Page 78 of The Shadows We Keep

I screech in protest. Even if this is Harkin, I’m not giving in without a fight. My legs kick, contacting the figure’s legs and chest, but all I get back in response is a grunt at the impact. When my hand comes up with the blade at the ready, he doesn’t stop. It’s not Harkin. I quickly swipe it across his forearm, hoping to break skin and his concentration as he tries to wrangle my legs together with a zip tie. But I feel as the metal grates across something hard.

I huff in irritation and get in a second thrust between our bodies before the knife pulls free spewing blood across my skin. The hands release from my legs, and he falls back against the floor. I struggle up using the blood coated blade to free myself from the half tightened plastic ties around my ankles.

“Fucking bitch.” The deep voice pulls my attention as he starts toward me again, hand holding the gash on his side as his feet limp in my direction. I widen my stance, naked as the day I was born, coated only in his life’s blood, and armed with my new favorite christened blade.

“You’re going to pay for that.” His thick accent tips me off that this is payback for yesterday. I don’t know where Harkin is, but if he hasn’t heard the scuffle by now, he’s either in the soundproof gym or out god only knows where. I’m in this alone, but that’s okay. Life’s never been any different. Why should that change now?

“I highly doubt it,” I stupidly taunt the man twice my size.

In typical brute fashion his body rushes mine, but the perk of being tiny and naked is the ability to shift out of the way quickly. His large form crashes into the mattress exposing his back. I don’t hesitate, thrusting the blade deep into his lower back, hoping to God it finds my intended target and leaves him bleeding out.

Before I can drive it home a hand grips my hair, snatching me backward and killing my momentum. My scalp burns as the follicles pop free, I ignore the pain, throwing my head back but it meets air not connecting like I’d hoped.

His chuckle fills my ear. “You deserve far worse than this,” he spews, anger lacing each syllable. That’s when I feel the quick prick, followed by a cold flow of fluid into my neck. My hand springs up, covering the area, but it’s no use. The effects take hold almost immediately.

But it doesn’t happen like you see in the movies. My body doesn’t drop to the floor, automatically pulling me away from reality. My eyes grow bleary, my limbs heavy. I stumble away from my attackers, heading for what I think looks like the bathroom. The garbled argument of the men in the room gives my brain something else to focus on, when I need it to pay attention to getting out of this situation. We’re rivals at the moment, not teammates, and that’s what fucks us over. Something hard hits the back of my skull and it all fades to black.

* * *

My eyes fightto open and take in my surroundings, but the moment one’s able to, I screw them shut again. The bright light gleams through my closed lids, which only sets off the horrendous pounding in my head. The searing pain causes a wave of nausea to rise in my gut. I fling myself off to the side, gagging until the contents of my stomach release ahead of me.

I take a deep breath, slowly pushing it out, trying to settle the queasiness. I gradually come back to, my body’s still heavy, weighed down by whatever drug they’d dosed me with. My hands and feet are bound, but I’m lying on my side on something cushioned.

I’m finally able to peek through the blinding haze filling the room. I’m alone, in what looks to be a pristine office, not much different from Harkin’s at the apartment. The worn leather couch I’m lying on sits across from a large wooden desk. It’s oddly comfortable and sleep threatens to pull me back under, but the stench of my sickness helps me shove into a seated position.

My brain is still foggy, but I remember what happened at the apartment. I recall fighting a grown man in the nude. It’s ridiculous now that I’m thinking about it. Someone must have dressed me because a light-white cotton dress and sandals cover my skin. They’re not from my closet. I own nothing that looks like this.

My arms and legs are tight and uncomfortable from holding the same position. There’s a bandage wrapped around my elbow; a small cotton ball taped to the center.

Did they take my blood? Holy fuck, they’re going to sell my organs on the black market. I’m screwed.

I scan the desktop, searching for a pair of scissors or a letter opener, but the tidy space only holds a couple of things. None of which have a sharp edge that might help me get out of these damn plastic cuffs. Rocking forward, I balance my weight on my joined feet. I’ve only got one chance to get this right or I’ll be back on the floor writhing in pain from the fall.

I make my way quickly across the carpeted floor. Thank God my jumps are soft, or I’d be alerting whoever took me to my wakefulness because there’s nothing graceful about my movements. Shuffling around the side of the desk, I pull against the drawers, but the only one that opens holds nothing helpful.

“Well, what do we have here?”

I whirl toward the voice, swaying as my momentum threatens to topple me over.

My hands quickly glide through the contents of the open drawer, snagging a pen. Not the best option, but it’ll do, especially since it’s one of those fancy metal custom made pens and not something you’d pick up at the store while your grocery shopping.

I thrust the object up between us, quickly shuffling my feet awkwardly in the other direction away from the intimidating man. I take in his looming form across the room, but he doesn’t overtake me. His gaze is watchful and calm. And it’s eerie as hell.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I ask him. My ass rams into something hard stalling my progress.

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes slowly take me in, scanning every inch of me. It doesn’t feel hateful or full of rage like the men from the apartment and it’s not like every other male off the street, taking their fill for later. No, it seems like curiosity and wonder. Like someone examining a painting in real life that they’ve only seen in textbooks.

He hurries to the desk, reaching for a drawer I hadn’t made it to yet. When he stands back up, the scissors I was looking for are in his grasp. “Why don’t we get you out of those things and a little more comfortable?” He nods toward my wrist.

I don’t answer, but I know I have a better chance of protecting myself with my limbs free, so I hold them out as far away from my body as possible. He makes swift work cutting me free. I rub at the raw skin; I don’t know how long I was out for or where I am. For all I know I could be in another state or shit another country.

Fuck.

“Take a seat.” His hand sweeps out, back to the couch I woke up on. When his eyes take in the mess I made on his carpet, they darken. I wait for the explosion of anger toward me for it and shy away, but he stomps from the room.

He returns with a man who could have easily been the guy that grabbed me and a small, timid woman with an arm full of cleaning supplies. The well-dressed man snaps toward the sofa and she rushes over, dropping to her knees to clean the mess I’ve left. A gnawing twinge of guilt forms in my gut while watching her clean up my mess, but then I remember I was fucking drugged and kidnapped.

We all stand in silence, waiting for her to finish her task. When she stands, tucking the soiled rags back into her little bucket, it’s the starting gun pulling us back into the situation at hand. The extras leave as quickly as they joined us and once again, I’m alone with this man that exudes importance.

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