Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Six◼️▪️

My kidnapper pushes his way out a nondescript door into an obscure alley behind the Lotte.

He yanks on my hand causing me to catapult forward and my feet to falter on a small stair on the outside of the building. He does nothing to help me catch my fall and I end up tripping out the doorway into the abyss of stale air and city noise behind him, nearly scraping my knees on the dirty concrete.

I cry out as I right myself while also trying to keep up with his hurried pace. He's treating me as if I'm a bag of trash he can't wait to throw out. He doesn't care that I'm in an elegant ball gown and four-inch heels.

A gust of icy cold wind stings my dampened cheeks painfully like a slap to the face.

Autumn nights in Moscow are usually agreeable but tonight the weather is as bitter as this man's cold, dead heart.

I squint into the darkness.

The only offering of light is coming from the moon as it dances on the blackened windows and corrugated metal workings of the Lotte and surrounding buildings.

It takes a few concentrated moments for my eyes to adjust to the bleak lighting but when they do I find that the alleyway he dragged me into is deserted, apart from two large dumpsters near the door we stumbled out of. 

His long limbs stride onward down the narrow road, deeper into the darkness. A jolt of panic electrifies my nerves. Is he going to kill me? Is that why he's dragged me out here?

The thought has fresh hot tears welling in my eyes like a bubbling fountain.

I'm petrified of being out here alone with him, nothing good can come from being forced into a dark, empty alley with a known killer.

He doesn't tell me where he's taking me, doesn't bark orders, or even look in my general direction. He simply pulls me forcefully behind him, with a firm grip on my wrist.

I square my shoulders, summoning a bout of courage I don't feel, and will myself not to cry.

You are stronger than this. You must fight back!

I trail my eyes along the building's exterior struggling to make out my surroundings through my blurred vision as my feet stumble. I'm vaguely familiar with this area, Smolenskaya Station's not far from here.

When our pace slows and we make it to a sleek black sports car something in me snaps.

I can't get in there. I can't let him take me. Who knows where we'll go or what he plans to do to me when we get there. If what happened to Vladimir—and the odd exchange between us and Mayor Borkov at the party—is any indication of what's next for me, then I'm certain it's nothing good.

I shake my head in a wordless conversation with myself. I won't do this, I won't let him hurt me.

Suddenly and without warning I rip my arm from his grasp as hard as I can. He doesn't see it coming. I yelp like a puppy whose tail was stepped on as I stumble back, quickly righting myself.

I turn towards the opening of the alley which is about half a city block away, a street light beckons me toward freedom, and I run for dear life.

I pump my arms as hard as I can, willing my legs to move faster, and strides wider.

In a quick maneuver, I scoop the gauzy material of my dress up with both hands, grasping onto it as I run.

Please, please, please!

I beg for my ankles to not give out beneath me and my lungs to not explode like they feel like they may. My entire body is shaking with adrenaline as I tear my way down the abandoned street.