20
MARGARET
MY BRAIN IS foggy as I look around the room. The smoke is overpowering, and I wonder if this is just some messed-up dream my subconscious came up with. Then I inhale a lungful of smoke and immediately start choking. I drop to the floor, trying to get away from it, moving quickly on my hands and knees, searching for Ford, wherever he is.
He has to be here.
“Fo—” I start to call out but my voice is hoarse, the smoke already tainting it and making it burn. I search the kitchen but can’t see a thing, so I head to the back of the house and search for him there. I can’t seem to find anything or anyone.
I look through as much of the house as I can before I find a back door and can’t stand it anymore. I burst through it and cough, my lungs burning with a ferocity I’ve never felt before. I’m still on my hands and knees when I feel the sure pressure of a gun’s barrel pressing against the back of my skull.
“Get up.” The voice is deep and somewhat familiar, and chilly fear racks through my bones. I slowly get to my feet and face away from the man behind me. The barrel presses harder against my head and I move forward, walking around to the front of the house, where I see the man who’s the new star of my nightmares standing over a body.
I recognize the clothes as Ford’s, but his head is covered with a black sack—not that it matters because he’s completely passed out. The sight is one I won’t ever forget.
“Margaret.” Anton looks at me, cocking his head to the side, his mouth spread into a thin-lipped smile. “You seem to love for me to track you down.”
“I could do without it, actually. I’m kind of tired.” I can’t help the sarcastic quip that slips through, and at this point, I just don’t care.
“Well, you seem to be an easy target, because here I am, getting to you a second time.”
“That or you have some spineless coward who’s decided to turn his back on his own country.” The barrel of the gun presses hard against my head then. I’m guessing the coward I mentioned just so happens to be the one standing behind me with a gun to my head.
Good job, Margaret. Make him angry—great idea.
“My organization pays better,” Anton replies, ignoring the grimace that fills my face. I hate this guy. “Let’s go.” He turns to walk away but then stops, lifting a finger and telling the man behind me, “Let’s make sure she doesn’t see anything, huh?” Not waiting for a reply, he stalks over to one of the dark SUVs behind him and gets in.
I start toward Ford but don’t make it a step before something hits me hard in the back of the head. Everything goes dark, like someone flipped off a light switch.
I’m restrained again, but this time, my hands are above my head and chained. I also don’t have the luxury of a chair like I once did. Ford is in the same position but still unconscious. He’s on another wall where I can see him, but we’re too far away to touch.
I want to cry, but I don’t want to let myself give in to despair yet in case I can somehow get out of this like I did last time. I’m in a basement this time, which I can tell by the tiny hopper window. It’s too small for me to squeeze through even if I could get out of these chains, which feel like they weigh a million pounds.
Squinting, I try to make out anything I could use to get out of this, but the basement is empty. There’s nothing down here but Ford and me and our chains. That could be a song.
Okay, I tell myself, you’re losing your damn mind. Calm down.
I stay quiet and try to think of good things. Liam. Liam is a good thing. Despite my current situation, I’m still happy I met the guy.
I’ve never met someone like him, so focused, so determined and strong. He’s ruthless, but at the same time, he’s compassionate. He’s calculated and sure of himself, and despite what he wants to think about himself, he does care about people—several people by my estimation.
I wonder if he knows Ford and I were found at the safe house. I wonder if they called him like last time and tried to bait him with me, but in the amount of time I’ve been awake—I don’t know how long that is—I haven’t heard a peep from upstairs.
For some reason, that makes me more nervous than if someone had come down here and threatened me. Does that make me crazy? Probably, but I’ll worry about that later.
I stare at Ford, worried he might not wake up from this. I think he’s still breathing, but I can’t tell from this angle. His body is limp against the wall, hanging from the chains and cuffs that dig into his wrists.
I wince at the sight. “Ford,” I say, my voice a rasp, too quiet for him to hear, but I don’t want to draw any attention. “Ford,” I say again, this time a little louder, but he doesn’t stir. A tear escapes my eye, and I sniff. The hope I had before quickly dissipates and my vision becomes blurred, both by tears and lightheadedness.
At this point, I know when I’m going to pass out, so I picture Liam’s face and let the darkness pull me under.
Eyelids heavy, I blink them until the basement comes into view again. It’s dark but there’s a small bulb lit up now, and I wonder who was down here while I was out of it. I lift my head, my movements stalled by how stiff everything is from being in this position.
I remember Ford and look over to where he was before; he’s awake, and I let tears fall, thankful he’s alive. He looks just as relieved to see me awake.
“Are you okay?” I ask before clearing my throat. It’s scratchy and in desperate need of water.
“Yeah. You?” he asks, looking my body up and down. I’m sure it’s not the first time he’s checked for physical harm done to me. He was out for a long time, and anything could have happened.