Trapped
Head covered. Wrists handcuffed. Surrounded by armed men.
Trapped inside the exposed metal husk of the delivery van, Secret Agent Ivy Elliot struggled to keep her balance. Being unable to see with limited control of her arms messed with her equilibrium. The van shimmying and jerking as it plowed down the bumpy road—seemingly in search of the slightest pimple and divot—didn’t make matters any better.
Once this mission was complete, her rear end would welcome a massage from Alex.
It was hot inside the van and doubly hot underneath the burlap sack. Scratchy too. Ivy hoped her makeup wouldn’t run. She’d need to look her best. Well, as best as possible under present circumstances.
The plan was simple. Get caught. Get Wolfgang alone and pounce when he let his guard down. After that, signal Sam so she could trigger the detonator. Simple.
A spy’s life is easy when the mission goes according to plan.
