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Marcus takes a syringe out of the breast pocket of his shirt and pushes the plunger, clearing any air.
“Long time no see,” he says in that voice that always turned my blood to ice. Without warning, he grips a handful of my hair and forces my head to the side to push the needle into my neck.
I feel the effects almost instantly as my knees give out, touching gravel, the soldiers’ hands still painful on my arms.
“Cover her for fuck’s sake,” the man with the accented English says and I feel something over my shoulders. I can almost place the aftershave, but my vision has faded. Voices, too, just sounds I can’t make out. I’m dragged to where I hear the water lapping against the boats, hear the sounds of frightened women. Their warm bodies the last thing I feel against my own before I lose consciousness.
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