Writing Wednesday: Caught in a Trap

She turned to see a man dressed in a similar set of overalls to her acquired set. He stood a few inches taller than her, which made him over 6-foot. Most of his face was hidden under a peaked cap. What Kenempti could see did not impress her; his face was thick with fat and unshaven, probably for several days.“New are we, Miss?”

“Y…yes.”

Caught unawares, her usual tone of majesty escaped her.

“Well, you better be on with it, what do you say, Miss? After you, Miss.” He gestured her to move from his path.

“Of course. I am sorry,” she said, regaining a little of her composure.

Kenempti went to move past him, but he threw down a tree-stump of an arm, blocking her way.

“Wrong way, Miss.”

“Actually…”

She was about to offer a poor excuse, but the man slung a pair of strong arms over her and held her tight around the waist. Before she had a chance to struggle free, her captor charged through the door and into the daylight beyond. They almost fell over each other as their legs danced around for a foothold.

“Unhand me,” she screamed into the man’s double chin.

“What have you got there, Gregor?” said the man she had dubbed Armani.

Kenempti glanced around as much as she could. The department store behind them towered above the small delivery yard. Parked by the wall was a van with a civilian logo sprayed onto its side and its back doors slung open. On the back bumper sat the assassin from the University. Even though she already had guessed it, she gasped at the sight of him.

“I don’t know, Sir, but she isn’t human, Sir. She smells funny, Sir. Nice though, Sir,” Gregor said.

“Let go of me.”

Her arms pressed tight against her waist. She could not reach the wrench in her pocket.

Armani growled.

“This will be the one.”

“Yes that’s her. She must have followed me, I don’t know how,” the assassin said, anger permeating his words like a rainstorm.

He remained seated, which made Kenempti grateful, but she had the lingering feeling that he was not the one to watch out for.

“Now, we know she is full of tricks,” Armani said to the assassin, then turned to her, “but perhaps you are more resourceful than we thought. Not only do you and your friends raid and destroy my Londinium house, but you manage to injure one of my best men.”

She struggled again, but to no avail. The brute holding her had the strength of a wolverine. She tried and tried to fight against his grip, but her muscles ached with fatigue

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