Toy Soldiers (Helford #1)

(33) Leak

It wasn’t my smartest move to take the alleyway.

I heard the engine rev the moment I was in the middle, vulnerable. I whipped around and the van was coming up the alley, the mirrors tucked in, and it was headed straight for me. I turned back to the front, and a car had pulled in front of the opposite entrance, blocking my way, trapping me.

Adrenaline pumped, but it was too late.

The van was there.

I jumped.

I hit the hood first.

My hip exploded with pain as I forcefully rolled up, hitting the window but not breaking it. The van hit its breaks and I moaned as I flew and slammed into the concrete, blood running down my arm and my vision blurry. It barely even went through my mind that I had just been hit by a car when the van at the entrance’s door opened loudly, thrown open, and the instinct to run, to fight, screamed in the back of my mind.

I staggered onto my feet, but my head was spinning. Their hands grabbed me hard, hands of grown men who knew nothing but hard work, nothing but their strength. They forced me back down onto my knees and shoved a gag in my mouth before adding the typical hood to cover my eyes. I struggled as they bound my ankles and wrists, but not as hard as they must have expected me to, what with the force they were using.

I felt something press against the back of my head, and I knew it was a gun. There was nothing quite like the feel of the barrel of a gun against your skin. You don’t forget things like that.

A deep voice in Russian growled at me to “not do anything funny, little girl”, and I didn’t warrant that with a response, even if they would have felt my snort despite the gag.

I rolled my eyes, thankful that they couldn’t see me, but couldn’t deny the surge of terror underneath of my calm façade, because I didn’t know what they wanted. I didn’t know who they worked for or if they were going to shoot me through the head and dump me into a landfill where no one would find me. I moved cautiously as they forced me back onto my feet and shoved me into the other van, sending me crashing against the ground. I could feel that my hands were covered in blood but I couldn’t quite remember why.

The car roared forward underneath me, and another voice, this one entirely sad and English, murmured to me that he was sorry.

Before I could wonder what he was sorry for, I felt a pain at the back of my head.

~*~

He had knocked me out.

He would have been a fool not to—I would have followed the twists and turns of the car and would have been able to give myself a general direction as to where their little hideout was located, and if I ended up escaping they would have a big problem. Now I was turned around, I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious, and I didn’t know if they had simply pulled over and waited on the side of the road for five minutes or if we had immediately started in the opposite direction. It was one of the first things I was taught when it came to taking prisoners and hostages, but I can’t say that it doesn’t come in handy.