Winter's Wings (Book 1 of the Winter's Series)

Chapter Thirteen: The Prey

"Don't worry, I'm with Hill. I'm not here to interrogate you." He says calmly.

"You honestly expect me to believe you."

"Well no, not exactly, but just know we both believe you. About Peirce. We've been suspicious of him for quite some time now. Something bad is going to happen very soon, I suggest you find a way out of here as quickly as you can. I will do my best to buy you some time. I don't know if things have already been set in motion and if they have then you might not get out of here alive."

"I know my life is in danger. I've accepted that I might die a long time ago, it comes with the job. I will get out of here. When I do, I'm going after Peirce. He will pay for what he's done to me. What HYDRA has done to me."

"Here. take these. Use them well." He says handing me a moderately heavy sack. "I'll be leaving now. Best of luck Eden." He says and we exchange nods before he leaves, closing the door behind him. I open the bag and look inside to see a fresh pair of clothes, shoes and a gun. I can't blend in with a crowd in the prison like clothes I'm in now. I look at my bare feet and rip the clothes off of me and change into the ones in the bag. The jeans fit snugly on my legs and the navy shirt is long enough to conceal the gun I holster in the back of my pants. I secure the pants with a brown leather belt that lay at the bottom of the bag. I waste no time in slipping into the boots before standing on the bed and ripping the panel down.

Green gas starts to seep into the room from every angle, choking me. I hold my breath as I pull myself into the ceiling and move quickly to the vent. My lungs begin to burn as I scramble into the maze. I frantically search for any opening to get away from the noxious gas. I fight for inches as my strength begins to wane. My vision wavers and I'm not sure if I'm hallucinating or if there is actually an exit in front of me.

With a burst hope I move faster toward the exit I push against the grate blocking my path. I shove against it with my hands before turning around and using my feet. I kick with all the strength I have left and the grate finally budges. I slide through and turn my attention to the panel keeping me in the ceiling. I use my elbows and knees to break through the material and slip through the opening. My body hits the ground with an audible thud, and I gasp for air. The green noxious gas clings to the ceiling, fanning out. The silence is so loud, it's almost like a scream that hurts your ears. I turn on my hands and knees to pick myself up. I'm in some kind of office, it's empty but surrounded by glass. All the lights are off as if everyone went home for the night. A single red light blinks from the table and I press the blinking button. A message begins to play from a speaker on the table.

"I am sorry to inform you that Director Fury died today at 8:47 pm. His wounds were too extensive and he died on the operating table...."

I look down beside the phone and see a small stack of papers. This hit was planned but who in the world would be dumb enough to leave the evidence out in the open. I look over the pages: copies of instruction, money transfers, and at the bottom of the last page is a very familiar code name. Winter Soldier. The hairs on my spine rise up, and I know I'm not alone in this room. How would he know I would be in this room? An empty feeling roots itself deep in the pit of my stomach and hopelessness weighs itself in my bones. I carefully step forward away from the presence behind, before whirling around pulling out the gun and holding it in front of me, ready to fire.

Nothing jumps out at me, I'm only greeted with more silence. I KNOW he's there, he's toying with me... he has to be. My instincts scream at me to run, but that's exactly what he wants me to do. He's faster than me, he's stronger than me, and I'm now exactly where he wants me to be. This is what it is to be prey, he's savoring the moment. I slowly back up keeping my eyes trained to the shadows.

I back into what should be the glass door leading to my way out. Keeping the gun in front of me I free one of my hands to feel the handle behind me. Relief washes over me and the cool metal handle touches my palm. I curl my fingers around it holding it tightly. This feels so off. If I were hunting a target, I would come up behind them and snap their neck. Or I'd wait for them to turn to exit before engaging them, I'd disarm them and use their own gun to kill them. We have different tactics, he could have over a hundred ways to kill me and it would be as easy as breathing.

Uncertainty cements my feet in place, and fear leaves me quaking. Is this how all of my victims feel before they die? Do I cause this turmoil? Do they drown in a sea of emotions like I am now? I need to snap out of this. This is no time to cower, get your shit together. I suck in a breath and shove the door open behind me. I spin around and begin to sprint toward the glass window. If I can break through the glass I can get away. He can't fly, I'll be safe in the sky.

The sound of boots other than my own hitting the ground spikes my anxiety. I look behind me for just a second but there isn't anything there. I whip my head around and into the cold metal fist of the assassin. I crash down and skid across the floor from the power of the punch. Blood drips down from my mouth and I fire three shots at him as I pick myself up. He dodges my shot, but really they were just meant to buy me time. I hold the gun out in front of me and aim for non vital places that will slow him down but not kill him.

He has his metal hand over the muzzle of the gun before I can even pull the trigger. He wrenches the gun from my hands. It's hand to hand combat now, and he's more experienced in that department. I stare at the familiar greasy brown hair, and sad blue grey eyes of my partner. He wears a mask over the lower portion of his face, but I can picture the stubble covering his chin and jawline. His muscular body posed for attack, the dead look in his eyes is enough to remind me that he isn't my partner anymore. I'm his mission, his target