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I had no delusions about what I was capable of; I wasn't some version of Wonder Woman or G.I. Jane.
I wouldn't go for subtlety.
He'd made his intentions clear: come to me, or I'll kill the girl.
He was waiting.
And so I strode up to the front gate, the only weapons on me were the ones sewn into my black cargo pants and black lycra t-shirt, as well as a single knife tucked into my boot.
I was right to make that choice because, within seconds of leaving my cover, a spotlight from the guard gate overhead lit up my whole body.
I raised my hands and strode right up to the front gate, where ten men surrounded me, rifles and semi-automatics pointed straight at me. Demanding me to get to my knees.
As soon as I hit the jagged gravel, a tall, muscular man with dark hair and brown eyes roughly searched me. He smelled like cooked onions.
He found the knife in my boot, plus two others stitched into my clothes. Then he put a black canvas bag over my face and zip-tied my hands behind my back.
The smell of onions grew stronger as he gripped my arm, guiding me towards the warehouse. We walked for a while before hands shoved me forward.
"On your knees." Hands still cuffed behind my back, my knees hit cold concrete again. "Don't move."
I sat like that for who knew how long, my back strained, shoulders strained from the rough treatment, in silence.
I wasn't sure if I was even alone in the room but I could feel a cold prickling sensation across my neck and up my spine. I was certain thathewas watching me. Probably through a video feed.
The feeling was familiar: I'd grown accustomed to it, so long ago, the constant sense of beingwatched.
I waited patiently, reminding myself with gritted teeth that thiswas for Honey.
That I would play the submissive only until I found her, then the true me would come out. I would kill that bastard with my teeth if I had to.
After what was probably a couple of hours, I heard the door open, and the cloying scent of a spicy cologne overcame the smell of onions--familiar. Disgusting. Manuel's. A wave of nausea washed over me, an instantaneous reaction to what was surely his presence. I grit my teeth, the cool air prickly against my now clammy skin.
"Tatiana." His voice was low and deceptively soft. It made my insides crawl. "You finally figured it out."
I didn't answer; I had no plans to, not as long as I had this ridiculous bag over my head.
There was a long pause and then a low growl, "Get her ready."
The sound of a door clicking before the black canvas bag was ripped from my face. My eyesight flooded with light as rough hands grasped me, yanking me to my feet.
My knees wobbled from sitting on them so long and I swayed to the side, but they steadied me.
"Put this on." Onion man shoved a red, shimmery dress and black heels to my chest, while someone else cut the ties from behind my back.
"I'm not putting that on." I rubbed the blood back into my arms and hands.
"You'll put it on, or we will. You pick." His brown eyes were cold and hard, like stone.
I sighed, jerking it from his fingers and growled out, "Fine."
Bending over, I took my time, unlacing my boots, trying to take in as much as possible, now that I could see. The room didn't give away much. It was about the size of my living room and had gray, concrete walls and flooring, with a blinking video light.
Manuel was watching our every move.
Two guards stood behind me, wearing different versions of tank tops and jeans. They turned their backs towards me as I stripped down to my underwear and bra. But onion man kept his eyes on me, roaming over my whole body, his cruel lips twisting as I struggled to put on the dress without lifting a finger to help me.
When I was done, he stepped forward, his gaze landing on my breasts for a full five seconds before pulling a tube of pink lipstick from his pocket. Dolce Vita.