Chapter 6 Sadie
SADIE
Iwoke up groggy at first. My tongue stuck to the top of my mouth. Dizziness swamped my mind, deepening the confusion and lack of orientation.
What the…
My lids wouldn’t cooperate. They were too heavy. Sluggish. I was sluggish. Lead weights dragged me down, making me sink even harder against whatever firm surface I was on.
What…
I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus on something other than the solid blackness of sleep.
Then again. And again. Like slow-moving shutters that were malfunctioning, I kept trying to open my eyes.
A thick sensation of choking gripped me, and I immediately coughed. The urge to gag didn’t hit me, but I struggled to swallow adequately. Something kept my mouth too full. Alarm kicked in. The instinct to survive pushed me to wake up further.
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’ve been. 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 capture me in 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 was not it.
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.
Enduring shoot-outs and staring at a gun aimed at my face.
Coming out on top after a round of combat.
I was no weakling, but I’d never experienced this particular flavor of horror and panic. The anger and self-recrimination too.
How could I let this happen?
How? Just what the fuck went wrong?
Is he some Houdini or freak who does magic acts?
How the hell could he slip away from me so well in the airport?
How the hell could all my practice and training and working out fail me when he grabbed me outside?
What—
I willed myself to draw in a deep breath before I’d panic any further. I had to calm down and think pragmatically, not get carried away with what-ifs and postulations about what could come next.
He got me. I recalled with hazy clarity how he’d smiled so cockily at me as he sedated me.
“Gotcha.”
I growled as quietly as I could, biting down on my gag again. The fucking nerve of that asshole.
He did have me here, and it seemed he wanted to gloat about it.
But where was here? That was a detail I needed to assess.
Horror mixed again with anger when I wondered what he planned to do with me next.
This man, too confident and sexy for his own good, was a killer. An assassin had kidnapped me, and I would do well not to forget that detail.
Emil might’ve gone through a trial of patience to grab me, resist my efforts to escape, and refrain from hurting me. But that logic was only applicable for right now.
He could kill me.
Mutilate me.
Torture me.
I strained to swallow again, but the action prompted me to cough lightly, the most that I could with the rag in my mouth.
I didn’t know how long I’d been in here. How long he’d keep me here. Where I could be next. All I could do was wait and kick myself for ever being captured.
As I willed my heart to slow, I tried to commit the room to memory. Just in case I could direct someone else here and—
Oh, shit.
Through the haze of fear and frustration, I realized that he could be keeping me and holding me hostage until he got something in return from me. From the people I belonged to.
Oh, fucking hell.
If he contacted my department or anyone else at the agency…
Another groan was muffled from my throat, stopped by the gag.
I’ll never live this down. Never.
If he contacted Hufford or anyone from the agency to gloat that he’d kidnapped one of their own, they would never forgive me. Any respect I’d earned would be lost. I would be a liability, not an asset, never trusted again because of either.
Stop. Just stop. Fuck that. Don’t think about that.
I blinked in a weak attempt at steering the drops of sweat on my brow to streak further from my eye. No way in hell would I let Emil Dubinin or his thugs come in here and think that they saw me crying about my fate. Already, my eyes stung from the sweat dripping into my eyes.
But even that was a dumb notion to worry about.
Fuck my pride about Special Agent Hufford finding out I’d been taken.
Screw my concern about looking strong and tough and not like a pathetic woman who’d cry during a traumatic experience.
I had to keep my wits about me. I had to stay level-headed. Smart. Observant. Resourceful and scrappy.
Before I could give any more energy toward what anyone else could think of me—between my coworkers and the criminal who’d captured me—I had to contend with the challenge of survival first.
I had to get out of here. Now.
Just as I rallied myself to look around for something to help break the rope keeping my hands together and my ankles to the legs of the chair, footsteps sounded outside the room.
Slow. Steady.
Deliberate yet unrushed.
He was coming.
I swallowed again, put on the spot to decide how to handle this.
Nerves made my heart race again. Anxiety twisted my stomach and clutched me in a tension I couldn’t talk myself out of.
He was coming.
For months, I’d never given up the hunt.
I’d told myself in various pep talks that I would be coming for him. That I would find him and get him.
But in all those slow moments of this game of chase, I'd never considered that he would be the one to capture me.
The doorknob spun, and I held my breath for my first interaction with the smug jerk. If I had anything to say about it, this would be the first—and last—time he’d be able to gloat about outsmarting me like this.