Resistance To Assistance

Abduction

Walking into the airport wearing a freaking monkey suit was not my idea of a smart plan. Walking all the way out to the hangar carrying a brief case with miscellaneous, made up, crap inside of it to meet up with Derek Keyes was my idea of suicide. When they'd stuck a wire to my chest I hadn't said a word but I had had a feeling that it was that moment that decided what my fate would be and I wasn't expecting it to be good.

I knew I was screwed the moment Derek raised his gun and aimed it at his brother. My hands flew up placatively as I tried to calm the situation, but every muscle in my body was taut, and I could feel the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The sound of the silenced gunshot was heart-stoppingly loud in my ears. For a millisecond, I could only stare at Benji’s lifeless form on the ground, the pool of blood forming on the concrete underneath him, the tiny hole in his forehead. Then my eyes darted to Derek.

The man didn’t even blink. There was no sign of remorse, no emotion at all.

He just killed his own brother.

And he felt nothing.

My reaction was purely instinctual from my years in the military and the intense fear that I was experiencing regarding my own survival. I pushed my bag at one of Derek’s men and tried to swing at another other. If I ran then, without a weapon, I would've been dead before I reached the door. I grunted in pain as a fist collided with my side, I barely had time to think before I was jabbed again from behind, I threw my own fist catching one of the men on the underside of his jaw, watching with sick pleasure as his neck broke and he fell to the floor. Just like that.

The burning pain, a streak of white hot agony came from nowhere. I gasped and stumbled. Suddenly, my arms were pinned behind my back; I threw myself in various directions, desperate to escape, jolting to the left and then the right and occasionally resorting to bucking and writhing like a caged animal. Then came a strange whirring noise, oddly similar to something picking up a charge, and the agony was back.

My entire body writhed against the strong hold of a pair of arms; I wanted to fight back, to kick, but my legs fell out from under me. I barked out a cry of pain, unable to prevent myself from giving in, and my vision blurred at the edges. The pain flared up again. It ran through my body like wildfire, and then, suddenly, my back was pressed against the concrete floor, limbs unwilling to function. My eyelids slid slowly closed, and darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. Someone tore my shirt open, definitely finding the wire, and then – nothing.

My wrists were on fire. It was the first thing I noticed upon waking up, I knew instinctively that they were tied together too tightly and with too much of what, by feeling alone, I assumed to be gaffer tape. My shoulders ached as I swung from my wrists which were secured to something above me, not quite able to rest on the floor but close enough to it that my toes could touch without too much of a stretch. The next thing that crept up on me was the cold.

I was almost too aware that my shirt was missing, and it was that thought alone that turned my stomach inside out. I could take being beaten and tortured. Hell, I'd been trained in how to be tortured before I did my first tour but there was something about the idea of people who wanted to hurt me taking my clothes off whilst I was unconscious which shook me to my core and sickened me to my stomach.

A hand collided with my cheek, and my eyes flew open. I couldn't hold back the disgruntled noise that rumbled up from the back of my throat at the idea of being slapped. One man stood in front of me, holding my chin in a tight grip as though he was concerned that he may lose my attention and another stood to my right, leaning up against the wall. Derek himself stood so close to me on my left that I could feel the perspiration on his breath against my cheek, and I really didn't like that.