He stumbles, short of breath, as the sweat trickles and his mouth becomes dry. The panic has set in.
What was that? It was nothing? Could he be sure? Was his mind playing tricks? Did he hear the sound of stilettos on cold, hard concrete? Was that something moving…moving there in the shadows?
They were waiting. He knew. He was the hunted, they the huntress’s. They would strike soon…but when and how?
The feel of the gun barrel against his neck, arms pinned tightly behind his back. The cold steel of the handcuffs renders him helpless. Bag over head. No vision, disorientated, the smell of leather mingling with a half remembered scent. Memories of pain, no chance of escape… The voices, the perfume, the heels …helpless…exquisite helplessness …