Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◼️Chapter Twenty Five◼️▪️

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING MATURE CONTENT⚠️

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ALINA
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Nothing prepares me for the overwhelming amount of dread that washes over me when I sneak a glance at the time.

8:33PM

It's only been thirty-three minutes since I arrived.

I still have twenty seven excruciating minutes to go before Matteo will come back for me.

If he comes back for me.

But why would he? He owes me nothing.

Even if he does come back for me, it doesn't solve the problem at hand. I still have roughly thirty minutes before the cigar will do it's job, meaning I have to spend that time alone with Borkov.

A lot can happen in thirty minutes.

We step back inside the large room. There's a built in bookshelf stretching itself across the expanse of the space on my left and a seating area to my right where Mayor Borkov was waiting for me when I arrived.

There's another statue of a naked woman in the far corner near the door, she's headless like the old Greek statues sometimes are and she's touching herself.

I swallow heavily. For some reason seeing the statue is what has my anxiety spiking the most.

Normal people don't have weird shit like that all over their house like a shrine dedicated to overly sexualized women.

Or an obsession.

He grabs up my hand and leads me to the burnt orange leather couch. When we stop, I stand stiff before him, watching him wearily as he lifts a somewhat delicate looking hand and drags a finger along my collar bone down my shoulder, back down to my hand, causing an aversive shiver to spring out over my body.

"You like the way I touch you, huh?" He says delighted at the sight of goosebumps that have sprung out over my body. I swallow—my mouth feeling abnormally dry with my nerves—in an attempt to quell the sickening roll of my stomach.

No, asshole, I can't stand you.

"Then maybe you'll like this." He says. All of a sudden, he snatches my hand from my side and tugs me into him. He roughly places my open palm over his junk on the outside of his trousers. My eyes widen. I try to yank my hand away but he won't let me. He forces me to keep it there. It takes everything in me not to dig my fingernails in like a claw trap, I imagine kneeing him in the groin and making my escape.

My breathing quickens as I think over my options. There aren't many.

I can either allow him to touch me and let him force me to touch him back, to placate him and keep him calm. Or fight him off, which won't end well I'm sure.

"Sit." He commands releasing me. When I don't move he places a bulky hand on my shoulder and shoves me down roughly onto the cool leather couch.

His demeanor has changed in an instant. He's no longer charismatic and smiling. His expression is malicious and creepy.

My eyes spring wide in fear. I can feel my heart as it hammers in my chest, sending painful vibrations throughout my body. Please Matteo, please come back for me.

All I can do is pray that Matteo didn't set me up. That this isn't some scheme to take Borkov out and pin it on me. Surely the feds would believe my story, if Matteo never returns. Right? But what if it was all a lie. What if Matteo sold me to Borkov? What if the cigar is just a cigar and the story he told me was his way of convincing me to come here tonight.