Hunting Her

Chapter 8

The unforgiving glare of the light above seemed to mock my pounding headache. I perch on my chair and struggled to piece together the events that followed the punch.  

The room I was in was plain. A drab, windowless holding cell with plain walls and a solitary exit. A sigh escaped me as I fixated on the door, longing for someone to arrive and liberate me from the handcuffs that had been pitching my skin from the moment they had been put on. The handcuff kept me anchored to the metal table in front of me and despite all my attempts, they did not budge. 

I placed my head down on the table hoping the cold metal would soothe my pounding head, but instead I caught sight of my reflection. I recoiled as I took in every angle of the blood splattered, swollen mess of a face that stared back at me.  

My once bright green eyes now dulled to a sombre grey, framed by unkempt hair matted with dirt, blood and snow. And Natasha's once vibrant red jumper, was soaking wet and covered in mud. 

The fact anyone still saw me as a threatening criminal despite my appearance was almost complimentary. 

Unable to bear my reflection any longer, I closed my eyes tightly. Yet, my pity party was cut short by the creak of the door swinging open. I reopened my eyes, silently cursing the harsh light that flooded back in, to see a blonde-haired man walk through the door. A blond beard adorned his face, maturing his little button nose and baby blue eyes.

I bit the inside of my cheek as I observed him silently. He looked young. Very young. And yet he had been sent in to talk to me. 

Once taking his seat, he adjusted his position several times before finally speaking. "My colleague tells me you speak English." 

I flashed him a patronising smile as I leaned back in my chair. As far back as the handcuffs would allow. "Your colleague huh." 

He winced ever so slightly at that. "He's been spoken to about the force he used against you." 

"Although, I hear you started it." He continued, filling in the space of where I should have responded. I gave him a small shrug and he moved on. "So what does MI6 want with a woman such as yourself?"

"Such as myself?" 

The man simply shook his head. "Was the question too complex? It will be easier if you just respond to the question." 

"Wouldn't it just." I bit back, readjusting my hands to reduce the handcuffs pinch. "I guess I did something wrong." 

He glared at me, already growing impatient. "What did you do?"

I gazed up at him through my dark eyelashes. "Something tells me you weren't told to ask these questions." 

"What makes you say that?" 

I shrugged again as our eyes connected.

"I suppose it doesn't matter." He said attempting to regain control over the conversation. I'd been through a million interrogations, on both sides. This man was nervous and pushing a boundary he was definitely not supposed to. "By law, I'm required to inform you why we are holding you."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear this." I antagonised, rolling my eyes as I did.

He scowled in confusion but continued on anyway. "MI6 issued a warrant for your arrest, and so we're holding you until an MI6 representative arrives to collect you."

"Perfect."

And that was the end of that. But he didn't move. He didn't get up to leave the room, he just continued to sit in front of me, flinching every time I moved.