Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Thirteen◼️▪️

I gaze out the window through bright streams of mid-morning sunlight as we pull up to a large yellow building in the heart of Moscow.

The building has two floor-to-ceiling windows on the street corner hinting at a boutique inside and seven stories of windows above.

The color of the building is a light cream at the top and becomes a darker, sunshine yellow as it descends toward the sidewalk.

It's a happy color and clashes with the trepidation whirling within me.

I frown.

More shopping? Surely he's bought enough.

The amount of garments in the closet of his hotel suite could clothe a small army.

As he shifts the car into park my eyes trail along flowery shrubs and Pallida trees near the boutique's entrance, the large yellow bricks that make up the facade, to the balconies jutting out sporadically from the building's exterior.

Nothing on the outside gives any indication of what type of shopping we'll be doing.

I watch as he gets out of the car first, slamming the door behind him. I jump in my seat at the loud bang of the door meeting the metal frame of the car.

Through the driver side window I scrutinize him with morbid curiosity as he shrugs his suit jacket into place and buttons the two buttons at the front. He then smooths out the wrinkles that are ruining the cut of his expensive formalwear from sitting.

He's clinical and meticulous in his movements. It's as if he plans out every single move in his head before he makes them.

I watch as he cracks his neck back and forth, looking absolutely deadly, before storming around the car to the passenger side where I'm sitting. His gait is wide and purposeful as he approaches my window.

I brace myself against the door and centre console unprepared for the machine headed my way.

Suddenly the door is jerked open with a whoosh and I'm yanked out of the car.

"Ahh!"

I'm barely able to unlatch my seatbelt in time before it can strangle me.

Once out of the car he allows me to right myself but doesn't release the harsh grip on my arm.

Stunned, I throw a quick glance around to see if any bystanders are near to whiteness his cruel treatment of me. A few people are milling about down the block and across the street but they are too far to see what really happened.

No one seems concerned, least of all the terror standing next to me.

I hear the passenger door slam behind us as he yanks me toward the sunflower colored building.

We walk up a few stairs to get to the double doors of the main entrance.

The sun is warm on my back with notes of cool autumn air dancing through the leaves and wisping strands of my hair around my face.

Summer has begun to fade away to fall and the brisk heat of July has waned to a warm sun and the cool breeze of August.

My kidnapper pulls on the brass handle of the entrance just as he did the car door; frustrated, brooding, and completely out of patience.