“Hey!” someone calls out.
Instinctually I glance back.
Over the top of the car, I see the head of a man wearing a backwards black baseball cap.
The man who killed the other men.
The man who might kill me.
Without thinking twice about it, I take off, running like my life depends on it.
Because, fuck, at this point it does.
“Wait!” the man shouts behind me. “You’re going the wrong way!”
Ignoring him, I push my aching, abused body across the grass. Huffing through my gag as the flimsy hospital gown I’ve been dressed in flaps against my ass.
“Hey!” the man shouts again. “Stop! Goddammit! I’m here to help!”
Above me a bright moon shines down, providing some light so I don’t trip and break my neck. I have no clue where I am, but given all the grass and bushes, I can only assume it’s a park.
Voice strained with exertion, I hear the man tell someone, “My package is fleeing. I’m in pursuit.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see him running after me and quickly gaining on me.
So close now I can make out his clothes.
He’s dressed just like the guys back in the warehouse. Black vest, dark shirt, and dark pants.
Crying out in despair, I will my tiring legs to hold on for a little longer. Pushing my body as hard as it will go.
I make it a few more feet before I sense him at my back.
“Hey! Sophia! Stop! Stop!”
I can’t stop. I won’t stop. No matter how hopeless it all seems.
I’m done complying and playing along.
If I’m going to die, I’m going to die trying my best to survive, dammit.
The man’s hands touch my back and a second later his body crashes into mine, taking me down.
I land on my knees then his weight flattens me to the ground.
Still determined to get away, I ignore the pain vibrating through my legs and claw at the grass.
“Dammit, woman! I don’t want to hurt you!” he yells as I try to work my way out of his hold.
Shaking my head, I use my arms to pull the rest of my body forward while screaming a muffled, “Fuck you!”
Grabbing one of my arms, he yanks it out from under me and pushes me onto my back.
Immediately, I start thrashing. Kicking and punching at him in a desperate attempt to force him off.
He continues to say, “Stop, goddammit. Stop,” as he struggles to grab my free hand while avoiding my kicks.
All I hear in my head though is my brain urging me to fight.
Fight for my life or die right here.
I get in one good punch, his head whipping back when my knuckles connect with his chin.
Then, with a look of pure fury, he grabs that hand, pins it down, and roars in my face. “I’m not going to fucking hurt you! I’m here to fucking rescue you!”
I freeze in shock from the force of his roar and stare up at him.
Breathing heavily, he stares right back, his dark eyes burning into me as if he’s trying to see right through me.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeats softly after a few seconds.
I hear the words, I understand the words, but they make absolutely no sense.
Is this a cruel joke?
A new way to fuck with me?
It has to be a trick.
It has to be.
With tears pricking the corners of my eyes, I try to jerk my hands out of his grip.
Tightening his hold, he presses his body down on me, using his weight to keep me pinned. “I mean it, woman,” he says with a hint of a growl. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you home.”
That word. That one word, home, hits me like a ton of bricks.
Home. God, I just want to go home…
The tears that were pricking at the corners of my eyes break free, rolling down my cheeks, but I still don’t quite believe him.
After everything I’ve been through, it simply feels too good to be true.
I try to ask, “Who are you?”, but with my throat raw from all the screaming and my mouth going numb from the gag, the words come out soft and unintelligible.
Lips twisting into a scowl, he asks, “What?”
Snorting in frustration, I probe the gag with my tongue, trying to push it out, before I repeat the question. “Who are you?”
He shakes his head, clearly not understanding me.
Then he does something completely unexpected.
He releases my left hand.
Eyes never leaving my eyes, he gently slips his fingers underneath the back of my head. Moving slow, as if he’s afraid of spooking me.
And instead of taking the opportunity to lash out at him, I find myself arching my neck up to give him room to work.
It takes him about a minute to untie the gag one-handed, but once the material is loose, he pulls it free and tosses it away with a look of disgust.
More tears slip from my eyes before I close them and press my lips together in pure relief.
My chin is wet, my tongue is dry, and the corners of my lips are rubbed raw, but being able to close my mouth is something I’ll probably never take for granted again.
Once my mouth is no longer dry, I become even more aware of his weight and all the places his body is pushing down on my body.
His knees have my knees squeezed together, trapped.
The hard vest he’s wearing is pressing hard into my breasts.
His face is so close to my face, I can feel his warm breath.
Opening my eyes, I find him still staring down at me with a strange, intense expression on his face.
An expression that makes me feel uneasy and excited at the same time.
It must be the drugs still lingering in my system….
“Who are you?” I finally manage to croak clearly.
“James,” he responds, as if his name alone explains anything, and I swear the fingers still gripping my wrist tighten.
“James who?” I press, turning his hard stare back on him.
The question seems to give him pause and he hesitates before stating, “I’m here to return you to your father.”
At the mention of my father, I feel a slight pang in my chest.
Did he really send this man?
I open my mouth again to challenge him, but before I get a chance, he says, “Chief Cronin.”
At first, I don’t want to believe him. I’ve been through so much, the fact that it’s over, it’s all finally over, is hard to accept.
He’s a complete stranger who just killed two men and chased me down… it would be utterly stupid to believe anything he says.
But after what the Russian man did to Lindsey when she said who her father was, I haven’t uttered my father’s name or title once.
Not once.
Because I knew as soon as I did, I was as good as dead.
How else would he know unless he’s telling the truth?
“Chief Cronin sent you for me?” I croak, needing to hear him say it one more time so I know my ears didn’t deceive me.
“Yes,” he confirms without hesitation. “He sent me for you, Sophia Cronin.”
Oh god, he’s telling the truth.
A tidal wave of emotions swells up inside me.
And like I’ve had to do so many times during this nightmare, I try to hold it back. Try to keep it all contained.
But there’s no containing this.
My body begins to shake as all the stuff I’ve been holding inside, all the fear, anger, and despair, combine, becoming a maelstrom.