A rag wrapped around my head was the source of that dryness. My tongue was stuck against the roof of my mouth because the gag shoved over the corners of my lips prevented it from moving elsewhere.
Fuck!
Fucking fuck!
I didn’t need any more time to acclimate to how dire of a situation I’d found myself in. I had enough proof with the racing tempo of my heart as it banged against my ribcage. The shallow breaths I sucked in frantically through my nose were another sign of panic claiming me.
Shock from the fact that I had been kidnapped forced me into a rush of adrenaline. The need to fight or flee filled me with a fierce burning energy that snapped me out of the last threads of drowsiness.
I couldn’t do either.
I wasn’t fighting anyone because I was tied up to a hard, uncomfortable chair in the middle of a mostly empty living room. I wasn’t running or calling for help with the urgency to flee because I was gagged and trapped in this nondescript room.
All I could do as I woke up fully was stare straight ahead, heaving for more oxygen with my nostrils flaring. The wooden door remained unmoving directly in front of me. Closed. Likely locked.
Fuck!
As I registered the rapid pulse waking me up, I took inventory of the room. Nothing was within reach as far as a weapon. I noticed the absence of pressure at my ankle, where my gun should’vebeen. The tightness of the holster still stretched over my skin, but the weight of my firearm was missing.
Of course. Of course, he’d fucking lead me around the airport, teasing me, avoiding me, all to capturemein the end.
I furrowed my brow, ignoring the ache setting in my head.
God damn you, Emil Dubinin!
The urge to scream festered inside me, bottling up and gaining tension. I clamped my teeth down hard on the gag as if that would help me vent the anger from this situation.
The fucking irony.
He spotted me and hadn’t even tried to hide it. He knew I was there, watching him. Instead of running or sending me off on a decoy of a path, he toyed with me and taunted me into chasing him through the airport.
I wasn’t even here to search for him. I’d come to Mexico only as a backup for an operation for another agent, one that had ended up not happening at all. As such, I didn’t have any backup of my own to count on. The others had left.
I was well and truly fucked, on my own. Emil Dubinin had turned the tables on me and had taken me from the airport.
The nerve. The fucking nerve of him!
While I continued to scan the room and take note of the details, I did my best to get a hold on my anger that he’d outsmarted me. That he was faster, sneakier, wiser, and stealthier to remain one step ahead and out of my reach. That he was bigger, stronger, and taller to be able to physically capture me.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It really wasn’t. Of all the scenarios I could’ve imagined happening, this wasnotit. I’d been coming to terms with how long it might take me to get closer to him, perhaps never actually arresting him and bringing him in. But nowhere in any stretch of my imagination had I thought he’d capture me.
Ropes tugged at my wrists, pulled back behind me. A few tugs and twists proved that he was an expert with knots. I wasn’t slipping free.
The lack of sounds all around me, save for the chirps, buzzes, and songs of birds and insects, convinced me that he’d taken me away from the civilization near the airport.
All my clothes were intact, suggesting he hadn’t tried anything with me—other than jamming that freaking needle in my thigh and sedating me.
I was unharmed. Hungry. Thirsty. And so very pissed off.
I can’t believe it.
I just can’t fucking believe he kidnapped me like that.
I tried to stick with the process of observing my surroundings and acting as a strategic victim who had to be smarter than letting my emotions get the best of me. Now more than ever before in my career, I had to keep a level head. I’d been in tight spots during my years as an agent.
Facing down thugs.
Questioning criminals.
