I was sent to capture the CIA's most wanted fugitive.
But things took a tragic turn,
My entire team was murdered before my eyes, and I was kidnapped by said fugitive.
It seemed like my government had forgotten me and I became a puppet for the fugi...
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Enrico nods, leaving the room, the sound of the door closing echoes behind him—a hollow thud, then silence. My gaze flickers back to her, my blood thrumming with the sharp thrill of it all. There she sits, chained and defiant, her fury palpable, her every movement calculated, like a caged animal waiting for the right moment to strike.
I take her in, slowly, my eyes tracing every inch of her as if she were a puzzle only I could solve. One icy blue, the other burning emerald—each eye a reminder of the chaos within me, the part of me that she stirs. And there she is, my little demon. She thinks she can hide her fear, mask her uncertainty with that boldness, but I see it all.
I don’t rush, savoring the tension simmering between us. The silence stretches, heavy, and she breaks it first, her voice barely a whisper. “Oh for the love of God.”
It’s amusing how she tries to maintain control even when she’s helpless. A small smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re asking me questions?” I let the words drip with mockery, knowing it’ll get under her skin.
Her fury spikes, just as I expect. “What is the meaning of this?”
Ah, that fire. It’s addictive, dangerous even, but nothing I can’t handle. I chuckle, low and dark, letting the sound fill the room as I drag a chair over, the metal screeching against the concrete floor. It’s a grating noise, yes, but it sets the perfect tone. I sit, my fingers tapping lightly on my knee, my eyes fixed on her.
“Of what?”
She shifts, the chains rattling, and I can’t help but enjoy the sight. “Where am I?”
I could answer her truthfully, but where’s the fun in that? “You’d be surprised,” I murmur, my voice low, letting the edge in my tone convey what I don’t need to say. I want to see her squirm, want to watch the understanding dawn on her slowly.
I know the moment she starts piecing it together—her eyes widen just slightly, and the memory hits her. She remembers the night I killed Dr. Snow. The fear is there now, but it’s buried beneath that anger, that defiance I’ve grown to admire. She doesn’t back down, though. That’s what makes her different from everyone else.
“How long have you been following me?” Her voice trembles, just enough to betray her.
I chuckle again, the sound filling the space between us. “Brave questions from the woman who crashed my party and left quite a few scars behind.” I glance at the bandage on my hand, the blood seeping through. She did that. A reminder that she’s dangerous, unpredictable. I like that about her.
“You weren’t fazed!” she snaps back, her anger flaring again, and I revel in it.
I lean forward, my smirk darkening. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to stab a fork into your neck there and then.”
