece as Arca reclaimed control over everything he had once held. A new crime family had taken power, one that didn’t know me, didn’t care about me, didn’t even know I existed.
Everything had fallen into place exactly as planned.
Marco was finished.
Almost every omega had been recovered. All except one—the girl he had holed up with in a stash house, along with two, maybe three, of his last loyal men. She was working overtime to keep them on his side.
It wouldn’t be long now.
And Silas had promised…
That he would make sure I was ready.
I now idled by the workshop door, shifting my weight as I stared at the handle. My fingers brushed it once, then pulled back. I hovered, caught between hesitation and curiosity.
Silas turned the corner and stopped when he saw me pacing.
“Do you want to go downstairs, little mute?” he asked, a knowing smirk pulling at his lips.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admitted.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stepped past me, crowding into my space just enough to reach the handle. His fingers closed around it, turning. The door creaked open, revealing a long staircase that disappeared into darkness below.
“Come find out,” he murmured against my ear.
Then he was already moving, descending the steps without waiting to see if I followed.
I stood there for a beat, my pulse quickening, the prior memory of descending those stairs filled with fear, but something else took root alongside it.
Excitement.
After a brief, silent argument with myself, I followed.
Each step down felt different than the last time. The same space, the same narrow walls, the same darkness waiting at the bottom… but it didn’t feel remotely similar.
Not anymore.
Silas reached the bottom first and flicked on the light. The workshop came into view, every surface clean and shiny, every metal tool glistening, exactly where it belonged.
“Sit,” he said, not turning around, his attention already shifting to the workbench.
A single chair sat in the center of the room. The same chair they had once restrained me to, ready to torture me for intel.
I perched on the edge of it as he moved with quiet efficiency, gathering tools and arranging them onto a metal tray. The wheels rattled softly as he pushed it toward me, stopping just within reach.
My pulse quickened.
Zip ties. A hammer. A small handheld saw. A knife. More tools I didn’t recognize at first glance.
Then I saw it.
The screwdriver.
My gaze lingered on it a second too long.
Silas caught it and let out an amused chuckle. “You’re already an expert with that one,” he said. “But I think we’ll start smaller.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, a flicker of irritation pushing past the nerves.
He didn’t react.
“You’re part of this unit now,” he continued, his tone shifting, more serious. “And interrogation is a key part of what we do. How we extract information.”
He paused, his eyes hardening slightly as they met mine.
“But for you and me… it’s more than a job.”
The words settled heavily.
“We use this to steady ourselves. To quiet what’s lurking deep.”
I held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.
A soft smile ghosted across his mouth, warm with quiet approval.
“Knox doesn’t need it the way we do,” he added. “He does it because he has to. Because he’s good at it.”
I knew exactly what he meant.
Silas stepped closer.
“Alright,” he said. “Lesson one. Restraints.”
Before I could react, his hand closed around my wrists, lifting them gently but firmly, turning them upward to expose the soft, vulnerable flesh on the inside.
The skin there was so thin that my veins were visible beneath it, cobalt spiderwebs weaving in every direction.
“There are a lot of ways to restrain someone,” he said, inspecting me. “And just as many tools to do it. Zip ties, rope, duct tape. Sometimes you improvise with whatever’s available.”
As he spoke, he moved back to the tray, selecting a few zip ties before returning to me.
“Positions matter too,” he continued, his tone instructional. “Behind the back. Secured to a chair. Hog-tied. Suspended if need be.”
He gathered my wrists again, guiding them behind my back before slipping the zip tie around them and tightening it just enough to hold me without cutting off my blood flow.
“It’s not just about physical control,” he went on. “The way you restrain someone can unsettle them mentally, before you even start. Make them uncomfortable. Make them think.”
He adjusted the placement of the zip tie slightly, tightening it more.
“You have to read the subject,” he finished.
His fingers moved slowly along my arms, tracing upward until they reached my neck, the touch light but deliberate. He leaned in close, his voice low against my ear as he continued.
“Take you, for example. You flinch inward when you’re touched. You try to make yourself smaller, by curling inward and hiding.”
His hand slid back down, firmer now as he tightened the restraint fully, pulling my arms taunt behind my back. The position forced my shoulders apart, lifting my chest, leaving me open and vulnerable.
“So I don’t let you,” he said evenly. “I keep your arms secured behind you, hold you upright, exposed. You can’t retreat like this. You can’t comfort yourself by curling inward.”
A shiver moved through me as the reality of my position settled in.
He was right.
Silas lowered himself into a crouch in front of me, bringing us eye level.
His intense, ice blue eyes seemed to sparkle as they met mine.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Your turn.”
A beat passed.
“How would you restrain me, Lena?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I studied him the way he had studied me, letting my eyes trace over him, taking in the way he held himself, the way he moved, the way control only seemed to live at surface level.
Silas didn’t rush me, remaining crouched in front of me, his gaze expectant.
“Well… you’re a lot bigger and stronger than me,” I started. “So whatever I use has to hold. If you get loose, I don’t stand a chance.”
A faint smile touched his expression.
“Okay,” he said. “What else? It’s not just physical. Remember that.”
I nodded, my mind shifting, adjusting.
“You like control,” I said. “You rely on it.”
His eyes sharpened slightly.
“So I’d take that from you.”
Silence stretched for a beat as I continued, more certain now.
“I’d pick a position that limits you. Something that makes you feel it slipping.” I swallowed, then added, “A blindfold. Take away your ability to see and to anticipate.”
His smirk faded, replaced with something more focused.
“Go on.”
“Arms and legs restrained,” I continued. “Not just tied, but secured to each other first, then anchored to the chair so you can’t shift or leverage your strength.”
I met his eyes again.
“Make you still as possible. Make you wait like that.”
A slow, approving nod followed.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That would do it.”
“What about Marco?”
I stilled.