She was crying again. It seemed like that was all are did these days. Her sniffling sobs were annoying, and no matter what I did, I couldn't make her stop. She reminded me of an old tyre I used to have, that sprung a new leak act time it was patched. I tried to get the reason for today's tears out of her via dialogue, but it seemed that she wanted to be left alone.
I left her in the sitting room and tried to gather my thoughts and calm my frayed nerves. My hand reached out reflexively for the bottle of whiskey on the bar, but it was far too early to get drunk. If I plied myself with alcohol it might get horn and try to force her to do what she clearly was revolted by.
She was no prude, that much I knew. I had heard whispers from the other occupants of the house about her wild dreams and stories. I had asked a trusted maid some pertinent questions about her, and she affirmed my earlier suspicions.
So far, we hadn't spoken much. I had just not had the heart to force her into my bed yet. But her time was coming. I couldn't ignore the bulge in my boxers whenever I saw her for very long......

I tried to ignore the effect she was having on my mind, and focus on the feet she was having on my body. I was a man of usually insatiable appetites. I had had much more than my fair share of ladies, but it did nothing to curb my libido.
Of course, I had been through and weathered enough storms to believe in the illusion called love, and I had often been told that, while I could be a gentleman, I didn't have a heart. I didn't know whether having a heart was a good thing, because in my line of business, a conscience was a deadly to a person as hemlock.
I still couldn't sleep. I couldn't rid myself of lewd thoughts of this girl, who seemed to have kindled a fire in my blood.
Hell, I thought. I had never forced a woman into bed, and I wasn't going to start now. But, conversation was free, however.... .

'How are you doing?'
No response.
I tried again. Same outcome. I knew she wasn't asleep, and I put paid to her ignoring me by threatening to douse her bed with water.
' Shey u Don capture us, u Don kidnap us na. Una people Don
finish our village. U Don get wetin you want, abi?'
Of course, to her it would seem like I had. As a mercenary leading a band of men as ruthless and degenerate as any to be found on planet earth, pillaging, murder and screwing women ought to have been my number one priority.
She didn't know, however, that at that moment, nothing mattered except her. Or, more accurately, going to bed with her, and perhaps getting her pregnant, so even if she were to be ransomed I would claim her till she was delivered of my child, something I had never wanted before.
I wasn't taken aback by her outburst, as it was a tirade I had heard countless times before. What surprised me was the language she used. As beautiful as she looked, she seemed incapable of speaking our country's lingua franca, an adulterated form of English. I was used to speaking this with my battle-worn men, and with call girls of the most hardened variety. Though I kind of took pride in my refinement, I deigned to reply in the same language.
'But we give una advance warning say make una vacate the place, say we be sojas wey dem send to conquer this area'......

'Imagine sey na you dey our position now. Say for night pesin com your village begin shoot and kill una pipu, and begin carry the women them. Your sister them. Your friend them..'
I looked at her while slowly chewing my lower lip. How was she to know that my village had been destroyed long ago, and I had no family alive? I fought the anger and bitterness that always welled up in me upon any mention of family around me, something that had led me to ban my men from talking about family when we were on a mission, on penalty of wiping out THEIR families.
I tried again to resume the conversation, desire suddenly replacing the rage I had felt. I apologised again for destroying her village, but I slipped a note of warning that they had lost, and as such the only choice was to obey, of the wanted to live.
Having been sidetracked that way, I bid her ask for me if she needed anything, and I said goodnight, and for her to have a restful night, as we were breaking camp and moving to our more permanent base in the morning.
That would be the first (and last) time I ever made the mistake of revealing my immediate plans to anyone. Even my second-in-command hadn't earned that level of trust. But she seemed harmless, although she was definitely a bit stubborn and fearless. But I had misread her desperation, and what it would lead her to do that same night....

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Cries of Fire! Fire!! Fire!! roused me from a fitful doze. I had fallen asleep thinking about the various women I had gotten into bed, either consensually or by threatening their loved ones. I sat in a kind of semi-awakened stupor until the sound of automatic gunfire and women's screams rent the peaceful night air. Instantly, I reached for my weapon and dashed outside, ready to take control of whatever situation had arisen outside. But as prepared as I usually am, nothing could have prepared me for the heavy pistol that slammed into the side of my head, nearly knocking me unconscious in one blow.
I staggered and fell to my knees, but instinctively looked up in time to block a second pistol-whio that would have surely sent me into oblivion for about 10 minutes. My assailant's hand was surprisingly small and soft, and I immediately registered that it had to belong to a woman.
A captured woman.
One particular, stubborn woman.
I tamped down the anger that had coiled in me like a rattlesnake and coolly disarmed my opponent, and used my superior weight and size to quickly overpower her.
I was about to begin questioning her, at least for starters when a gun exploded tight next to my temple...

Debbietiyan, do I go on?
Divepen1, do I go on?

The proximity of the bullet to my loaf had led me to believe I'd been shot, and I even experienced excruciating phantom pain in my head.
I only knew I was alive when I could still breathe after five minutes, knowing full well that an accurate headshot was an effective a death sentence as a train riding all over a prone body.
The feeling of triumph I had didn't last for very long as I began to take stock of my surroundings.
For starters, it was morning.
I hated the morning.
It made difficult the use of silence and stealth as major team players in my operations. The shadows of night were better times for me and my teammates.
Next, I was still Hot
Not good
Testosterone and adrenaline made for a pretty explosive mix
But the most pressing and immediate of my problems was that I was in a cage inside a loading van.
Me? A cage? Confinement?
Guttural shouts around me told me that some sort of battle had raged around me through the night, and a bullet which had even missed me had been enough to knock me out for hours!!!!!
Me!!
The famed battle veteran!
I wanted to slip into my combat mode and begin as usual to take stock of my surrounding, but almost immediately a face made smug by a very bogus smile which was putrid to me at first but later became genuinely annoying loomed over me.
The same angry face of yesterday.
A groan escaped my Lips, and I discovered they were bleeding.
We eyed each other in silence like two gamecocks in the pit.........