Telica
Jan 12, 2020, St. Petersburg, Russia
I woke up. The pain in my side was nothing compared to the throbbing in my head. Shaking it, I tried to focus on the stone wall in front of me. I was in a stone cellar of some kind. My arms and ankles were attached to the walls with heavy metal cuffs. Closing my eyes, I heard the voices of two men heading my way. Feigning unconsciousness, I slumped into the bonds ignoring the ache in my arms and legs. They weren’t speaking English, or Spanish. The accents sounded Russian. The black man that had shot those men didn’t work for Britt, which meant he didn’t work for the Mexicans either. Why he kidnapped me at gunpoint was a mystery, and why didn’t he kill me? Britt must have sold me to some nasty people.
Please don’t let it be the Russians. Russia
