Free Laced Impulse by Sasha Combs

joke. This went on and on until finally she noticed something. The people in the room looked liked actors. No, she thought. They all looked like clowns in a circus. Heavily made up with gowns and tux’s covering their clown costumes. At intervals, her brain would count. Twenty people in the room, now there are only sixteen. There would be huge gaps in the number sequences. Fourteen, then eight...six, then two. People had been leaving but their exits weren't the only oddity surrounding that night. Bianca had lost big, big chunks of time. She didn't know how long she and Sven had been sitting on the sofa. Her butt cheeks hurt, so that had to count for something...she just didn’t know what. Again, she felt a black blankness. When she came too, Henrik was handing rolled up bills to the bartender. Greta was across the room, tapping her foot on the floor, waiting for the man to leave. Whoop. Again, a time slip occurred. She felt strong arms around her waist guiding her, while instructing her how and where to walk. She felt like a puppet being led by a puppet master. And she was incapable of refusing his directions. Everything around her was muted, except for that one voice. Henrik. Henrik was telling her exactly what he wanted her too do, and she without question obeyed.
     
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    Chapter 7
     
    Slap! The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the cabin.
    "Stop it Greta. She's had enough. Just leave her be. She doesn't know anything more."
    "She knows. She knows plenty."
    Greta twined her fingers in hair, twisting then yanking back Bianca's head.
    "Where is he? Tell me...or I'll kill you."
    Fresh tears stained her face, stinging the places where nails had recently scratched her.
    "Kill me... Kill me then..." she cried, if only saying this would end her torment. Bianca had been whisked away, then drugged and overcome by sleep. She was later awaken with a brutal slap, and the hits kept coming. One after the other, increasingly vicious. Greta was her tormentor. She'd heard them repeatedly referring to Sven, and him cooperating, but she didn't know where he was. Sounds of waves and the hum of a motor were the backdrop noises that told her she was in the water. But where in the water? She didn't hear any city sounds hinting that they were still in Paris. The boats rocking was minimal which hinted of two things. Either, they were still docked; in which case they could still be in or near the city. Or the worst of the possibilities was that the boat was so large, the waves could hardly be felt. In this case, she could be anywhere. Then, as if on cue, Henrik said...
    "Greta... We have the person we came for. We have Sven. What you're doing here..." He pointed at Bianca, with a show of disgust.
    "She isn't worth the risk that you're taking. We need to go but this time we can't take her with us. Not in this state. Getting her out of the city nearly exposed us and we can't afford any mistakes."
    "I want him Henrik. I want Gideon...or whatever his name is. Mot... Dammit... That isn’t even his real name but I don’t care... I want him!"
    Not knowing Mot's real name flamed another fire in Greta. This man had played her like a fiddle. He'd toyed with her emotions. Said everything, short of telling her that he loved her. All along, she'd know who he was but the game; she enjoyed the chase. She'd been involved with intelligence operatives in her past. The affairs were typically brief and short lived. But the danger... She lived for it. Thrived to have it. Then Mot came along. He'd led her to believe that she would be someone special. Then, without reason, he'd flaunted Amya in her face. Then after Henrik laced her drink at the party, the truth came out. Her name wasn't Amya after all. When they finally got her in a safe place to freely question her. A place where her screams wouldn't be heard. It was then that Greta employed her tactics. Of the pair, people tended to be intimidated by Henrik. He could rip a man’s arms out of