After working the cuffs off, Mac sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as he examines the raw skin on my wrists. “Might need to wrap the cuffs next time. Shit, that's on me.”
“N…next time?”
He doesn’t respond as he smears some kind of cream on the broken skin before climbing back into bed and wrapping himself around me.
I pull away, too tired to do much more than roll onto my side. He follows, scooting in and pressing up behind me, shoving an arm under my head.
It feels . . . good. The solid weight, the warmth.
And yet, I feel all wrong.
For some reason, tears well, then leak over the bridge of my nose and onto his skin.
“Aw, hell.” Mac’s strong arms bundle around me and pull me tighter against his chest. He holds me, stroking my arm and murmuring things I can’t make out.
And I feel better for some reason, fuck if I know why.
My eyes shut, and soon enough, everything fades away.
Chapter 8
The shrill beep of a timer yanks me from the edges of sleep, my heart seizing like a trapped bird. The world spins, a disorienting blur of half-formed dreams and stark reality.
“Cal. Wake up.” Mac's voice, gentle and soothing, feels like sandpaper against my frayed nerves. His hand lands softly on my shoulder, but it might as well be a brand scorching through my skin.
I flinch, recoiling from his touch as though it burns.
Our eyes meet—his, soft and concerned. “Time's up. But I'd like you to stay.”
“Stay?” The word echoes in my head, a foreign concept.
My heart stutters, an erratic drumbeat in my ears. Everything's moving too fast, spinning out of control as I'm sucked into a whirlpool of emotions I can't name, can't even understand.
Panic grips my chest with icy fingers, squeezing until I can hardly breathe. The walls seem to close in around me, suffocating and oppressive.
I shake my head, an instinctive, desperate need to flee overtaking me. I have to move, to escape this crushing tide before it swallows me whole.
“Cal?” Mac’s voice sounds far away and muffled.
I scramble out of the bed in a clumsy, uncoordinated rush, my limbs tangling as I crash onto my hands and knees. My breaths come in sharp, ragged gasps as pain flares through my ass, my insides still feeling bruised and raw.
But I push upright, even as the room tilts wildly, then stagger toward the entryway, ignoring the cum running down the inside of my leg. Each step is a herculean effort, my body screaming in protest, but I can't stop. I have to keep moving.
Mac follows, his voice laced with concern. “Talk to me, Cal. What’s going on?”
My fingers are clumsy, fumbling as I dress in a hurried, mechanical fashion. My gaze fixates on the floor, but I see nothing, my vision blurred by the moisture welling in my eyes. Pressure builds behind them, unidentifiable emotions swelling recklessly, threatening to burst forth in a torrent I can't control.
“Shit.” Mac rakes his hand through his thick hair, frustration and worry etched into the lines of his face. “Cal, just sit for a second. Let's figure this out.”
For the first time, I don’t do as he says, cinching my belt tight and hunching my shoulders as if to shield myself from the relentless assault of feelings battering against my psyche.
“Don’t leave like this.” His voice falters, raw and aching. “Fucking hell. Wish Colt or Rex were here.”
Colt? Rex? Who the fuck are they?
I shake my head, the names spinning around my mind like a top, ones I know, but can’t slow enough to glimpse.
My hand trembles as I reach for the door handle. I need to get out of here. I can’t think, can’t breathe. The walls are closing in, the air thick and heavy, pressing down on me until I feel like I might suffocate.
