She thought that the six men leaving her facility would end the deal. She was already thinking of handing her notice in and starting a new wealthy life in the sun, but the message said to stay at her job. She muses on that and decides it does actually make sense. To leave straight away would be suspicious. Another week or so won’t hurt. Besides, that man was very attractive and there might be a way to get more money. She feels like a spy. Like a secret agent. Those thoughts send a thrill through her. Being a spy is sexy.

Twenty

Twenty

‘Ben, you awake?’

‘Yeah,’ he croaks, coming awake to the persistent yet gentle knocking at his door. The night was awful. Truly bloody horrible. He kept waking not knowing where he was and rolling over expecting to feel Steph’s warm body at the same time as knowing she wouldn’t be there. Even with the shutters down on the window, the piercing wails and screeches from outside got into his nightmares.

He gets up in a mood so foul he feels numb but with the added pleasure of the same depressing sensation of utter homesickness pulling even harder than yesterday. He cannot stay here. He does not want to stay here. He needs his home, his world and the things he knows.

‘Ben! Are you up?’ Safa calls again, thumping on his door.

‘I said yes,’ he snaps, glaring at the metal-riveted thing balefully.

‘Good, get showered. We’re going for a run.’

He pauses midway through pulling his first boot on and launches it across the room.

‘I don’t want to go for a run,’ he says, wrenching the door open to see Harry in his room towelling his hair dry and Safa pulling hers back into a ponytail using the same torn-up shred of grey material.

‘Tough,’ she says gently. ‘You were blowing out your arse yesterday just from walking up that bank.’

‘That’s because I AM NOT a soldier or police officer . . .’

‘Ben,’ Harry warns from his room.

‘Fuck’s sake.’ Ben feels the first bite of anger flashing through him. ‘I am not fucking staying here, therefore I do not need to go for a fucking run . . .’

‘You’ll die then,’ she says with that same caring look. ‘Your choice.’

‘Train or die?’ he asks with a sneer. ‘What kind—’

‘Man up,’ Harry booms with such force it snaps Ben upright in shock. Harry flaps the towel out, snapping it straight, before flicking it up to rest on the corner of his open door.

‘I can’t,’ Ben says, shaking his head imploringly. ‘I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m not you.’

‘They’ll take you back to your death,’ Safa says gently. ‘Drugged . . . or knocked out . . .’

‘Not if the three of us . . .’ Ben stops talking, the last ounce of pride holding the words in.