Nathan's POV:

After I watched Elena go inside the house, I switched cars. Getting into Alec's black Ford, I pulled out of the drive. Not sparing a second glance at the house, I sped up. I can't afford to be worried about her. To feel anything for her. Emotions have no place in this business. Right now I need to focus on getting my mentor to safety.

If you even still have one.

Fuck you, conscience. 

After about forty-five minutes I pulled up at the warehouse. We had purchased it around 1942, using it as a place to store ammo and firepower at an inconspicuous point. It was along a wharf, and the salty smell of sea brine hit my nose like a brick wall. Inhaling deeply, I stepped out of the car and walked up to the padlocked gate. Glancing around, there were no other cars in the vicinity.

He should be here by now.

Unless he's dea-  

SHUT UP!

Sighing in exasperation, I run my fingers along the corroded gate. I'm just being paranoid, he probably parked his car farther away, to avoid suspicion or something. Picking up the lock, I enter the code; 8 3 4 6 9 1

Scroll two notches left, one right, the push the latch up and..... Bingo!

I was in. After bypassing the gate, I strolled up to the main building, which was made of a kind of grey brick. Halfway there, I paused, tense. If the men on the train had kidnapped Thomas, they might have been able to get the location of the rendezvous point from him. Which means they could be waiting for me inside the building, making me walk straight into my own demise. If anything, it sounds like the kind of thing these punks would enjoy. I know from personal experience.

'No.'  I shook my head to dissuade the mutinous thoughts. Thomas would never do that. Still though, I did kind of go against orders. I didn't want Elena- I mean, I didn't want any of the other guys to know where the rendezvous point was. So, I decided to drop them off at our current base, which Ángel mentioned had some sort of old connection to Elena.  I didn't expect her to get so emotional though... maybe it's a girl thing?

I kept walking forward. Just as I reached the door, a hand slipped over my mouth and I recognized the cold hard edge of a blade pricking the skin of my throat.

"Not a step further." A feminine voice whispered in my ear.

Knowing that whoever it was, probably wasn't joking, I stepped back and put my hands at my sides. 

"Remove all weapons and place them in front of you." The person-girl-woman said in a low tone.

I took my Glock 43 out of my waistband and set it out on the sidewalk in front of me, the deadly metal weapon contrasting with the serene image of scrub grass growing between cracks in the cement. 

Straightening up, I say,

"Who are you?"

The knife tightens on my neck.

"All weapons!" She barks.

Sighing, I take out the handheld M18 smoke grenade in my pocket and place it next to the gun. This lady sure isn't taking any chances. I try again.

"Who do you work for?"

The knife pricks my neck, drawing a slight trickle of blood.

"No more tricks." She hisses. "All, and I mean all, of your weapons."

 Shoulders slumping in defeat, I lift up my left foot and wiggle my Swiss switchblade pocket knife out of my boot. That was my last weapon. Setting it down, I straighten up again, only to have my arms yanked behind my back and cuffed; judging by the clinking sound of metal. 

Probably stainless steel. Unbreakable, for you anyways.

Not helping!

Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, my assailant blindfolds me and picks up my weapons, using them to frog-march me in the opposite direction of the warehouse.

What have I gotten myself into?

Sorry it took so long, I have writer's block and this was the best I could do at the moment. 

Questions about the story comment here:

Until next time!

(None of my chapters are edited, by the way)