Even without the blindfold, Javier Esposito was beginning to have an increasingly hard time telling night from day. The temperature hadn't changed much after he'd been moved, neither had the not-so-royal treatment he received from his captivators.
Somewhere in all of this, he considered telling them that enough years in the Special Forces had made him immune to things like threats, kicks to his ribs, more threats and the occasional, ridiculously inefficient choke hold.
But then again, he decided not to fan the flames any more than necessary.
Beckett's successful escape had set into motion a flurry of activities, starting with a generous beating from the leader of the group holding them captive, to him getting blindfolded and dragged into a waiting vehicle, then stored somewhere quiet for the past few hours.
Suddenly, without as much as a warning, the vehicle began to move again, making several left turns, then right turns, then a combination of sloped curves and more turns before coming to a stop, the sound of doors being slammed making the blood freeze in his veins.
With his hands and feet tied, vision blocked by a black cloth wrapped around his head, Esposito was left to guess whether or not the change in pace meant his untimely demise was near, or, perhaps even, an end to the hostage situation was in the not-too-distant future.
When the back doors to the van finally opened, he could feel every muscle and sinew in his body tighten, his cued senses waiting for the characteristic sound of a gun being cocked, something, anything that would give him an idea of what was going on.
Much to his surprise, a set of strong hands grabbed his arms and legs and unceremoniously drug him out of the car, before depositing him on the cold floor inside some airy building, large enough that the slightest of noises created an echo.
Then, without as much as a goodbye kick to the shins, he heard the car speed off, leaving him in a cloud of exhaust fumes, freezing, hurting and unable to move.
Feeling the hypothermia beginning to cloud his thinking and stiffen his muscles, Esposito waited until nothing else could be heard, then began to fight the restraints, using his free thumb to push off the blindfold before his temporary burst of energy would run out.
When his blurry vision cleared, he could make out the large windows of yet another abandoned warehouse, this one lighter, airier, shards of broken glass littering the outer walls, a dusty desk in the far corner a symbol of better days and economic achievements.
Drawing in a deep breath while trying to ignore the stabbing pain from his bruised ribs, Esposito rolled over to the other side, hoping to see something, anything that would allow him to call for help. And yet, the only thing greeting him was a decaying vehicle ramp leading to the main level.
In other words, if he were to get out of here, he'd have to do it the hard and painful way of crawling out on his knees and elbows.
When the last of his energy faded, Javier lowered his head to the concrete floor, panting heavily, trying to see the positive in the fact that he wasn't dead yet.
It was a relieving notion that caused him to take a little break, allow his weary body a rest before attempting to crawl out of this building with his limbs tied.
His little break turned into a ten-minute nap, disrupted only by a set of frantic footsteps heading into his direction.