Alex Rider let the warm water run through his hair and trickle down his chest. He closed his eyes at the sensation. He was standing underneath the spray of a shower in a changing room he had found in Damian Cray's compound. He knew he didn't have much time before Cray noticed his body had disappeared from the pain synthesis labyrinth and ordered a manhunt for him, but he wanted to enjoy this small comfort before he was faced with the insurmountable task of escaping the compound. He only wanted to slip comfortably beneath the bed sheets in his hotel room in Amsterdam. But first he had to get out of this prison.

It felt good to rub the sticky, congealed snake blood off his torso. He ran his hands over his face, neck, chest, and arms, looking at the pool of red water running down his body. He swallowed several mouthfuls of water and spit them out, trying to get the bitter, awful taste of blood out of his mouth. When he felt reasonably clean he reached to turn the water off. But before his hand could turn the knob, he felt a cold metal barrel press firmly between his shoulder blades. "I would advise you not to move," said a soft, calm voice that he recognized. He knew who stood behind him—Yassen Gregorovich. The realization sent a jolt of fear down his spine.

Alex nodded in response to the directive. He felt a hand wrap around his upper arm, fingers gripping his wet skin. He knew he couldn't overpower the Russian, but maybe he could slip away from him. He tried to yank himself free of the man's grasp, using his slick skin to his advantage. Though the boy's skin was slippery, Yassen did not relinquish hold of him. He grasped the back of his neck, fingers curled, and held Alex's head under the stream of water. Alex struggled but couldn't break free of the man's hold. He only felt himself pulled up when he started to lose consciousness. When Yassen finally released his head he was gasping and panting, his lungs screaming for air as he struggled for breath.

"Has Cray seen you?" Yassen demanded. Alex didn't understand why that was important. Why did it matter if the millionaire had seen him or not? Yassen was working for Cray. He would just bring him back to him. Alex didn't respond. Yassen tangled his hand in his wet hair and wrenched his head back. Alex's neck protested at the harsh movement. "Please don't make me ask you again," Yassen hissed in his ear. "Does Cray know you're here?" he repeated. "No! I...I don't think so," Alex said through gritted teeth.

Yassen said something in Russian and Alex glanced behind his shoulder. Two men had accompanied Yassen into the changing room. They were both armed. Alex didn't recognize either of them as one of Cray's men, but he thought they must be part of Cray's army of subservients. One of the other men approached Alex and pushed a towel and fresh clothes into his hands. "Get dressed," Yassen said curtly. Alex knew it was an order, not a request. Yassen pointed his gun at him. Alex shivered a little bit as he dried himself off. He still had his back to the men in the room. How long had they been there while he was unaware of their presence? He blushed at the idea of them watching him shower. He could imagine their eyes appraising him, raking over his naked body.

He couldn't let Yassen take him back to Cray. For some reason, Yassen almost seemed ambivalent about taking his life, but he knew Cray wouldn't feel that same way. He had nearly ruined his launch of Gameslayer at the demonstration in London, and he had tried to ruin Eagle Strike. Cray would torture him, or get Yassen to do it, and then kill him in some horrible, presumably messy, fashion. Alex felt sick to his stomach thinking about it. This time Cray would take no chances. He would make sure he was dead. This time there would be no escape.

With a growing sense of dread and panic, Alex finished putting on his clothes. He still hadn't turned to face the men. Once he was dressed Yassen came close behind him and spoke: "Turn around." Alex hesitated for a moment, trying to decide if he should attempt to jab his elbow back into the man's stomach, but Yassen was prepared for him to struggle. He hit Alex's lower back with the palm of his hand with such force that the blow was like a snake striking, incapacitating its prey. Alex crumpled to the floor. He had the sense to stretch out his hands to soften his fall, but his head still knocked against the floor with a sickening jolt. In one fluid motion Yassen had him on his stomach, knee pressed hard against his back, pinning him to the floor. He couldn't move. His whole body was sore from the impact with the concrete floor and his head throbbed nauseatingly. He tasted blood. "If you disobey me I will have to hurt you," Yassen said quietly. Desperate for escape, Alex did not heed his warning; with his last reserve of strength, he thrashed his body underneath the man's. With a flick of his wrist Yassen dislocated the boy's right shoulder. He quickly covered Alex's mouth to muffle his scream.

"I will reposition your shoulder if you come with me," Yassen said calmly to Alex. "It will be much better for you if you come willingly." He looked down at the boy. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was flushed. "Do you understand, Alex?" Alex was in too much pain to resist. He nodded, panting. He didn't trust himself to say anything. He didn't want his voice to break or waver or fear to creep into it. He didn't want Yassen to hear the pain in his voice. Yassen made a quick movement and popped his shoulder back into place. Alex tried not to make a sound but he couldn't suppress a small gasp.

Yassen got off of him and stood up. Alex lay on the ground for a moment, stomach heaving, trying to catch his breath. He wanted to savor his last few minutes of life. He certainly couldn't have imagined he'd be spending them with Yassen. He wasn't going to plead with the man or beg for his life. He just needed to prepare himself for whatever they were going to do to him, whatever agonizingly painful death they had planned for him. He promised himself that the Russian wasn't going to break him.

"Get up," Yassen ordered. Alex didn't wait for him to take more violent measures. He rose to his knees slowly before standing up. His body ached and he knew he had no strength left to fight. His efforts to escape Yassen's grasp had drained him and now that the adrenaline was gone, he had nothing left—only a supreme sense of weary resignation. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and looked at the bloody streak across his forearm. Then he met Yassen's eyes. Yassen spoke Russian to the men, his eyes fixed on Alex, never leaving him. The two men grabbed Alex, each holding an arm, and started to drag him away through the door of the changing room. Alex walked with them. He wasn't going to let himself be carried to his death. He wanted to have some dignity left.

He was surprised when they didn't go straight to Cray's office. They shuffled him through a number of passageways and then out of the compound into the open night air. Alex was surprised when he was forced into a waiting Mercedes. The two men got into the front seat and Yassen sat beside him in the back seat. Once inside the vehicle Yassen took his arms in his hands, not quite as roughly as Alex had expected, and put them together behind his back before snapping a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. Alex winced when the cold metal pinched his skin. Yassen's hands left him for a moment and then he felt the sting and pressure of a hypodermic needle in his back. His body weakened almost immediately and Yassen pushed him down onto his left side. Ruefully he wondered why the Russian had only chosen to sedate him now, after he had had to endure the pain of a dislocated shoulder. Alex was lying on his left side, his hands locked behind his back. His cheek was pressed against the seat and he could smell the rich leather. Through his drooping eyelids, he saw Yassen watching him carefully. The last thing he knew was the pressure of the man's hand on his side, and then he knew no more.

A/N: To be continued, if there's enough interest…

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