Page 237 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
The air in my lungs is forcefully expelled as fear shivers down my spine. “Where are you now?”
Cars honking is the only noise resonating over the frantic beat of my heart. “I’m tailing them on foot. They just pulled down Tivot.” He inhales a sharp breath. “Fuck. Get down!”
My knuckles pop from the sudden clench of my fists when gunfire sounds down the line. Sensing the shift in my composure, Hunter moves to stand next to me, unhousing his laptop from his bag and his cell from his pocket on the way. He calls Tallis to place him on alert while I pay careful attention to any noises resonating through the speakers of my phone.
My chest heaves up and down with every inhalation I take as anxiety envelopes my body. Hugo’s stomping feet still thud down the line, along with the alarmed screams of panicked spectators.
“Hugo,” I shout. “Give me an update.”
I freeze when another two shots are fired before our call is disconnected.
CHAPTER2
ISABELLE
The deep hum of profound voices filters through my ears as I drift in and out of consciousness. My anxiety levels are havocked as the nightmares that have been plaguing my dreams come to fruition. I swallow hard, moistening my throat that’s beyond scorched, gagging through the thickness of my tongue. My mouth feels like it’s been wiped dry, then stuffed to the brim with cotton balls.
Ignoring the screaming protests of my thumping head, I slowly blink my eyes open. Dirt particles scratch my eyelids with every blink I take. Speckles of dust dance in the late afternoon sunlight like a flurry of fireworks in a darkened sky. The black plastic taped to the windows of the office I'm waking up in fails to conceal its bright rays. Considering the tired headache I’ve had the past few weeks is still present, I'm going to assume it’s still Sunday.
The smell of soot and sweat filters into my nose as I scan the stark confines. Other than the ripped double sofa chair I'm waking up on, there's a chipped wooden desk in the middle of the room, a steel four-drawer filing cabinet in the corner, and a set of rusted weights and barbells at the side.
Giddiness clusters in my head when I rise from the sofa. The urge to vomit is so overwhelming, tears prickle in my dry eyes. I battle to hold down the bile surging forward as I head to the half-open office door at my left. My footing is unsteady as queasiness plagues my balance.
When I reach the door, my breath hitches in my throat. Standing mere feet away from me, talking into a cell phone, is a massive brute of a man. His arm squashing the phone to his ear has a large, colorful snake tattoo entangled around his wrist.
Silently, I take two steps backward, nearly tripping over a pile of rope left dangerously on the floor. The beat of my heart expediently climbs when the assailant’s eyes meet mine. His face hardens with anger as his dark eyes narrow into thin slits.
Fighting through a rush of dizziness, my eyes zoom around the room, frantically searching for a weapon to protect myself. The first thing my vision zooms in on is the deadbolt on the door. When his lips curl into a grim smirk and he sprints for me, I charge for the door. Due to my dizzy head, I crash violently into the door, winding myself. My hearing obscures from the blood pumping thunderously through my body as I secure the lock.
A frightened squeal emits from my lips when my eyes lift to discover the gentleman standing in front of me. Relief overwhelms me, grateful for the shield of glass and wood between us. He stares at me while raising his hand to rattle the door handle. When he discovers it is dead-bolted, he returns his eyes to me. They’re emotionless, almost soulless.
“Open the door, Isabelle.” When I shake my head, he bangs his fists on the glass. “Open the door!”
I take a step back, frightened by the uncontrollable rage burning from his angry gaze. The veins in his neck bulge when he kicks the door with his boot-covered foot. His heavy stomps on the door bellow into the quiet office, fastening my pulse. The wood buckles under the compression of his foot, but the glass stays firm, making me realize it must be bulletproof.
As he continues kicking down the door, I scan the room again, seeking another exit. Dread washes through me when I realize the only way in and out of this office is by the door he's blocking with his imposingly large frame.
I need to arm myself.
My eyes settle on the only movable instrument in the room. With my heart in my throat, I rush for the weights housed in the corner. I scream in frustration when my attempts to lift the barbell are fruitless due to the heavy weights on each end.
Dropping to my knees, I unscrew the dumbbell lock clamps off the side as my frantic gaze flicks between the door buckling from the stranger’s powerful kicks and my shaky, sweat-slicked hands.
A door shooting open ricochets through the room just as I remove the second lock clamp. I pounce to my feet, dragging the barbell up with me before I turn to face my assailant. Dizziness impedes my vision from my sudden movements, but I shake my head, clearing the flashing white lights from my eyesight. With the barbell clenched in front of my body, I glare at him, warning that I will defend myself if he comes near me.
“I’ve been instructed not to touch a strand of hair on your head, so unless you want menotto follow those strict instructions, you need to put down the barbell.” He steps toward me with his arms in front of his body. “Put it down, and I won’t hurt you.”
I shake my head, not believing a word coming out of his mouth. When he takes a step closer, I swing the barbell through the air with all my might. The end of the steel rod connects hard with his left wrist. The vibration of my cruel blow shudders up my arm. He cusses, his spare hand instinctively shooting up to shelter his wrist.
My pulse shrills in my ears when his beyond-furious eyes lift from his already bruising wrist to me. When I raise the bar, preparing to strike again, a roguish snarl curls on his mouth a mere second before he rushes for me. I put all my strength into the next swing, but before it can hit him, one of his large hands seizes my wrist mid-air, while the other wraps around my waist, pulling me in close to his body. His fingers dig so painfully into my hip, my lungs can no longer fill with air.
“Drop it!”
His hot breath blasts my ear with warmth as its putrid stench makes my stomach swirl. I grit my teeth and shake my head. Tears rush to my eyes when he tightens his grip even more, so his fingers will leave bruises on my skin.
Once the sting of his touch becomes too much to bear, steel clanging against concrete echoes through the office. He kicks the barbell out of my reach before his clutch on my body lessens. Although he loosens his grip, he holds me close to his body, his easy hold making it appear as if I'm as light as a feather.
My heart ceases beating when he lifts a white cloth from a cardboard box that holds a bottle of clear liquid. The strong scent of bleach and chemicals infiltrates my nasal cavities.
