Page 18 of Capture (Primal #3)

N aturally, I tried the door to see if it would be easy to kick down, but as soon as I turned the handle, a solid bang came from the other side to let me know that the door was guarded.

Were they going to guard it all night? Maybe in the small hours of the morning, the guy guarding the door might fall asleep, then I could try to escape.

So far, that was the only plan I had if Ronan and Mikky lost the signal. But it’s essential to remain positive. They’ll find me. They had to find me.

There’s a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling that dimly lit the room, but would flicker periodically, making my vision go weird. A figure standing in the corner was only the shape in the wood; demons could invade a vulnerable mind if someone stayed too long down here.

I had no concept of time, but I climbed the rickety wooden stairs to peer through the cracks in the door, which was the only access to the outside, to sense if night had fallen.

It was the perfect place to hide me. Underground, where GPS and wi-fi signals were less reliable, and in the middle of nowhere.

There was an old armchair placed in the middle of the room, covered in stains on the pale, ripped fabric, and it wasn’t until I sat down in it that I realized that the splatter stains looked like faded blood.

Faded stains on the floorboards as well that had seeped into the wood, which also looked like blood, although it might be my imagination.

My sinister imagination traveled to the darkest of places where enemies of the Russians were brought down here to be tortured and tormented until they squealed.

But then I didn’t think the Russians had been back in Gothenburg for long, so the blood stains weren’t from someone they tortured.

Or maybe they weren’t blood stains. Perhaps they were mud splatters from the dirt ceiling.

Fuck, is this room waterproof when it rains?

I traced the wooden stairs and imagined rainwater flowing down them, the shelter filling up like a fish tank.

I should have taken those swimming lessons that my dad wanted me to take more seriously.

I needed to control my mind and think more positively, repeating affirmations to calm it, and hope for the best.

Folding my arms across my chest, I tucked my hands under my armpits to keep them warm as my body temperature started to drop; the less I moved around, the colder I felt.

That’s an easy problem to solve, so I propelled myself to my feet and started air punching as I darted about on the floor pretending to be in a boxing ring.

There were no blankets or extra clothing in here, so I had to look after myself. If I freeze, it’s over. If I become complacent, then it’s over.

My breath increased as my body temperature warmed, but it also meant that I inhaled more of the cesspit stench that lingered in here.

My feet froze dead when bolts slid across the door and flew open.

For a second, I thought with their haste that it was someone who had come to rescue me, but no, to my disappointment, it was one of Ivanov’s men. Fuckwits.

They placed a bottle of water and two McDonald's burgers on the top step before slamming and locking the door behind them.

“Hey,” I bellowed, running up the stairs, then banging on the door. “I need a blanket. It’s fucking cold in here.”

“What?” an angered voice hissed at me through the door. “Eat the food.”

“I need a blanket,” I yelled again, “More clothes.”

The bolts clanged and the door flew open again as the guy lurched forward and before I had a chance to react, pushed me hard. My foot stepped down onto the next level, but I lost my footing and fell backward, rolling down to the floor.

I lay there for a few seconds before the guy asked, “Are you alive?”

“Yes, I’m alive, you fucker,” I groaned under my breath as I sat up, but felt the pinch of a sciatic nerve.

“Good,” he said and slammed the door on me.

“What about a blanket?” I shouted angrily, but I doubted he heard. Fucker.

What I absorbed in that short space of time and under dimmed light was that he was armed and seemed to be on his own. I could tackle one armed man, but two would be difficult. But it was wiser to wait until Mikky and Ronan came to rescue me.

Pulling myself up onto my feet, the pain was superficial; I might end up with a large bruise on my butt and thigh, but besides that, I think I will survive.

I climbed back up the stairs, grabbed the burgers and bottle of water, and ran back down, landing in the chair. The burgers were cold, probably bought earlier in the day when they planned my abduction.

Even though I was hungry, I took small bites, assessing the flavor in my mouth to detect bitter poison. It seemed okay, apart from the gherkin, which I flicked out onto the floor, then finished it, leaving the second burger for later because I didn’t know when my next meal would be.

I cracked open the bottle of water, relieved that it was sealed, so it hadn’t been tampered with, and then began quenching my dry mouth. Bored with nothing to do, I imagined seeing Annika’s pretty face in every surface and every stain, and her natural perfume seemed to stifle the damp stench.

Annika lay alone in the bed, perhaps Ronan had gone to comfort her.

Would he tell her that the enemy stole me?

Would she care? I think she would. That twinkle in her eye and the way her face lit up whenever she saw me told me that she would care.

She, after all, was my best friend since we were kids, so of course she’d care.

But I wanted her to mourn for me, yearn for my touch, and lose sleep hoping that I don’t get hurt.

She used to fuss over me whenever I got into a schoolyard fight and was landed with a bloodied nose or a bruised ego. I enjoyed that.

The warm, fuzziness accompanied by thoughts of her peeled away as a chill prickled across the back of my neck. I pulled my black hood over my head and hugged my body as I sank into memories of her.

Happiness stirred in my belly as I drifted into a slumber, traveling to her room in the hall, climbing into her bed, wrapping my arms around her warm, soft body.

Then I travel back in time to when I first spotted her arriving on campus, and I knew immediately that it was Annika, my long-lost foster sister.

The girl I fell for as we grew, matured, and developed. I didn’t tell her that, of course, because that would be weird, but I kissed her more than once, our unspoken secret.

Her room in our house was where I found myself at times of trouble, and I’d climb under her soft pink sheet and we’d talk all night about stupid stuff. Then, play the game and see who did it better. Batman or Superman. Nirvana or David Bowie. Cats or dogs.

When I awoke again, I didn’t know where I was at first and panicked. It was pitch dark, and the dank smell was nauseating and unfamiliar; it was also depressingly cold.

Reality struck that I was in the tornado shelter, underground somewhere in Gothenburg.

We hadn’t driven long enough to be too far out of the town center.

It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, so I blindly felt in the dark for the hanging string attached to the light, and once I found it, I pulled and jumped in fright when it flicked on.

But who flicked it off? I didn’t hear anyone come in. The thought of someone creeping about while I was asleep was one concern, but the other was why I slept so profoundly that I didn’t wake.