An american, tall, but not giant, maybe 6' even. walks a quiet circle around you, so close the soft shoulder of his designer suit brushes against your shoulder, and along your back. His blue eyes look up at you, and bore into your own eyes. They are a cold blue. Unflinching, and they make you feel even more naked, like your soul is exposed. He looks at a man in the corner, "This her?"
There's the slightest hint of a nod in your peripheral vision. The man looks back at you, he seems disappointed. Even less interested than before. "Lot of trouble for just this. You sure this was the girl I absolutely had to see? The reporter? Sierge, don't fuck with me here, you know I could have you brought down, and grovelling for your virginity in a Russian prison with naught but a call."
"That is the one asshole. And I'd have you feeding fish before you could wake up the screen on your pretty little iphone." The man in the corner spoke with a heavy accent.
"True enough. Touche. Sierge." The man tips his hat, a well made italian fedora, places it upon your head, and tilts it slightly to the side.
"NO TOUCHING THE MERCHANDISE DAVID, YOU AMERICAN FUCK!" The man in the corner stood up and out of the shadows. You recognize him from when you were captured. He was in the bar, leering at you half the night before you went to the restroom, and everything went dark.
"Relax buddy. She is mine now. I'll even throw in an extra thirty G's for how well she wears the hat. Get her dressed, keep the hat on her, and I'll meet you up top." The man began to turn toward what you realize was a port door in a ship. That's how they do it. You're not on land. Then the whole room lurched a bit, and David had to sturdy himself against the wall, He looks up at the ceiling. "About time we got out of here anyways Sierge, your mood is causing a storm."