{004}
He fixed me with an icy stare, and I knew in an instant that I was walking down the path to hell.
God, I needed a shower.
The smell of my own body had never been as disturbing as it was right now. Basic hygiene was kind of my thing and not having a shower in almost four days was beginning to drive me crazy. My teeth were fuzzy, my skin and hair were oily and if I didn't get a shower soon, I was likely to scream.
Not that anyone around here would care.
Bane's late-night visit hadn't changed much. Apparently, my agreeing to help him and his men didn't mean I would get a reprieve from my iron cage. Guards patrolled the halls in pairs, whispering to one another in a language I couldn't decipher. I tried, but it was mostly Greek to me. My inner Bitch was fuming. There was no way I would work for Bane if I was going to have to stay in this cell without basic human needs.
Helen Keller was more likely to find Waldo.
I needed out of this cage to find a way to escape. It was part of my plan…sort of. Kind of a half-cocked plan with no real map or anything. Definitely not something you would find on the back of an Olive Gardens kid's menu with a point A to point B. Mine was definitely more convoluted than that.
I may not be the smartest crayon in the box, but I definitely could stand out when I wanted to.
The CIA spent years searching for me after my douchebag of a fiancé turned me in like a prized cash cow and now, I was smarter than I was then. In theory. If I could evade Wilson and his tucked-in polo and soccer van, then I could escape from Bane.
Theoretically.
Fictionally.
I'm a dead, dead duck.
Commotion in the corridor grabbed my attention, snapping me from my Churchill inspired battle plans. Heavy footsteps sounded on the concrete floors, reverberating ominously off the stone walls. The sound made my gut churn. The heavily muscled mercenary stepped into my cell without a word, the only sound between us was the forced air of his mask, unbinding my hands.
Massaging my red and raw wrists, I compliantly followed him out of my cell and into the shaded courtyard. Blinking, I did my best to adjust to the sudden intrusion of light, the sun's rays momentarily blinding me. Despite the lateness of the hour and the setting of the sun, it was still too bright.
I may not be able to find Waldo, but I definitely knew this was Africa.
One of the mercenaries had fetched a bike for the masked man. It sat idling in front of the giant mercenary, its engine humming smoothly. It was getting dark, and I was about to hop on a motorcycle with the man who both saved my life and was holding me prisoner in the middle of the fucking desert. I was only one more disaster away from a hit country song.
Doesn't he know that there are dangers out here beneath the sands? Hasn't he ever seen the Mummy? Plus, motorcycles of any kind were bad news.
"There is no way I'm getting on that." I eyed the beast of a machine apprehensively. I was a Paramedic for heaven's sake and intimately knew the kind of injuries a person could sustain if we were to crash.
Bad ones.
What if we stalled in the middle of the desert and were at the mercy of flesh-eating scarabs?
"You will be fine," Bane insisted roughly as he sat on the machine. That's because you don't know about the scarabs. "Let us not be stubborn, hmm." It was a warning and I fought to keep myself collected, but I could feel my jaw tightening in irritation.
"I need a helmet." He wasn't bothering with one, but for all I know he could have a titanium skull or bones like Wolverine from X-Men. A gruff snort from my left made me jump as a man stalked out from the shadows of the columns, bearing an army green jacket and a spare helmet.
Well, he certainly was prepared.
No longer being able to stall, I threw everything on, then cautiously approached Bane. At least he was awarding me some basic civility and not tying me down to the back of the bike like some extra in Mad Max. All the complaints I had building in my head, I tempered, determined to be on my best behavior and avoid becoming the desert's next victim.
A quick kick of my leg had me behind him, clawing at his shoulders. The gruff-looking bodyguard who had handed me my helmet flipped the visor down and secured it tightly, making sure it didn't fly open or that I could remove it on my own. It was painted black to keep me from seeing where we were going.
Just what I needed.
Moments later Bane revved the engine and took off like a shot forcing me to plaster myself to his back without a second thought. I wrapped my arms around his midsection with a resigned sigh, my inner hussy drooling at that mere fact that it was nearly impossible to fully reach around his broad muscled chest.
Professional help was definitely needed on aisle 3.
Even my inner Bitch was quiet at the thought of my warm body pressed against his.
We rode fast and I held on for dear life. The shift from the sand covered roads onto the harsh tarmac was easily noticed even without my sight. The road was smoother without the sand sticking in the tires. I dropped my helmet covered head between Bane's shoulders, his back was stiff and hard before me and radiating heat like a boiler. The heat, surprisingly, was relaxing my nervous mind.
There was nothing for me to do. Without my sight, I was completely at Bane's mercy. My hands were numb from the wind and I could feel the temperature steadily dropping around me as night set in. I struggled to keep my eyes open, the lack of sleep beginning to take its toll on my exhausted body and leaving me somewhere between slumber and awareness.
It wasn't until the roar of the engine beneath me turned to a gentle idling purr did I open my eyes again. Not that I could actually see anything, but the sudden commotion around me had me sitting up a bit straighter.
I didn't want to be caught unawares.
Bane was shouting orders in the strange language that dominated his men and waited. It was apparent that we had reached our destination, the squeal of rusted hinges signaled that some sort of gate was opening. That made things more complicated. The last compound didn't have a gate. Gates not only kept people out. It would keep me in.
Escaping was going to be harder than I thought.
I felt my helmet being removed, a hand was held out in front of me, helping me off the motorcycle. We were parked in a massive open-air hall, complete with frescos on the walls and picturesque stained-glass windows. If I hadn't known better, I would say it was a majestic resort hotel.
I knew better.
A cage was still a cage no matter how gilded.
Bane was greeted by an older gentleman layered in robes of colored silk wearing what looked to be a Taqiyah, a Muslim skullcap.
So, we were in the Middle East. Funny, Bane's accent didn't sound middle eastern, and he certainly didn't look it either. His skin was a much lighter caramel and his stormy eyes told me he was most likely from somewhere in South America and not a place like Iraq or Libya.
One of Bane's men gripped my shoulder tightly, holding me back while the two men engaged in what looked to be a heated discussion. The older man's face was drawn up in a scowl, his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed at Bane that caused me to shiver. The masked mercenary didn't seem offput by the man's tone. His brow remained slack and his body, though stiff, wasn't coiled or tight as if he was ready to pounce.
The man holding my shoulder pushed me forward as the elder gentleman stalked off in a huff. I found myself trotting after the masked mercenary, oblivious to our destination. Bane led me down a series of corridors, thoroughly disorienting me, sometimes changing levels. If he thought I was unaware of what he was doing, he was wrong.
Disorientation was a common tactic used with prisoners. It's why cells were left dark and cold. Why prisoners were often blindfolded or subjected to sensory deprivation. Disorientation broke down walls. Bane would just have to work harder at smashing mine to bits because those fuckers were high and thick and lined with barbed wire. I spent years building them under my father's tutelage.
Kozlov children weren't immune to torture. In fact, if anything, we were subject to it more.
My father always said it was to make us stronger, more likely to resist if we were ever taken. I was thirteen when my father first required my brother to beat me within an inch of my life. Scars litter my body from years of abuse at my father and brother's hand. I was more apt to forgive my brother, he never wanted to abuse me, never had a choice.
Not that it mattered now.
Lost in my memories, I failed to notice Bane coming to an abrupt stop, causing me to bump into his back.
If I could bounce off his back, I could surely bounce a quarter off his…
Bad hussy. Bad. Need to tamp that shit down and fast.
Damn, I really was exhausted.
The man before me grunted in annoyance as he turned, placing one of his large, calloused hands on the back of my neck. A sign of possession. He led me through a pair of large metal doors coated in a peeling ivory paint.
Now that I wasn't lost in my own mind, I was aware of my surroundings. Too aware. The air smelt like iron. It was so strong I could taste it on my tongue. The walls were dark and damp and old. Some parts of the wall were crumbling, the floor beneath my feet uneven and coated in a thin layer of standing water that didn't reach the drains.
A man was groaning behind one of the screen curtains that ran along the side of the large room. Cots were set up just behind them and the back held what looked to be outdated medical instruments. I felt like I had stepped back into a 1940's hospital in Russia or some shit.
Paging Doctor Frankenstein.
It wasn't hard to figure out exactly how Bane intended me to be useful. He led me behind the curtain to view what awaited me.
The man looked to be in his early thirties, dressed in tan military pants and a black shirt. His deep caramel-colored face was twisted in pain, a thick sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he tried his best not to cry out in pain. He was holding his left arm, cradling it to his chest like it was a baby.
The odd angle at which his shoulder was held told me that I was most likely dislocated.
"You know I'm not a doctor, right?" I would have turned to face the big man if he didn't have such a tight hold on the back of my neck. Bane chuckled.
"I am well aware of what you are, Miss Moore. Nonetheless, this is how you will make yourself useful." At least he used my proper surname this time.
Bane shoved me forward, letting go of my neck, causing me to stumble a bit. Turning, I shot him a glare.
"Paramedics aren't trained for this," I snapped. "I could cause more damage. He needs a CT to make sure that it can actually be aligned without the need for surgery and to make sure there aren't any bones involved or damaged muscular tissue."
Bane took my chin in his hand with bruising force. His cold unfeeling eyes found mine. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't turn away, I was consumed by them.
"Then you will no longer be of use," Bane said almost jovially. "And I do not keep things around that are not of use."
Bastard.
Ripping my chin from his grasp, I muttered a litany of curses that would make a sailor blush as I marched my way over to the groaning patient who spoke in a language I couldn't understand when I asked his name.
Of course.
Positioning myself to the side I gave him a quick warning before pushing his shoulder back in place. The soldier cried out at the sudden spasm of pain that no doubt hit him like a freight train. Part of me felt bad, the clinician in me that had been taught to treat each patient with respect no matter the circumstances, but I couldn't give a flying fuck at the moment.
I was hungry, smelt bad, and wanted nothing more than to shove one of the many rusted medical instruments through Bane's neck.
That had my inner psycho holding up signs rooting for it.
After swathing his arm to his chest in a position of comfort, I handed the soldier two pain pills. I really did feel bad…sort of.
When I looked back at Bane, he had his brows raised in what was either surprise or astonishment. Maybe even a bit of both.
"There you go, big guy," I swept my hand dramatically at the patient. "Hopefully he'll get full use of his arm and not have any permanent damage."
The edges of Bane's eyes crinkled. I assumed he was either smiling or smirking.
"Well done, Miss Moore," Bane chuckled darkly. "You have bought yourself another day."
Fuck this shit.
A/N: THANK YOU everyone for the AMAZING reviews! I am glad everyone is loving this story. I can't wait until we get into the meat of it! Please continue to show your love! I can't wait to show you the next chapter.
Till next time.