Page 69 of The Specialist

He laughed, the sound without humor. “You don’t get it. Egan will do exactly what I want now. I took his gym, his gallery, and now his most prized possession. You. He’ll do anything to get you back.”

“I’m not a possession, asshole.”

He laughed again and leaned down, testing the ropes that bound me. “You are going to send Egan a little message. Tell him to follow my instructions.”

“No.”

He lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Yes. Or he will suffer another loss.”

I glared at him. His face was close, horrific in its anger. “I will take away everything he loves one by one until he does as I say. His friends, Elite, his business partners. His little perfume factory. His home. You. I will take and take until he is broken.” He came closer. So close I could see the bloodshot veins that surrounded his pupils. “Then he will do what I tell him, and after that, the great Egan Vulpe will work for me. He will have nothing left. Not even his soul. He will belong to me.”

I couldn’t move my hands or my feet. I only had one weapon. I dropped my chin, using what little strength I had left, and I smashed my head into his face, catching his already injured nose. He howled at the sudden attack and the pain. I leaned back, admiring my handiwork. Blood flowed between the fingers of the hand covering his rebroken appendage. My head screamed in protest at the agony I caused it, but I didn’t care. I braced myself as I saw the rage descend on his face. He reared back, slapping me, the explosion of pain across my cheek astounding. But I refused to show him my suffering. I grinned at him.

“Hope you have that surgeon on retainer. By the time I’m done with you and Egan finishes, you’ll need a whole new face.”

He removed his hand, the blood flowing freely down his face, dripping from his chin. He turned to leave the room. “You will be entertaining to have around. Enjoy your stay.” He met my eyes, his even colder than they had been a few moments prior. “Shame this is where you will spend your last days on earth.”

Then he walked out.

* * *

I had no idea how long I sat there. My head ached. I was thirsty. My body hurt. I was cold—so cold.

I let my head hang and kept my eyes shut, listening. I slowly moved my wrists and feet to try to loosen the rope. I gave up after a while when I felt the rough threads dig into my skin and the sting of the blood rushing to the surface. They were too tight to loosen.

I could hear the voices more clearly now, but they were speaking Russian. I tried to concentrate on the timbres of the voices and decided there were four, maybe five men. Other than the sounds of the wind and the creaking of the building, I couldn’t hear anything else. Nothing to pinpoint where I might be. I lifted my head, trying to find a clue in the small room I was in, but there wasn’t much to go on. Some rusted shelves, a high ceiling, and empty boxes. One corner of the room was missing floorboards, the damage obviously from the water that had seeped in over the years. I shivered as I wondered if the rest of the floor was stable. I tilted my head, peering at the empty boxes. One of them had a label, but I couldn’t see what it said. I tried to stand and get closer, but my legs were too weak and my feet were numb. The ropes allowed them no movement. I knew I would fall and hit my face and maybe knock myself out.

The door opened, and two men walked in. From Egan’s description, I knew one of them was Alex. They set up a camera and a set of lights.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

They ignored me.

“Hey! I said I have to go!”

They exchanged glances, and Alex shrugged. “Then go.”

“I am not peeing myself.”

The man from earlier stepped into the room. Part of me felt great satisfaction in seeing his swollen, painful-looking nose. He tutted under his breath. “Escort the lady to the restroom, Alex. We must treat our guest with some respect.”

I wanted to laugh at his words, but I kept my mouth shut. A moment later, the rope was cut from my feet, and I gasped as the feeling returned to my legs. They removed the rope at my waist and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled and wobbled around like a drunken sailor, holding in the whimpers as the painful pins and needles shot up my legs. Alex half dragged me to a small room that was grimy but necessary. I repressed my shudder.

“There,” he grunted.

“My hands,” I said quietly. “I need my hands.”

He hesitated, then took a knife from his belt and cut through it. “You attack me or do anything stupid, I won’t hesitate to hurt you.”

I only nodded.

He left, shutting the door behind him. “You have five minutes.”

I made the most of it. I emptied my bladder, splashed the cold water from the tap on my face, using my shirt to dry it. I looked around at the empty room. There was nothing to tell me where I was, not even a window. But from what I had seen in the short trip down the hall, it was a small, deserted warehouse.

Alex flung open the door, grabbing my arm. He dragged me back to the room, pushing me into the chair.

“May I have some water?” I asked. The water in the bathroom was rusty and smelled funny. The cold on my face helped wake me up, but I wasn’t going to drink it.