*Hope you enjoy this chapter. This is where I began to seriously change what I had initially written. I like this way much better. Hope you like the little surprise at the end and would love to hear feedback.*

Chapter 7

Michael was shocked at how strong she was as she tried to pull her wrist away from him, her body tensing to strike at him. But he'd planned this well and he knew the drug now coursing through her blood would take quick effect. It would cause her to sleep for a time but also temporarily paralyze her. He didn't want to deal with the chance that she might come to and go at him before he'd had a chance to secure her.

When she finally slumped back into the seat, he took his hand away from her wrist, revealing a cylinder on his ring finger with a small needle protruding from it. He slid it off and pocketed it then carefully reached under her skirt and took off the gun rig and withdrew it, putting the hem of her skirt back down.

He wasn't a pervert and he didn't take advantage of a woman like this. It wasn't his style and he honestly had other things to do. He knocked on the window that divided the driver from the occupants in the back and it rolled down a little.

"Stop at the next parking lot so I can change seats. Then head to the helicopter. This won't keep her under forever."

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Her brain was fuzzy. Why was it fuzzy? It was also very dark behind her eyelids. She had remembered having a strange dream about being in a helicopter and someone picking her up like a sack of potatoes. Was it a dream or … She groaned a little as her mind tried to make sense of the overload of sensations, memories and confusion that was coursing through her fuzzy brain.

She shifted her head, expecting to snuggle down into a pillow and that's when she encountered something against her face, fabric of some kind. It was rough and scratchy on both sides of her face as well as in front of her nose. She tried to lift a hand to take it off but felt the bite of something cold and metallic around her wrists that were keeping her hands at her sides, attached to…whatever she was sitting on.

Rattling the cuffs of both hands she got the distinct impression it was a thick metal chair and by how numb her ass was, she'd probably been sitting upright in it for a few hours at least. She stilled her movements and took inventory of herself. She was still dressed in her black dress, still had her heels on, her jewelry as well. The gun was gone as was the holster. She didn't feel sore or bruised anywhere and felt perhaps a little rested but the numbness of her rear and thus her legs made her shift to try and get comfortable.

She rattled her cuffs again, trying to listen to the sound it made echoing off any walls. There was no echo. It was as if the sound was absorbed or the room was so big that the minor sound of metal on metal didn't echo. After taking in all that she could, including opening her eyes to see if she could possibly see through whatever was over her head, Red finally called out.

"Hello?"

Her voice sounded muffled but there was a slight echo of it in the room. She had her answer. A warehouse or some other storage facility perhaps but most likely empty from the way the sound had come back to her.

"Hello?" she called again, trying to sound unshaken, relaxed, even a touch casual.

Nothing.

Fed up, she attempted to stand, to pick up the chair with the cuffs around her writs. She was jerked back into her chair by her wrist restraints as it was obvious that the chair was somehow attached to the floor. Next she took off a shoe and felt the floor. It was concrete, cool from the night. She moved her foot around. At least in her area it was clean. Lifting her foot she felt around for anything in her vicinity. Nothing but air and floor.

Next she attempted to scrape the hood off of her head by rubbing it on the back of her chair but it had been tied shut around her neck where it wasn't easily accessible. Red sat there for a few minutes working things through in her mind. Finally, she slipped her toes into the tip of her shoe and with one well placed kick upward that brought her leg up almost parallel with her body, she flipped her shoe backwards behind her chair.

It struck something and that something cursed…and was followed by someone else chuckling in a low tone.

Her heart was racing now. Someone was in here with her. Footsteps came towards her, two sets. One was a bit out of step, though with the bag covering her ears and her heart racing it was hard to make out why it sounded that way.

She felt someone's hands at the back of her head, untying the bag and though it wasn't removed, she felt those same hands at her right wrist unlocking her cuff. As soon as it was free she wrenched her hand away and grabbed at the bag to pull it off, ready to fight even though she was still attached to the chair by her left wrist.

She blinked as her eyes tried to adjust to the intensity of the light from a lamp not more than ten feet in front of her. A man stood in the dark behind it and she was having problems making out details.

"Who are you!" Red demanded.

The voice that answered was as smooth as rich cream, a touch of merriment, yet sadness to it. "An old friend of your fathers."

"What's your name?" she growled. She'd lifted a hand to try and shade her eyes from the intense light focused on her. She still couldn't see much about the man that was in the shadows.

Finally movement from him brought a hand into view that turned the lamp away and towards the floor. When her eyes were able to blink away the spots the lamp had left in her field of vision, she saw an older man, perhaps in his sixties.

He carried himself with an air of authority and pride though he had obviously had some form of accident years ago that had scared him. He was dressed in a casual suit of tan colored linen pants, a matching loose linen suit jacket and white shirt opened a little at the neck. He wore white canvas boat shoes and a straw panama hat.

One lens of his set of glasses was blacked out as if for someone who was missing an eye and he carried a cane that he leaned on just slightly. His face had more wrinkles than the pictures of him she'd seen but she knew in an instant just who this was.

Michael Coldsmith Briggs the Third….also known as…Archangel.

She whispered the first words that came to mind.

"Holy shit…"