Chapter 4

I feel the car lurch violently to one side and come to a sudden stop. If not for the ropes binding my wrists and ankles to seatbelt and door handle, I would have been flung forward, colliding with the back of the front seat. I didn't think enough time had lapsed to have reached our destination. As far as I can tell only about 15 minutes has passed since we left Alexandria, but then Krycek could have lied about the time restriction.

I'd heard him talking on a phone but the soundproofing of the blanket and the noise of the untuned engine combined to make the conversation just a mumbling ramble. I couldn't pick up any clues as to who he was talking to or where we were going apart from one word that sounded a lot like master, but that could just be my natural paranoia surfacing, so I'm doing my best not to let it affect me or interfere with my goal of planning my escape. I've had numerous scenarios running non-stop through my mind since this nightmare began, but have had to reject each and every one as either too dangerous (somehow distracting Krycek and causing an accident; and it's not my death or Krycek's but that of innocents that kills that idea) or too implausible (Krycek speeding or running a red light and getting pulled over by a cop who discovers me drugged and bound on the back seat of a car that probably ain't even road-worthy). I'm certain that whatever I can come up with has already occurred to Krycek leading him to come up with counter-measures for each and every one.

Once the car screeches to a tire-burning stop, he turns the engine off and I can hear more clearly but am still no better informed about Krycek's intentions and our destination. I hear him walk around the back of the car and open the trunk. The clang of metal on metal follows before he slams the trunk shut. Did he have a puncture? A blown tire could possibly account for the sudden interruption of our journey. He's probably just changing the flat. He can't afford to attract any attention to the vehicle or it's cargo.

The door next to my head opens with an agonizing groan that confirms the car is lacking even basic mechanical care. Somehow I manage to lift my head a couple of inches and turn toward the sound. It leaves me with a pounding headache and blurred vision.

Krycek stands beside the open door, a dark cloth bag of some sort in one hand, a checked bandanna and length of rope in the other. It takes me all of five seconds to deduce what he plans to do with the items. I feel the panic begin, my breath quickening and sweat forming on my hot face. I try to get it all under control and I think I may have succeeded. I'm kinda pleased with my non-desperate sounding request for my kidnapper not to take away my sight. I don't want to accept how close I am to offering him my first-born, should I ever have kids. I've been in worse situations than this. The case involving toxic, green alien blood and monkey pee immediately comes to mind. At least my eyes, throat and lungs aren't burning like they've been doused in acid.

"No, Krycek. Don't."

I need to profile him, work out his motives and likely actions and reactions. Put those years of study and all-nighters under the hounding of teachers like Patterson and mentors like Purdue to good use. I also need to treat him like the hostage-taker he is, speak calmly and rationally, to try to reason with him. Honesty, containment, conciliation. The fundamentals of hostage negotiation. To earn his trust...

Hell! Who the fuck am I kidding? He holds all the cards. He's in the pilot's seat with the control over whether I live or die at his fingertips. Just as I'm resigned to the fact that there's nothing I can do to stop him tying the black bandanna around my head, he throws me a curve-ball. "Fuck." He curses then starts mumbling to himself, his eyes glazing over and getting a far-away look in those forest-green depths.

My heart and hopes leap at the thought that maybe he is having second thoughts over what he is being ordered to do, that neither of us has any say in our destiny. I can visualize the strings that this mysterious master holds and Krycek is clearly fighting the instructions, commands, whatever that the person or persons holding them has given him.

I'm not sure if I can speak loud enough to try to sway his opinion, to fuel his rebellion against his master's wishes. But I'm gonna give it my best shot. I've got nothing left to lose.

"Kry..Krycek." He doesn't react and no wonder. My voice is scratchy and almost non-existent, thanks to the paralyzing drug still in my bloodstream. I'm about to clear my throat and try again when he focuses once more on me and, without hesitation, wraps the bandanna tightly around my head, covering my eyes. He ties a complicated knot at the back of my head, demolishing my slim hopes of changing the course of events to my advantage.

A sliver of light remains at the very bottom of the blindfold, giving me some hope of still being able to see something. But I'm going to be denied even that scrap of comfort. Krycek cradles my head in his gloved hands, gently, like he's holding a new-born child.

I had detected a hint of regret in his dark eyes and a slight tremble in his voice when he told me he was just following orders. I file that meager piece of information away, in the hope that I can use it in the very near future to aid my escape or at the least lessen the danger I might face in the meantime. I truly think he may be willing to protect me from serious harm because of the feelings he obviously has for me and my body. And you can bet I'm gonna milk those feelings for everything they're worth to secure my freedom.

He places the pillow-case (it's one those hideous, fleecy lined things that leaves balls of fluff in the wash if you don't sort the laundry properly, it's heavy and stinks of motor oil and grime) over my head, his hands caressing my face, wiping hair off my brow, trying to stop me panicking.

Before he lowers it into place he covers my mouth with his, tongue pressing against my lips. To my surprise, he doesn't demand access but waits till I invite him in. He's not rough, not like that first kiss back in my apartment, merely impatient as if he knows he's wasting time he doesn't have.

I open my mouth to take a much-needed breath (my nose is covered by his stubbled cheek, a strange sensation as Walter never goes longer than a day without shaving) and he takes that as his invitation, pushing his tongue inside.

I try to pull back, to retreat but his nimble fingers tangle in my hair, his strong hands holding me immobile. I want to bite down, to sever the unwanted flesh that's forcing its way towards the back of my throat, but damn it, Alex is one hell of a good kisser. He doesn't just lock mouths with you, he invades you, devours you, not content 'til he possesses your body as if it's his own. There's not an inch of my mouth that isn't getting thoroughly explored by him, my teeth and gums, the extra-sensitive skin on the inside of my cheeks, my tonsils. I respond without thinking, matching his movements with hesitant touches of my own. He tastes amazing; a smorgasbord of red meat and beer with a hint of salty cum underneath. I smell his scent, not something manufactured in a sterile laboratory, but his odor, his essence. Just as I'm beginning to relax he withdraws, the cold night air icy sharp on my exposed face.

A drop of water hits my cheek and runs into my open mouth. Is it raining? No. As it touches my tongue I can taste the salt and minerals in it. A tear...Is Alex crying?? I must have shed one of my own for I feel a leather clad thumb wipe moisture from the bottom of the blindfold, then it's in my mouth and I'm suckling on it, nuzzling it like a plump breast, tasting myself. Then it's gone, the heavy material is rolled down over my chin and secured firmly at my throat with more intricate knotcraft. I won't choke but there's no way the hood can be removed without untying the rope.

I sense Alex still standing above me (Alex? When did he stop being Krycek, when did he cease to be my abductor???) watching me, tears glistening in his eyes. A final soft touch on my neck and then the door is closed, quietly as if he doesn't want to frighten me. He walks around the car, his army-style boots crunching the road-side gravel, gets in and resumes our journey to God knows where. I thought he might be having doubts, second-thoughts about his actions but something's stopping him from disobeying the orders he has been given. If I can find out who's holding his leash, I might be able to get out of this.

END OF CHAPTER 4