Agent 7. The Shadows: Part I

▪️◾️Chapter Five◾️▪️

The expression I find peering back at me is an odd one. As if he's gloating. A sinful kind of glee you find reflected at you when a person has you right where they want you. When you've begun to eat out of the palm of their hands, even when you know what they're feeding you is poison.

Bastard.

His gaze falls to the drink and then lifts back up to me, wordlessly demanding that I do his bidding.

I watch as his lips flatten and the little scar at the crest of his cheek makes an appearance.

"Now, Alina." He demands, his voice conveying he's not to be messed with. He doesn't seem like the type to ask twice.

Fuck!

I growl.

I scoot my chair back with a screech—forcing the gun to fall away—knowing that I have no way out of this.

Standing up, I grab the stemware carelessly. Some of the wine spills out over my slender fingers and onto the pristinely white tablecloth with the rushed movement.

хорошо! (Good!)

Fuck this dinner and all of these self-absorbed assholes who are too stupid to see there's an imposter among them. But most of all fuck this killer who's making me do this and fuck Mayor Borkov.

I don't know what my captor has planned for him but I know for a fact Mayor Oleg Borkov deserves much worse.

"Сукин сын," I hiss at my captor under my breath calling him a son of a bitch in Russian.

I watch as he stands up and casually buttons the top button of his suit jacket, gun tucked away and out of sight.

"I am no one's son." He informs me in well-spoken Russian, before snatching up my arm roughly by the elbow and dragging me toward Borkov on the other side of the room.

When we near, he reminds me of the plan. Pretend to trip and spill the drink on Mayor Borkov.

So that's what I do.

He makes it look as if we are just passing by Borkov's entourage when I trip over my own two feet and spill my drink down Mayor Oleg Borkov's pristinely pressed three-piece suit.

I watch horrified as the red liquid splashes across his chest and spills down his front in seemingly slow motion.

You would think Borkov has just been shot with the way chaos ensues.

A woman next to Borkov screams in surprise, some of the wine making its way onto her silky black dress. I'm snatched up on my left side by one of Borkov's men assuring I won't flee while my kidnapper holds firmly onto my right.

I can feel eyes from all around the party land on us inquisitively while Borkov hisses a string of profanities in Russian.

I hold my breath nervously, in fear of what comes next.

"Dio mio!" My kidnapper says, sounding genuinely apologetic but I know it's an act. The man doesn't have a sympathetic bone in his body. "Mr. Borkov, I deeply apologize for Ms. Lenkov, she is a bit of a lush this evening. Please, what can I do to repay you?" He begs.

My neck and cheeks turn a fierce rouge as my head snaps to the side and I gape at my kidnapper standing next to me, astonished by the sound of sincerity in his voice.

"Lenkov?" Borkov lifts his head from his ruined designer suit to eye me brazenly. He says my name with piqued interest as if it's familiar to him, but we've never officially met. I've only heard disturbing rumors about the man and seen him from a distance.

His beady eyes light up when they land on me as if with recognition. They fall to my feet and catch on the slit of my dress as they drag their way up my exposed calves.

The grotesque man lingers on the sliver of skin on my upper thigh as if he's imagining what I taste like between my legs.

Bile rises in my throat. The acidity burns its way up from my stomach and I fear I might lose my dinner as he finishes his flagrant ascent to my face.

I don't like the way he looks at me, as if I'm a long-awaited present on Christmas morning.

As if he wants me for himself.

Impulsively, I take a step back and to the side, as far away from Borkov as possible, regrettably finding refuge against my captor's broad chest.

My kidnapper's grip on my arm tightens as my back settles against his front and his free hand wraps around my waist holding me possessively.

He's marking his territory, I can feel it. Silently letting the others know that I'm his property.

This one time, I don't fight it.

My heart hammers in my chest as Mayor Borkov leans over and speaks to the armed security who has a firm hold on my left arm. Their words are hushed and unintelligible. After a moment he pulls away from him.

Borkov's eyes flick to me one last time before landing on my heartless captor, giving him a single nod. My kidnapper nods back. I can feel his chin dip and lift, brushing against the side of my head.

Without another word, Borkov turns and shoves his way to the main entrance.

His guard releases me, stepping forward to hand my kidnapper what looks like an all-black business card, which he quickly pockets.

And then the burly man follows Borkov out the door leaving us alone and me wondering what the hell just happened.

"We're done here," my captor says stepping away from me. He turns toward the far exit, grabbing ahold of my hand, and briskly pulling me in step behind him. "Let's go."

My brows furrow as I stumble to right my footing and keep up with him. His large hand completely engulfs my own as he drags me behind him like a stubborn puppy.

That was it? It all happened so fast yet nothing happened at all.

I don't understand.

My mind scrambles to make sense of it as I stumble in step with my kidnapper as he tugs me by the hand down a back hall of the hotel.