Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◾️Chapter Two◾️▪️

Relief to be out of Vladimir's suite washes over me in waves as my eyes adjust to the bright lights of the hallway.

My kidnapper has a firm grip on my bicep with one hand and his gun shoved into my ribs with the other as he drags me toward the private ballroom where the event is being held.

I steal a glance at the killer forcing me down the hallway. His features are deadly, hardened with determination as he focuses on the path before us. He has bushy brows, a sharp jaw, and his nose is indescribably Italian. He's clothed in a pristine contrast of ebony and ivory.

My forehead wrinkles, curious as to the type of psycho who wears a tuxedo to kill a person.

My entire body trembles with anxiety as I flick my eyes away quickly and back onto the floor, focusing all of my energy on putting one foot in front of the other.

I'm trying to process everything—the steps we are taking and the corners we are turning—but it's all happening so fast.

I have a million thoughts racing through my mind as I fight to keep up with him as he strides steadfastly down the carpeted corridor.

This event is for dirty politicians, sex traders, and arms dealers mostly. It's a very elite group of powerful men and women who can sniff out a fraud better than a druggie in search of cocaine. This won't end well. Not for me, nor him. So why does he want to go? What's his motive and why does he want me?

We enter the large foyer that houses the entrance to the ballroom.

The vast space is dripping with polished marble and shimmering chandeliers. Gold lines the crown molding where the walls meet the ceiling and flecks can be seen sparkling along the floor at my feet.

As we draw nearer, the doors to the private ballroom burst open, and out of the party spill a man and woman laughing and smiling. Cigar smoke and boisterous music from the event seep out from behind them.

Without warning, my kidnapper roughly shoves me up against the wall near the ballroom's door as the couple approaches.

I let out a strangled yelp, all of the air stored in my lungs is forced out in a rush until there is only pain and vomit remaining within me.

Motherfucker, I bite back a curse.

My head is sore from the impact but I don't have time to think about that because all of my attention is on his gun as he roughly shoves it into my stomach between us.

My heart is beating so frantically, that for a split second, the only sound I can hear is the deafening pulse raging in my ear canals.

It's okay, he won't pull the trigger. It's going to be okay. I reassure myself but I'm petrified. I have no idea what this crazed man will do. He shot Vladimir in a hotel suite for God's sake! There's no telling what a dangerous man like him is capable of.

I can only hope he doesn't put a bullet in me right here against this wall with the two strangers as witnesses.

I gasp as I feel his hand slide up the outside of my dress at the waist, his thumb dangerously close to the base of my breast. My body jolts beneath the unwelcome touch.

"Make a noise and I'll kill them and then I'll kill you." He speaks low so that only I can hear.

The couple eyes us curiously as they near us.

My back rattles against the wall. I'm sure he can feel my trembling as he presses himself flush against me.

Suddenly, I feel his mouth graze my neck and I'm not sure if I'm more afraid of his threat or the illicit feelings of his lips and coarse fingertips on my body. He wants the couple to believe we are lovers.

I think I might be sick.

"Do you understand?" He whispers against my neck. He pulls his face back just enough for our eyes to meet. His features are heated. His eyes are two lapping flames, sparking with anger.

The faintest hint of saliva lingers on my skin from where his lips grazed my neck and in the back of my mind, I know that he wants it that way. He wants me to feel him on me even when we are no longer touching. As a reminder that he's there, ready to steal from me what he wants when he wants it.

He's no better than Vladimir.

The vomit stirring in my belly rises to my throat as I attempt to squirm out from under him. I just want him off of me but he won't budge.

Once the unconcerned couple is gone he shoves off from the wall. He releases me abruptly and takes a sizable step back tucking his gun into the inner chest pocket of his tuxedo.

Feeling cold, I cross my arms, mustering courage I don't feel. They wrap protectively around my shaking form, hands clasping onto each elbow as an anchor to keep myself from crumbling to the ground.

"This is how tonight is going to go." He says buttoning his suit jacket back up. "We will find a table and sit. You will do absolutely nothing to draw attention to yourself and when Borkov makes an appearance you will order red wine and spill it on him."

I feel as if I've just been slapped.

Borkov?

Oleg Borkov?

The Mayor?

I blanch, absolutely horrified and quite honestly bewildered at such a ridiculous demand.

No... no, no, no, no.

Mayor Oleg Borkov is a disgusting and dangerous man. There are many treacherous and powerful men in that room but Mayor Borkov is the worst of them all. He's a dirty politician and a real-life sadist. He's one of the most notorious politicians in all of Russia and not for his humanitarian work.

This man standing before me wishes he were as dangerous as Borkov.

"No-" I gasp. "No, I can't do that. Please don't make me! I—"

All of a sudden I'm grabbed around the throat with a strong hand and shoved back against the wall. I cry out in surprise. He's a monster and a ferocious one. It can be felt in his tightening grip.

Fear spikes as I grab his wrist on instinct, my eyes bulging from their sockets from the sudden pain.

His fingertips dig into the soft skin of my neck as I watch his eyes darken menacingly. "It's a yes or no question." He growls. "You will do as I say or you're dead. Understood?"

My vision begins to blur as I hiss at him and claw at the meaty skin of his knuckles with my hands. I try to cram my fingers between his bony extremities and my neck but he's much too strong. Flashbacks to Vladimir's vile treatment has a mix of fury and fear fueling me.

"я ненавижу тебя!" I speak in Russian as I fight to break free of his grasp and to breathe.

I'm nothing short of a rabid animal, hissing and clawing to protect myself from danger.

He isn't fazed in the slightest. Entertained, if anything. "You should hate me." An evil smirk fills his cheeks as his depthless eyes peer down at me. "Now say it, Alina." He demands as I try my hardest to scrape his vice from around my neck.

I glare at him through an onset of fresh tears as his fingers dig in deeper making it difficult to speak.

"Y-yes!" I choke out. "Yes!" I manage to say, clearly a second time. Not because I concede to do his bidding but because I want his grimy hands off of me.

"Brava ragazza," He rasps, caressing my lips with his thumb before loosening his fingers and dropping his hand.

I paw at my neck sheepishly. I'm not hurt, not really, but I'm terrified. He could have easily suffocated me with his massive hand and a tighter grip.

He takes ahold of my arm and forces me to lace it with his own as he leads me into the ballroom.

I glare down at the ground with every step.