The ringing in my head is what woke me up. But the loud laughter is what compelled me to open my eyes. As soon as I opened my eyes, I had to blink several times thanks to my blurred vision. Ever put on those "drunk goggles" on school safety day? That's what everything looked like.

Looking up, I saw that I was tied up and hanging from the ceiling, and judging by the stiffness of my shoulders, I'd been hanging a while. Besides that, the ropes were unbearably tight. Awesome.

I could feel my hair plastered to my forehead by something wet, I rested my head on my arm and when I pulled back, there was blood on my arm. It was then that I realized there was a stinging pain in my legs. I looked down and on my legs (mostly my shins and above the knee) incisions had been made through my jeans and most were more than an inch long. And from the looks of the clean tears in my jeans, I'd say the cuts were from a scalpel. Looking around, my suspicions were confirmed when I saw a bloody scalpel lying on a small table a few yards away from me.

My head was throbbing painfully and fought to remember what had happened. I had gone into Harold Finch's apartment…and now I was in a room, it looked like a warehouse of some sort. From the little bit of light coming through the window, I concluded that it was either dawn or dusk, I couldn't tell for sure.

There were three guys in the room. There was a short, dark haired guy, sitting at a small folding table playing cards with another guy, he had sandy brown hair that was spiked up with gel, while a tall blond man leaned against the wall. He was definitely the creepiest of the three. His narrowed pale blue eyes just stared at me, like he was trying to see through me.

He reached over to the table and tapped his knuckles on it. The short guy looked up at blondie, who nodded to me, and turned to look at me.

"Well," He said, sauntering over to me. "Sleeping Beauty finally woke up." He stopped a few feet in front of me and his eyes looked me up and down, slowly, in a way that made me feel totally violated.

"Who are you?" I asked. I meant it to sound demanding, though it came out strained. "What do you want?"

Short guy only shrugged. "Me? I'm no one. Just doing what I'm getting' paid for."

I furrowed my brows. "Who paid you?"

He laughed and shook a finger at me like I was a child getting scolded. "Now that's classified information, doll."

"Okay, then. Could you at least tell me where I am?" If I couldn't get a name, then maybe a place?

"New York." I rolled my eyes. His smile faded but came back as full as ever. "I
think that's enough talking for now." He looked like he was gonna say more, but his ringing cell phone interrupted him. He looked at the screen and cursed. He turned on his heel and headed for the door. Before walking through it, he jabbed a finger at the blond guy's chest. "And you. Hands off the girl."

"Don't you trust me?" He answered in a thick Scottish accent, though it was more growl than brogue.

"No." He slammed the door behind him. As soon as the door shut, I felt and saw the blonde's eyes snap back to me. The other guy just leaned back in his chair and played some game on his phone, seeming very bored. Blondie just stood there watching for a minute before taking a few steps forward. He stopped a few feet from me and tilted his head, all creepy-like. He raised his hand towards my face.

"Hold it." That was the first time the other guy had spoken. Blondie stopped, but the rage in his eyes was unmistakable. "You heard him, Leprechaun. Hands off."

"Stop callin' me that." He grumbled. "And I wasn't goin' ta hurt her." His eyes flickered down to my shirt—or more accurately, my boobs—and smiled. "Nothin' too bad, anyway." His hand continued to move towards my face as I pulled my head back. The way his pale blue eyes looked at me, it triggered something. A memory. Suddenly, I could smell the cheap liquor and cigarette smoke.

"Hey! Hands off." The other guy called. But it did nothing to stop blondie. So I did. I brought my leg up and kicked him hard in the crotch; I don't care who you are, but when you get kicked with a steel toed boot, it's gonna hurt. He stumbled backwards, but more than anything, I think I only poked the bear. He jumped up and my neck twinged from the speed and force of him backhanding me. I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay, guys like him got off on other people's weakness, so that's exactly what I wouldn't give him.

I lowered my voice so the other guy wouldn't hear. "Is that all you've got, bitch?"

His eyes got so wide, I swear, they looked like they'd pop out. Then his face turned red with either anger or embarrassment…or maybe both.

"What the hell?" The other guy stood up and ran over to us. He shoved blondie backwards with excessive force. "What part of 'hands off' wasn't clear, dumbass?" Blondie glared at me a moment longer before leaving the room. The one in the room turned around with wide worried eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, seeming honestly concerned. Probably didn't want to get in trouble for damaging the 'merchandise'. I nodded, keeping my jaw set and eyes cast to the ground since my eyes still

I whispered, "Please, let me out of here."

He backed up and shook his head. "I can't. I'm sorry."

He started to walk away, towards the door and he was my last chance of getting out. "You're not a murderer." He stopped. "I can see that, you're a good person. Just got caught up in the wrong situation for whatever reason. But if you don't help me, I won't make it home to my family and I think you know that. Deep down you know that. So please-"

He shut the door. Now that I was alone, the severity of the situation hit me. I'd been kidnapped by a group of men I'd never seen before while trying to deliver a Goddamned letter. Who was this Harold Finch guy? Were these guys working for him, or for whoever was after me? I had told myself not to cry in front of the blond guy, but now that he was gone, and the other guy too, my resolve broke. A dam of tears that escaped from my eyes.

"Well, things can only go up from here." I muttered, though the feeling in my gut told me otherwise.

xXx

"They've stopped."

Reese wasted no time; he started the car and got back onto the street, following Finch's directions. They'd been waiting in the car for five hours, waiting for the kidnappers car to stop, but it hadn't.

"So they were just driving around for five hours?" Reese asked incredulously.

"No, they had a signal scrambler. Turn left." Finch said. "Probably the same one that was keeping me from accessing her GPS. Left on 3rd."

After an hour of driving, they came across a big abandoned warehouse on a less traveled road.

"I'm going in." Reese reloaded his gun, tucked it into the waistband of his slacks, tucked another gun into the holster on his ankle and went in.