Caught
They made it to Salt Lake City and stayed in the safehouse there for a day before traveling to Denver.
Where Sloane got to them.
Sydney and Sark arrived in Denver in the late afternoon. After a quick dinner (another frozen pizza) and a bit of television (a re-run), they decided it would be best to get some sleep so they could have an early start in the morning, when they would be driving to St. Louis.
Sydney had gone through her suitcase and found a pair of pajamas. Sark did as well. They transformed the sofa into a bed, since this safehouse wasn't as nifty as the others—no bedrooms.
Sydney was pulling her top off when it happened.
The front door burst open and several men with ski masks had tore into the room. They grabbed Sydney and her shirt and one of the men fired at Sark. Sydney struggled against the several men that were holding her, trying to catch a glimpse of Sark.
She couldn't.
Sark was left on the floor while Sydney was dragged to a black SUV. One of the men grabbed a pair of handcuffs for her wrists as some of the other men held her still. Another man clasped a pair of cuffs around her ankles and she was lifted into the backseat.
The man who had her shirt passed it off to a man sitting in the front passenger's seat through the window before climbing into the back with Sydney. The man to Sydney's left looked her up and down before his gaze settled on her bra-clad chest. Sydney shivered when the same man lifted a finger and ran it along her collarbone and down towards—
Sydney suddenly jerked away violently. Get your hands off me, she spat.
The man in the front passenger's seat turned around. Oh Sydney, looking for this? He held up her shirt and dangled it in front of her face.
Sydney found herself saying.
How could you do this to me, Sydney? he asked.
Sydney sighed heavily but kept her eyes focused on his. Finally, Sloane tossed the shirt in her lap.
Take the cuffs off of her wrists, Sloane said in a low voice.
One of the men obliged and Sydney eagerly put her shirt back on and crossed her arms over her chest. She swallowed hard when the same man roughly grabbed her wrists again and held them behind her back while the other man in the backseat snapped the cuffs on again.
Sloane turned to look at Sydney. He lay a hand on her knee and dug his fingernails in when she tried to move away.
I'll ask you again, he said calmly. Why did you do this to me? he asked slowly, enunciating each word.
Sydney didn't answer, only kept her gaze focused on his. Sloane waited a few more seconds before raising his left arm and swiftly backhanding her across the face.
Tears suddenly filled Sydney's eyes and she fought to keep them from spilling onto her cheeks. She felt something splatter onto her shirt and she immediately thrust her head downwards to look.
Blood.
She let her tongue wander over her lips until she found the cut which she assumed was from Sloane's ring. The warmth of her tongue seared the wound but she could barely feel it. The whole situation had left her numb. Her tongue soaked up a bit of the blood and she ran it over her lips again, as if trying to seal the wound a bit.
She forced herself not to blink. Not to become vulnerable in front of Sloane. But she couldn't help it. She blinked, and the tears (silent ones, she was lucky she wasn't sobbing) rained down on her cheeks.
Staining them.
Staining them with her to Sloane, staining them with her failed attempt at escape, staining them with one huge lie.
Her life.
Sark woke up a short while later. He considered himself lucky to have only been shot with a tranquilizer dart. He pressed his hand to his shoulder after pulling out the dart and attempted to stand up.
He wondered where Sydney was and if he'd ever see her again. He was suddenly filled with rage. He knocked a lamp off a nearby table, picked up a vase and threw it against the wall, and kicked a metal-framed, glass-top coffee table. The metal frame bent and the glass shattered.
Sark breathed heavily. He cursed Sloane and put his foot through the television, then made his way to the car. He neglected to notice that it was already unlocked even though he had locked it before going into the safehouse. He got in and drove.
Sloane turned around in his seat and waved a map in front of Sydney. She vaguely recognized it as the one she and Sark had used to plan their route to Langley.
Sloane set the map on his lap when he turned back around in his seat and examined the cities that had been circled and the arrows that connected them.
St. Louis was your next stop? he asked, still looking at the map.
Sydney stared at the back of Sloane's head and didn't reply.
Answer me, Sydney, Sloane demanded.
Sydney stayed silent and inhaled deeply when Sloane turned to face her. She cringed when she realized Sloane had spotted the symbolic tear stains on her cheeks and the gash he had made in her lip.
Sydney's gaze drifted down and she saw Sloane work his ring back and forth between two fingers.
she said meekly. St. Louis was our next stop.
Sloane gave her a cruel smile and reached a hand to her face. Sydney's breath caught in her throat when he rubbed his thumb across her upper lip. Sloane moved his thumb down and over her bottom lip, pressing down gently on the gash. The heat seared the wound and Sydney was seriously considering a scream when Sloane moved his thumb away. He stared into her eyes for a moment.
he commented, turning back around in his seat. Do you know the exact location of the safehouse in St. Louis?
Not off the top of my head, Sydney replied. When she saw Sloane inspect his ring again, she added, The address is in my pocket.
Sloane turned around again. He glanced down at her jeans and raised an eyebrow when he looked back up. Which pocket?
Sydney cleared her throat before answering. Front right.
Sloane snapped his fingers and the man on Sydney's right hooked a thumb in the denim, pulling it slightly. He spotted the folded piece of paper and, instead of grasping it with his thumb and forefinger, plunged his hand into the pocket and closed his fist around the paper. Sydney gritted her teeth when the man opened his fist and deliberately stroked her through her jeans before removing his hand and the paper. He leaned forward slightly and turned his head to look into Sydney's eyes.
the man commented with a wry smile, pocket, that is.
Sydney felt more tears threatening to fall and she swallowed hard.
Sloane took the paper from the man and, giving Sydney another cruel smile, turned back around and read it over.