I get kidnapped all the time. After so many times of it happening, you don’t even think about it anymore. This made…the fifth time, I think. After all, I wasn’t easy to catch. I had been working as a spy for eight years now and I had learned not to leave traces. I didn’t own a cell phone, never used the same car or had the same license plate numbers and my real name was all but forgotten. I knew not where I was being taken. The location was always the same...but different. It would be some abandoned warehouse downtown that had been forgotten by the public. This time, I sat up and attempted to look out the passenger doors’ window, though the massive thugs in the front seats blocked out most of the view. An old, faded sign read, “Harpers Dairy Plant”. So, it was some sort of…bottling company. That was different. At least it was original. The van slammed into park and my head rammed into the back of the passengers’ seat. I cursed under my breath.
“You say somethin’?” one of the thugs barked at me.
“Yeah, no I’m fine. I mean, who cares if you crack my skull open? That’s what Tylenol’s for, right?” In reaction to my sarcastic reply, one of the thugs smacked me in the jaw. I ground my teeth together. They were so going to regret that. I was dragged into the plant and thrown into a rickety, wooden chair. They used a thick rope to tie my hands behind the chair. Already, my hands were throbbing from the lack of circulation. Moonlight spilled through the broken windows and over the faces of the two men. One of them pulled out a large bowie knife and pointed it directly at me. I tried not to gulp too loudly.
“We only know you by the name of ‘Sparrow’. Yet, at the same time, we know so much more than that. We know that you’ve been digging up dirt on our boss and he tries so darned hard to keep a low profile. Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie’?” At that moment, he swung the knife at me, tearing open my shirt and leaving a thin, shallow cut.
“That was on sale for 24.95!” They chuckled. I seethed. I twisted my hands until I felt warm blood trickle down my palms. I didn’t care. I was going to get them. So help me God, I was going to make them suffer.
“Pull her hair back. I want a clear shot at her pretty little throat if she has anymore snarky little comments to make.” The man without the knife and the smaller of the two, did as he was told. I felt him yank on my long brown locks, twisting them up with a worn out pony tail holder. As he circled back around, his meaty pointer finger drifted over my collar bone, up my jaw line and over my lips. I growled...