Deep Undercover Ch 07

"Madison!" Richard shouts back, a look of relief washes over him. He touches his finger to his ear, "I've found her. No. Hold your positions. I'll bring her up." He tries to avert his eyes from my nakedness, as he looks around for something to cover me with.

"There's a robe on the floor behind me," I gesture with my head.

Richard dashes around to retrieve the robe. As he's lifting it to place on my shoulders, he stops. "Jesus, Madison, what did he do to you?" he has such sympathy in his voice.

"I'm fine, Richard. Can you please cover me up now?" I feel myself turning a bit red, ashamed of the marks that make him cringe but make me so wet.

"Sorry," he hurriedly drapes the robe over my shoulders. "But your arm...did he?"

I immediately interrupt him, "Igor showed up yesterday. There was a bit of an incident. Igor got a piece of me, but I took him down. You can remove him from the target database." I wink at him. He smiles and goes round to the other side of the bedpost and gets to work trying to pick the lock on my chain.

Suddenly I have a cold, sinking feeling. "Richard, where's Alex?" I'm fearful of the answer that I might receive.

"Dougray got the bastard upstairs. Perfect shot. He went down instantly," Richard gloats.

What? Oh my...

I feel my knees start to buckle. I can't breathe. As Richard finishes picking the lock, they give out completely and I fall to the floor on my hands and knees. A surge of pain pulses through my wound at the impact. Rushing to aid me in covering myself he tries to comfort me, "Hey, hey, relax. You don't have to be scared any more, Madison. He's dead. He can't hurt you any more."

He can't be...dead. He can't be! It's not possible. He never would've been so sloppy. I can't breathe. I can't...I think my heart's stopped beating.I have to pull it together. I'll see for myself. He's fine.

I gather all of the strength I can muster and rise to my feet, tying the robe.

"Are we secure, Richard?" I put on my stone face.

"Yes. All secure. The perimeter is being checked again. Most of his guys just up and fled, well, the ones we didn't get. They've already been taken for secure hold and questioning," he seems so proud of himself.

"Good. I'd like to put some clothes on, Richard."

"Of course."

I stride past him at full speed, forcing myself to hold it together for as long as I can. I dash up the steps, through the library, right past the agency team in the foyer without a word and up the main stairs two at a time.

Don't look down at the living room. Don't look down at the living room.

I can't help it. His green trousers catch my eye, as he lies strewn across the broken glass that was once the coffee table. He's not moving. He's not breathing. I let out a silent scream and sink to my knees, holding on to the handrail above me with all of my strength. I'm too numb to feel the pain in my arm.

I didn't believe Richard. My heart secretly leapt for joy at the idea that they'd mistakenly shot someone on Alex's team rather than him, but I was wrong. It's Alex. My Master is dead. The chain is broken and I'm free of my bonds, but I feel at once more vulnerable and lost than I ever have. I close my eyes and catch my breath.

After a few minutes I pull myself up from the cold wood floor, careful not to dare open my eyes and glimpse the horror in the living room below once more. I continue down the hall to the bedroom, dash past the bed and into the closet. I select black lace panties and a black lace unlined bra. Over it I put on a knee-length black wool pencil skirt and a black silk sleeveless shirt. I select a pair of simple black ankle boots with a medium heel and grab a black coat on my way out.

I'm in mourning, after all.

I duck into the bathroom and run a brush through my hair and head back down the stairs. This time I dare not glance down at the living room. I have to look in charge here.

Richard offers me his hand as I reach the bottom steps. "Truly, Richard, I'm fine. But thank you," I wave him back.

"At least let us get a look at your arm. You could probably use a new bandage," he argues.

"Get me out of here. Then we can talk about my arm, Richard. I need to get away from this place."

"Are we clear?" he asks the rest of the team.

They give a staggered 'All clear, Sir' and we head toward the door. A rush of cool, northwest night air hits my face as we step outside. Richard leads me to the back doors of a black van at the bottom of the steps. I'm surprised by what I see when he opens them.

"Richard, what the fuck is going on?" I ask. Three of Alex's men sit on a long bench on the right side, cuffed to a system of chains attached to the body of the van, black fabric hoods over their heads. To the left is another bench with more chains and cuffs, and there is metal caging separating the front of the van from the back.

Richard looks at me apologetically, "We can't take a risk that you've been compromised, Madison."

"What!? Who do you think you're talking to!? Of course I've not been compromised, Richard!" I'm appalled by the accusation.

"Madison, I'm afraid we must insist."

I cool down long enough to rationalize that I would do the same...I think. I take a deep breath, "You're right, Richard." I climb inside willingly and seat myself on the empty bench.

Richard climbs in after me and pulls out a pair of handcuffs, holding them toward me. "Richard, is that really necessary?" I start to protest. But he gives me a look that tells me that not only do I know that it is necessary but that's it hurts him more than it hurts me for him to suggest it. I hold out my hands and Richard gently places the cold steel around my wrists. I'm getting far too used to the touch of cold metal against my bare skin.

He proceeds to connect the imbedded chain to the cuffs. A younger agent I've not seen before hands him a black hood. Before I even have a chance to argue, it's over my head, turning my world dark. I hear Richard say, "Ok good to go. I'll stay back here with her."

The bumpy ride goes on for what seems hours. I'm starting to feel like I can't breathe for much longer in this hood. Eventually I feel a shift in the road beneath the wheels. We are on a paved road, moving fast. I can feel Richard sitting next to me, but we ride in silence. After at least thirty minutes on the highway we pull off onto another dirt road. I can feel every imperfection in the road in the bruises on my body.

We come to a stop and I hear the driver get out and the back doors to the van open. I feel several people climb in, and I can hear them unchaining Alex's men. After the last one climbs out, the doors close again.

Wait....where are they taking me?

Richard pulls the hood from my head. It's still dark out. "Richard, where are we going?" I demand. We are breaking protocol, and we

never

break protocol. With a very serious face, Richard unhooks the chain from my handcuffs and says, "The boss wants a word with you, Madison." Before I can blink, he plunges a needle into my neck. I barely have time to react before everything starts spinning and the world goes black.

My arm...sore.

I feel like I'm coming out of a fog as my eyes open.The late afternoon sun is pouring in through a small window above my head. My arm aches but the bandage is fresh. As I try to collect myself, I watch it creep slowly across the wall. I take in my surroundings: small bed that appears to be hanging from the wall, a small metal chair, bare concrete walls, a large metal door with a small glass pane and the wall opposite the bed is all mirror.

A two-way mirror. Where am I?

Not moments later, Richard opens the door and comes inside. I open my mouth to protest everything, but Richard raises his hand and stops me, "I'm asking the questions, Madison. Let's start at the beginning. What went wrong at the restaurant?"

I stare at him in defiance, a face of stone and anger searing beneath my skin. He stares back, unaffected. We stay like this for several minutes before Richard says, "You're only hurting yourself, Madison. I think it would be in your best interest to tell me everything. Then we can see about getting you out of here."

He's right. I'm not benefiting myself by staying silent, and it's my duty to tell him everything. Well, almost everything.

I relay the entire story from the beginning, leaving out the sexual relationship that Alex and I shared.

Alex...

I dare not mention offering myself to him as my Master. I dare not delve into the details of how every inch of my body accepted the physical pain that he inflicted with pleasure. I tell him everything else that I know.

"And that's it?" Richard prods. "He didn't touch you sexually?"

I swallow hard, "No."

I can tell that he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't press the issue further. "Good girl, Madison. I'll see about getting you out of here, but it's going to take a bit of time."

I don't say a word while he leaves. Instead I lie back down, facing the wall, hug my knees against my chest

and let a tear fall from my eye. I imagine Alex's strong hands caressing me, grabbing me, wrapping cuffs around my wrists. I feel that familiar ache. I want to touch myself, but who knows who's on the other side of that two-way mirror, and this is no time to be masturbating. I bite my lower lip and let me thoughts take me away from this cage.

It's been two days since Richard visited. I haven't seen anyone else. The only way I've been able to sustain myself has been water from the faucet adjacent the mirror. I sit and watch the sun, my only friend, slowly move through the room. I try to keep warm by sitting in its gaze. The room is getting smaller with every passing hour. I feel the walls coming in to squeeze the life out of me. Soon I'll welcome that. It would be better than starving to death, better than feeling my organs slowly shutting down one at a time and my body eating itself to stay alive.

It's getting dark now

. I'm started by the sound of the door creaking open. I turn to find a handsome young agent carrying a tray with a bowl and a glass of water. "Hi, Madison. I'm Derrin. I've brought you some soup," he says sweetly, setting the tray on the chair.

I don't even have the energy to force a smile. I just watch him move into the room and set down the tray. If I had any energy right now, I would snap his neck like a twig. But I can barely move. He moves toward me, reaches and grabs my hand. The moment our palms touch I feel a small, dense piece of paper.

A note!

I withdraw my hand, concealing the note in my fist as I do.

He looks at me intently, "I thought it could do with a bit of rice for texture, but I couldn't find any." He's trying to tell me something.

Rice paper! The note will dissolve in the liquid. Clever boy.

I smile at him, feeling the life come back to my face, "That's perfectly ok, Derrin. I'll make due with the soup on its own."

He smiles and leaves quickly, locking the door behind him. I look up at the glass wall.

Who's in there?

I lie back down and turn to face the wall so that I can block the view between whoever it is and the note. Trying to look like I'm not moving, I unfold the paper. The writing is so small that I have to squint to read each line:

At the stroke of seven, try the door.

Sainte-Chapelle. Go inside and take in the view.

I try to make sense of the first line.

How will I hear the stroke of anything locked in this cell?

I don't waste time staring at it. I sit upright, turn and pull the chair with the bowl toward the bed. I put my hands together and stretch, passing the folded up note to my left fingertips. I stealthily drop it in as I lift the bowl. I take a small spoonful of the broth. It's warm against my lips. I take as many bites as my empty stomach can accept right now, and I put it back down and push it away.

I sit back, leaning against the cold concrete wall and stare at my reflection across the room. I look tired, empty and worn. I lose myself in a daze. Then I hear it -- the sound of bells in the distance.

There must be a church or chapel nearby!

I count the strokes.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Two hours to go.

I spend it pacing the room. Lap after lap. I can't sit still. It feels like half a day passes before I hear the bells chime again. Their sound is soothing, friendly, as if they're telling me "It's going to be ok. It's nearly seven."

I spend the next hour alternating between sitting on the floor, pacing, sitting on the bed, pacing, trying to peer out of the window (I can only see trees), pacing, trying to peer down the hall through the glass pane in the door (I can only see brick walls), pacing. I take off my boots. I'm going to need to move quietly once outside. And, finally, I hear the gentle bells calling. But I haven't heard any click of a lock at the door.

Someone could be on the other side of that mirror right now, and I don't want to waste this opportunity. If it's not open, I could give this whole plan away.

My thoughts race and finally, on the seventh chime, I hear it.

Click.

I don't waste any time. I rush to the door, pull it open and dash into the hall and walk quickly but quietly. I look in both directions as I hug the cold brick walls, passing door after door with panes of glass. The stone floor is freezing beneath my bare feet. I peer inside each but see no one.

This feels so familiar.

I reach a large wood door at the end of the hall. It's old and splintered. There are gaps between the planks. I peer through the largest that I can find. I see light on the other side, but I can't hear or see anyone. I unhook the latch and slowly open the door, careful not to allow it to creak. I close it behind me and continue down a shorter hall that has an arched opening at the end.

As I reach the opening and the dimly lit room beyond, my heart sinks.

The mark on the lower left of my back burns as if I've just been branded all over again. I reach behind and rub it gently through my shirt. Images flash through my head: the terrible things they did to me...the terrible things that I did for them. I walk in front of the huge fireplace and stare into it. It's empty and dark, but I can see the flames, feel the heat radiating from it.

I'm suddenly extremely dizzy and fall on my hands and knees on the cold stone floor. I ignore the pain that shoots through my body. I can't breathe. "Welcome home, dear girl," I hear a familiar, sinister voice behind me. I shudder, and I dare not turn to face him. Instead I stare down at the floor, "Gavin."

"Reliving old memories, are you?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I had nearly convinced myself it was all a nightmare," I challenge.

"Oh come now, Madison. You love being one of us."

"You mean 'loved'. I never loved it. And I never loved you, Gavin. I was the shore and you were the tsunami. You overtook me and shifted me around until I wasn't even recognizable."

"Still poetic and overdramatic I see, my dear," he grabs my hair and yanks me roughly from the floor.

It didn't hurt quite like this when Alex grabbed my hair. Alex.

Pulling my back against his chest, he tilts my head back so that I'm looking up at him. His black hair has grayed and those intense eyes that used to pin me with fear are surrounded by subtle, knowing lines. "I have news for you, however, my dear girl. You never left us. All these years, all this time you thought you'd escaped me, broken free. You've

never

been free. You'll always belong to me, you little bitch."

No. It's true. Everything that Alex said was true. The agency...it's all a lie.

A single tear rolls down my face.

I can't be this person. I can't be here. I have to get out.

I have to make my escape attempt count.

But how? His back!

Years ago Gavin invited me to a romantic dinner, which turned out to be an evening of torturing a husband and wife to death in front of their small child. When I refused to participate, Gavin shot the child in front of his parents and then turned the gun to them. He spent the next hour beating me severely, bent me over a table and forced me to look at the corpse of the child while he fucked me and told me that I was lucky he didn't kill me too. Rather than wait for the day of my demise at his hands to come, and rather than let more innocent people die, I decided to drive the car over a bridge on the way home that night.

I remember the car filling with freezing water, Gavin unconscious next to me. I didn't try to get out, but instead waited for the water to wash my sins away with my life. I woke up days later in a hospital and was informed that I sustained a mere few bruises. Gavin was in critical condition, in a medically induced coma with a broken back. He wasn't likely to make it. I walked out of that hospital and didn't look back. He wasn't going to live, and I was free.

Gavin interrupts my thoughts when his mouth is on mine. I try to turn my head, but he grabs my throat and chokes me, keeping me in place. I can't breathe at all. Finally he stops and pushes me away from him. He crosses to the fireplace and leans against the stone. Crossing his arms, he says, "I've missed you, Madison. You did a foolish thing. And I never even got so much as a card on our anniversary."

"I didn't marry you by choice, Gavin. And your fucked up cult's ceremony doesn't make us binding husband and wife. I would never give you my heart in that way.. When I give my heart to someone, it will be

my

choice," I fire back at him.

I can tell I've made him angry, "Dear girl, our marriage is more binding than any marriage bound by the laws of mere men. It's sacred, yet you've given yourself, like a whore, to another man."

"You gave me to many men, and women. You passed me around like a cheap fuck toy for everyone to use!" I'm livid as I remember our wedding ceremony: that was the night I was branded. No white dress. No 'do you take this man to be your lawful husband'. No kiss and exchanging of rings. I was humiliated, branded and passed around to be fucked by anyone who wanted to while he watched.

"That's enough! You forget yourself, Madison. And you're going back to your cell," he booms.

Like hell I am.

I pick up a wooden chair between us and smash it against the wall and grab a sharply pointed broken piece of it, "I'll put this through your heart if you come any closer to me, Gavin."

Enraged at my act of defiance, Gavin lunges toward me. I duck his attack and, using the broken wood as a blunt instrument, strike him as hard as I can on his lower spine. I watch his knees buckle. I hear him cry out in pain as I begin to run through the more familiar part of the basement and up the stairs. I burst into the large entry hall and dash for the door. I don't have time to think. I just have to run.

In the drive I find an SUV. I quickly go to work to hot wire it. As the engine comes alive, I feel like I can breathe for the first time since I realized where I was. I press on the gas as hard as I can and speed down the miles long drive and for the country road. It's pitch black and I can barely see through the fog, but I can't slow down. I'm sure he has a tracker on this thing, but I will worry about that when I've put some distance between myself and this hell.

I didn't expect to escape that easily. Where were his guards? Dogs?

Miles down the road I reach the next property. This house is much closer to the road. I pull the suv over and run up the drive on foot. I find an old jeep in the drive with the keys in it. I don't hesitate to take it. I just have to keep moving. The tsunami is coming, and this is my life raft.

An hour later I reach a Eisenach. I find a small pub and go to work making myself look presentable before I get out of the car. Luckily the woman I stole this from left a pair of shoes and a coat in the backseat. I don't care that the heels are strangling my feet. I walk inside and immediately lock eyes with a man in his late 20s at the bar. I can tell instantly that he's American. An American tourist in a foreign country is always an easy mark.