"Don't make a sound," Sark whispered sharply in her ear; Sydney's body
instantly loosened and relaxed. She turned to Sark and saw he was fully
dressed but something was in his eyes.
Fear.
"Get dressed and I'll explain later," he whispered, tossing her clothes at her. Sydney nodded and dressed herself quickly. Sark moved from the bed and towards the door. She watched him peer through a small crack. Soon, she was fully dressed; Sark closed the door and moved towards her. "Come on, I know a way to get out." He grabbed her hand and directed her towards the closet.
He opened the door to reveal it, full of coats. Sydney opened her mouth to complain but thought it wise to keep it shut. He pulled her past the coats and into the closet. Sark stopped, bent down, and opened a trap door to Sydney's astonishment.
"Climb down," he ordered her. She didn't like it but it wasn't the time to argue. She obeyed him and climbed down the ladder. Soon, she reached the bottom and waited for Sark. Moments later, Sark climbed down. He grabbed her hand once again and signaled her to keep quiet. He opened the door a crack and peered out. After a few seconds, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Sydney's jaw dropped.
Plates were smashed on the floor, silverware was scattered, and drawers were left ajar. Things were smashed, ripped, and shredded to pieces. Sydney already recognized it as Sloane's style.
Sydney's attention was soon turned to the voices approaching the kitchen. She quickly shoved Sark behind the overturned table and closely followed. Three large men dressed all in black entered the room, kicking plate pieces and silverware out of their way.
"We've already checked this room," one man barked in English at the other two. Sydney and Sark pressed their backs hard against the table; neither of them dared to peek over the edge.
Sydney wondered to herself how only just a few short hours before she was in complete ecstasy with Sark, only to be in so much danger hours later, with the same man. She felt Sark's fingers still tangled with hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
"Then they're nowhere on the first floor. Try the 2nd floor," said another voice. "Come on, Mr. Sloane is waiting for us."
Sydney let out a soft sigh of relief. As they listened, their footsteps faded up the stars. Once they were out of earshot, they made a move towards the backdoor. Before leaving the house, Sark bent down and grabbed a steak knife that lay on the ground. Just in case.
Outside was quite the opposite then what was happening in the house: chaotic and frightening. The snowed seemed to silence everything including their footsteps around the edge of the house. They peered around the corner of the house and saw a white van parked on the side of the road. They saw a man leaning against the front of the van, smoking a cigarette. Without hesitation, Sark maneuvered towards the man. Before the guard knew what was happening, Sark restrained his yell with his free hand. Taking the steak knife, he quickly slit the man's throat and let the man fall to the ground. Sydney let out a small yelp and instantly felt weak. He never let the man fight back; he just murdered the man blindly.
"Get in the van," Sark hissed as he reached into the dead man's pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Sydney hesitated a moment but climbed into the passenger seat. Sark climbed into the driver's seat and pushed a random key into the ignition. Soon the roar of the engine was present and he veered the car around. Yelling became apparent to both of them. Sydney faced the house and saw the three thugs hanging out a window. She watched as shock grew on their faces as they realized their get-away car was, well, getting away. A few shots were fired but they all hit the snow.
As they drove off, the house became considerably smaller. The men were nowhere in sight. Sark and Sydney didn't speak to each other for several miles; they both knew Sloane was hot on their tails. Sydney shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Those men were so close to killing them; Sloane was too close. It sent a shiver up her spine and sent her stomach into flip- flops.
Sark jerked the car to the side of the road and parked. Sydney opened her mouth to shout about Sark's driving skills when his mouth passionately smothered hers. He pulled away and she was left breathless and wanting more.
"I've been wanting to do that since I woke you," he said in a deep, breathy voice. His accent made Sydney want to melt in his grip. Sydney wanted to say something, but forming a sentence was near impossible. He smiled at her attempt and brushed his lips against hers. Sydney closed her eyes and tried again.
"Where are we going to go now?" she asked, her voice small. Sark looked back at her, reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I think it's time to bring you home," he told her, a slight smile apparent on his lips.
---
It had been hours since Sloane's men had called, needing another retrieval team to take them out. Sloane was angry but kept it contained. For several hours, Sloane stayed in his office. He ignored his assistant who checked up on him quite often, Irina coming in and out of his office, and any other disturbance that occurred. He kept his business chair turned towards the window.
After several hours, the three men stumbled in, each of them looking tired and beaten. Sloane turned his chair and gestured for them to sit. They obeyed him while giving each other nervous glances. Sloane folded his hands in his lap and gave each of the men a look that could kill.
"I asked you to do one, simple, fucking job and you couldn't accomplish that," he growled, his eyes were thin slits. The man who sat in the middle cleared his throat and spoke, his voice quivering with every word.
"S-sir, they killed Williams. W-we had no idea until-"
"SILENCE!" Sloane yelled. He closed his eyes and tried to gather what patience he had left. "You failed the mission. Pure and simple." He reached inside one of his desk drawers. The three men stood but didn't move towards the door, their feet were weighed down with fear. Sloane lifted the loaded gun and shot each of them once in the chest, his face twisted with pain and anger.
Afterwards, the soft echoing of the last shot was apparent. Sloane threw the gun back into the drawer and sat down once again in his chair.
"You're fired." He spat out at the dead bodies.
---
In a completely different part of the world, a man was sitting at his work desk. He wasn't doing overtime, not was he trying to avoid a loved one. He was trying to find his.
Dark circles were apparent under Vaughn's eyes as he looked over intel. Since he had heard of Sydney's disappearance, he had spent every waking minute trying to find any clues to her location. All he knew was the last time she was seen, she was being chased by Sark. She could be anywhere or even . no, no negative thoughts. Keep it together, Vaughn! He sighed in frustration, it was the early hours of the morning and he was still getting no where.
The sudden shrilling of the phone made Vaughn's migraine grow worse. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he reached over and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" his tired voice asked.
"Miss Bristow is leaving Sweden as we speak," a robotic voice said.
"H-how do you know? Who the hell is this?" he asked, his voice sounding more alert.
"Just call me your guardian angel."
Fear.
"Get dressed and I'll explain later," he whispered, tossing her clothes at her. Sydney nodded and dressed herself quickly. Sark moved from the bed and towards the door. She watched him peer through a small crack. Soon, she was fully dressed; Sark closed the door and moved towards her. "Come on, I know a way to get out." He grabbed her hand and directed her towards the closet.
He opened the door to reveal it, full of coats. Sydney opened her mouth to complain but thought it wise to keep it shut. He pulled her past the coats and into the closet. Sark stopped, bent down, and opened a trap door to Sydney's astonishment.
"Climb down," he ordered her. She didn't like it but it wasn't the time to argue. She obeyed him and climbed down the ladder. Soon, she reached the bottom and waited for Sark. Moments later, Sark climbed down. He grabbed her hand once again and signaled her to keep quiet. He opened the door a crack and peered out. After a few seconds, he quietly opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. Sydney's jaw dropped.
Plates were smashed on the floor, silverware was scattered, and drawers were left ajar. Things were smashed, ripped, and shredded to pieces. Sydney already recognized it as Sloane's style.
Sydney's attention was soon turned to the voices approaching the kitchen. She quickly shoved Sark behind the overturned table and closely followed. Three large men dressed all in black entered the room, kicking plate pieces and silverware out of their way.
"We've already checked this room," one man barked in English at the other two. Sydney and Sark pressed their backs hard against the table; neither of them dared to peek over the edge.
Sydney wondered to herself how only just a few short hours before she was in complete ecstasy with Sark, only to be in so much danger hours later, with the same man. She felt Sark's fingers still tangled with hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
"Then they're nowhere on the first floor. Try the 2nd floor," said another voice. "Come on, Mr. Sloane is waiting for us."
Sydney let out a soft sigh of relief. As they listened, their footsteps faded up the stars. Once they were out of earshot, they made a move towards the backdoor. Before leaving the house, Sark bent down and grabbed a steak knife that lay on the ground. Just in case.
Outside was quite the opposite then what was happening in the house: chaotic and frightening. The snowed seemed to silence everything including their footsteps around the edge of the house. They peered around the corner of the house and saw a white van parked on the side of the road. They saw a man leaning against the front of the van, smoking a cigarette. Without hesitation, Sark maneuvered towards the man. Before the guard knew what was happening, Sark restrained his yell with his free hand. Taking the steak knife, he quickly slit the man's throat and let the man fall to the ground. Sydney let out a small yelp and instantly felt weak. He never let the man fight back; he just murdered the man blindly.
"Get in the van," Sark hissed as he reached into the dead man's pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Sydney hesitated a moment but climbed into the passenger seat. Sark climbed into the driver's seat and pushed a random key into the ignition. Soon the roar of the engine was present and he veered the car around. Yelling became apparent to both of them. Sydney faced the house and saw the three thugs hanging out a window. She watched as shock grew on their faces as they realized their get-away car was, well, getting away. A few shots were fired but they all hit the snow.
As they drove off, the house became considerably smaller. The men were nowhere in sight. Sark and Sydney didn't speak to each other for several miles; they both knew Sloane was hot on their tails. Sydney shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Those men were so close to killing them; Sloane was too close. It sent a shiver up her spine and sent her stomach into flip- flops.
Sark jerked the car to the side of the road and parked. Sydney opened her mouth to shout about Sark's driving skills when his mouth passionately smothered hers. He pulled away and she was left breathless and wanting more.
"I've been wanting to do that since I woke you," he said in a deep, breathy voice. His accent made Sydney want to melt in his grip. Sydney wanted to say something, but forming a sentence was near impossible. He smiled at her attempt and brushed his lips against hers. Sydney closed her eyes and tried again.
"Where are we going to go now?" she asked, her voice small. Sark looked back at her, reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
"I think it's time to bring you home," he told her, a slight smile apparent on his lips.
---
It had been hours since Sloane's men had called, needing another retrieval team to take them out. Sloane was angry but kept it contained. For several hours, Sloane stayed in his office. He ignored his assistant who checked up on him quite often, Irina coming in and out of his office, and any other disturbance that occurred. He kept his business chair turned towards the window.
After several hours, the three men stumbled in, each of them looking tired and beaten. Sloane turned his chair and gestured for them to sit. They obeyed him while giving each other nervous glances. Sloane folded his hands in his lap and gave each of the men a look that could kill.
"I asked you to do one, simple, fucking job and you couldn't accomplish that," he growled, his eyes were thin slits. The man who sat in the middle cleared his throat and spoke, his voice quivering with every word.
"S-sir, they killed Williams. W-we had no idea until-"
"SILENCE!" Sloane yelled. He closed his eyes and tried to gather what patience he had left. "You failed the mission. Pure and simple." He reached inside one of his desk drawers. The three men stood but didn't move towards the door, their feet were weighed down with fear. Sloane lifted the loaded gun and shot each of them once in the chest, his face twisted with pain and anger.
Afterwards, the soft echoing of the last shot was apparent. Sloane threw the gun back into the drawer and sat down once again in his chair.
"You're fired." He spat out at the dead bodies.
---
In a completely different part of the world, a man was sitting at his work desk. He wasn't doing overtime, not was he trying to avoid a loved one. He was trying to find his.
Dark circles were apparent under Vaughn's eyes as he looked over intel. Since he had heard of Sydney's disappearance, he had spent every waking minute trying to find any clues to her location. All he knew was the last time she was seen, she was being chased by Sark. She could be anywhere or even . no, no negative thoughts. Keep it together, Vaughn! He sighed in frustration, it was the early hours of the morning and he was still getting no where.
The sudden shrilling of the phone made Vaughn's migraine grow worse. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he reached over and picked up the phone.
"Hello?" his tired voice asked.
"Miss Bristow is leaving Sweden as we speak," a robotic voice said.
"H-how do you know? Who the hell is this?" he asked, his voice sounding more alert.
"Just call me your guardian angel."