The world exploded in a cacophony of disorientation. The rough burlap of the bag scratched against my skin, cutting off my air supply. I thrashed, kicking and clawing, but my movements were clumsy and ineffective. Strong hands gripped my arms, pinning them behind my back. I could hear Marcus struggling beside me, his muffled grunts and curses a testament to his own captive state.
Panic clawed at my throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. We were supposed to be the hunters, not the hunted. Damn it, Westgate had anticipated us. They were waiting, prepared.
I tried to focus, to breathe evenly, but the lack of air was making me lightheaded. Think, I told myself, think. How could we get out of this?
Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in my head, and the world tilted sickeningly. I felt myself losing consciousness, the darkness closing in. I fought against it, desperately trying to stay awake, but the blackness was too strong. It swallowed me whole.
I awoke to the sound of dripping water. My head throbbed with a dull ache, and my body felt stiff and sore. I was lying on a cold, damp floor, the air thick with the musty odor of mildew and decay. The bag was gone, but my vision was still blurry.
As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, I took in my surroundings. I was in a small, windowless room with stone walls stained with grime. A single bare bulb flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows. Marcus was slumped against the opposite wall, his head lolling to the side. He was still unconscious.
Fear washed over me again, stronger this time. Where were we? What did Westgate want?
I tried to move, but my wrists were bound tightly behind my back. The rope cut into my skin, adding to the discomfort. I strained against the restraints, but they held firm.
"Marcus?" I croaked, my voice hoarse. "Marcus, wake up."
He groaned softly and stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to focus.
"What...what happened?" he mumbled, his voice slurred.
"We were ambushed," I said. "Westgate. We're prisoners."
He sat up straighter, his eyes widening with realization. "Damn it," he muttered. "I let my guard down."
"We both did," I said. "It doesn't matter now. We need to figure out how to get out of here."
We worked together, straining against our bonds, trying to loosen the ropes. But the knots were tight, expertly tied. Whoever had captured us knew what they were doing.
After several minutes of fruitless effort, I stopped, panting. "It's no use," I said. "These ropes are too tight."
Marcus slumped back against the wall, defeated. "What do we do now?"
"We wait," I said, "and we observe. We figure out where we are, who's guarding us, and how many of them there are. Then we make our move."
We fell silent, listening intently for any sound that might give us a clue. The only sound was the dripping water and the occasional creak of the building.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. The silence was oppressive, broken only by our ragged breathing. I tried to stay alert, but the pain in my head and the discomfort of my restraints made it difficult.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I heard footsteps approaching. They were heavy and deliberate, the footsteps of someone confident and in control.
The door creaked open, and a figure stepped into the room. He was tall and imposing, dressed in a dark suit that accentuated his broad shoulders. His face was hidden in shadow, but I could feel his eyes fixed on us, cold and calculating.
"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and menacing. "Look what we have here. Our little wolves have wandered into the hunter's trap."
He stepped closer, and his face came into the light. It was him…. My husband Richard
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!" I screamed at him "you cheated you lied all theses years… for what?!" I screamed