Ford
Me—and my life—isn’t for everyone.
I understand that fact and have accepted it.
The CIA is a perfect example—it’s not a job anyone can handle, let alone a job that anyone can just get.
It’s for the few and far between.
But this is not me boasting, I’m not saying I’m special or anything. I became an agent because I’m fucked up enough to agree to such a life.
So why would I expect someone else to do the same? To willingly sign up for that life when theirs has been nothing but charmed?
It doesn’t make sense to me.
Like all the other agents, I was willing and able to live a life of solitude. Away from everyone, so that I could avoid getting hurt—again and again—while also trying to avoid hurting others, the latter being the most important.
And that comes from experience.
People have pasts—that’s to be expected—but mine is an outlier, one of the most extreme. I’ve done and seen things that no man should.
It’s been scarring, and those scars run deep.
I know that I’m not easy, and that my baggage—or whatever the fuck it’s called, is fucking heavy.
It’s a goddamn hard pill to swallow, and I know I’ve swallowed a shit ton.
But how can I tell her not to accept that—when I have?
She is more than capable and strong enough.
And who the hell am I to decide who she loves?
I’ll never understand how she fell for me, although our connection is overwhelmingly powerful, but I can’t stop her from loving me.
Hell, I don’t want to.
And I need to just fucking accept it—accept her love and take it for what it is—the most precious gift she could ever give me.
But in return, I vow to protect her and be the man she can always rely on, regardless of whatever shit is thrown our way, and that we might throw at each other.
I will always be there for her.
Though it’ll be scary, and I’m sure it’ll be hard, I’ve never been more certain that she needs me, like I need her.
I get that I’m coming to this realization rather late, and I admit it, I’m an asshole for that.
But I can be the bigger man and go back to her with a tail between my legs, asking her for her forgiveness and for her love.
I need to be by her side as her shield, her fighter, and her lover.
Adrenaline fills me, and my heart pounds out of my chest as I make my way back to her.
But as I approach the village, anxiety replaces my exhilaration.
I immediately feel the tension and turmoil of the village—something’s not right.
It’s eerily quiet, though I hear faint sobs echoing through the dewy, humid air.
The cries get louder as I get closer, and a woman screams, making me all the more vigilant.
I jump off the motorbike, too anxious to wait, and sprint towards the village.
Fuck.
Adelaide.
My mind focuses solely on her, and her well-being.
Where is she? Is she ok?
Running straight to her hut, I pass a crowd of the local women, hugging each other, praying and sobbing. Most of the children clutch on to their mothers, standing outside of their huts. All of them look as if they’ve seen the face of death and lived to remember it.
They’re scared, trembling, and looking for hope. It’s a disturbing sight. But I’ve been a witness to this scene before.
If I’m not mistaken, poachers have ransacked the village, taking only what they needed, which I’m afraid might be exactly the one thing I’m looking for.
That becomes more obvious to me as I watch the villagers mourn.
I know she would’ve been out here consoling the women and children, making them feel better in her own perfect way.
I’m too late. They’ve kidnapped her.
I reach the hut and it’s empty, confirming my suspicions. A few of her things have been thrown on the floor, and the gun I’ve given her is missing.
My anxiety grows—this doesn’t look fucking good.
My heart sinks, and my stomach drops at the thought of Addie in danger.
And it infuriates me that I was unable to prevent it from happening.
Where the fuck was her guard?
God damn it! I shouldn’t have fucking left her.
Stopping myself from wallowing, I quickly switch gears and ready myself.
I will not have her in danger a second longer. I will save her and bring her back to me.
I rummage through my gear and weaponry and begin to arm myself with everything I have.
Putting my bullet proof vest on first, I hoist a few automatic pistols on my belt, strategically hide a few knives in my pants and socks, and slide over my head two automatic rifles.
As much as I would love to go guns blazing, I refrain and decide to go clandestine, putting on a black hooded sweatshirt to hide my weaponry and shielding and a pair of black pants.
I leave the hut, fury and determination seething from me, and I look around the village for a sign that might direct me towards the kidnappers. Tempted as I am to pull out my compass, I know it can’t help me right now.
I’m coming up short, so I decide to reach out to one of the village women in hopes for some type of clue.
I walk up to one, standing outside of her hut, staring at the group of women still crying and holding onto each other.
She looks at me unnervingly as I approach her, and she crosses her arms in defense.
I reach my arms out with my palms facing upward, almost in surrender, to show that I’m not dangerous, and I silently pat myself on the back for wearing the black sweatshirt.
I know she has seen me around, as I have her, so I’m most likely familiar to her at least in some capacity.
But after tonight, I don’t blame her for being skittish around others, especially an outsider.
“Do you know where the looters went?” I ask as sympathetically as possible.
“Nini?”
Ah, shit.
She only speaks Swahili.
Thanks to Addie, I’ve picked up a few words here and there, so hopefully I can piece together something for her.
“Unajua where the looters walikwenda? Do you know where the looters went?” I repeat, just for certainty.
“Ah,” she says, nodding her head.
I smile tightly, hoping to keep her comfortable and willing to talk to me, and I feel a slight bit of hope in knowing we understand each other so I might get some information.
“Nija hiyo,” she says, pointing to the southeast. “Kulikuwa na mengi.” She gestures a big circle with her hands that I denote as meaning ‘a lot’ or big.
Fuck, that’ll be fun.
“Asante, asante! Thank you!” I respond enthusiastically.
I jump on the bike, and without a parting word, I head in the direction she pointed me to.
Fortunately, I’m familiar with the grounds around the village, so finding my way doesn’t prove difficult.
And as I reach the outskirts, I find tire tracks etched in the mud.
That has to be them!
I follow it, remaining exceedingly cautious, ready to kill the engine at a moment’s notice.
The tracks become more aggressive with each passing mile, and my irritation thickens.
I’ve been on these types of missions many times, but this time, the urgency is completely new to me.
Knowing the kidnappers have the one thing I love and need adds to the severity of the situation, in addition to the pressure of successfully completing the mission.
I see lights flickering a few hundred feet ahead of me, and I begin to hear faint sounds, mostly of people talking.
The first thing I do is kill the bike and continue on foot, pushing the vehicle.
In the distance, I see a lone building. Outside is a truck.
It does not look like the headquarters of the operation, but it might just be where they’re holding my Adelaide.
I crouch to the ground and continue following the tracks to get a better sense of what I’m looking at.
As I close the distance, I’m able to decipher only one guard on the outside. The building is small. It can’t house more than five people.
The hut is exposed, and it won’t be easy to sneak up.
I scramble to come up with a new strategy on the fly and am empty handed.
My frustration builds, and my anticipation becomes excruciating stifling, but I’m now keenly aware of my surroundings.
I hear a noise, a rustling of mud and shrubbery from behind me. My ears perk up and my muscles tense.
As I can attest, given that I am looking at them, the kidnappers are in front of me. So, whatever is approaching me from behind, I consider it threatening.
I slowly turn towards the noise and hover my hand over a pistol on my belt, making sure I’m prepared for anything that might jump out at me—human or animal.
Once I’m completely turned around, I’m met with two beady eyes, looking up at me.
It’s Edgar.
He had followed me without me knowing.
Instinctively, I’m annoyed, not wanting to worry about another thing as I’m most concerned with getting Adelaide out alive, and back to me.
Edgar, however adorable, can add stress to even the simplest of things.
This is bound to not go well.
But then, I melt, which I find myself doing often with him.
And like a light bulb going off in my head, I realize he could be the perfect sidekick for this mission.
Our Edgar can help me in getting my Adelaide back.