Whatever they’d given me—twice—was wearing off.
I thought.
Maybe.
I blinked again. Every bit of light that hit my eyes sent fresh waves of pain through my body, radiating from the back of my head.
But I could do it.
I could take the pain. Could handle the nausea if I could fucking see.
It wasn’t bright in here—and thank god for that—but there was enough light coming from a streetlight outside to make out vague shapes.
The room was blissfully empty, but it screamed warehouse to me.
The floor was concrete, the walls were concrete, and the smell… beneath all the vomit was something… mechanical?
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, even though it just made me want to hurl again.
I needed to push through.
I needed more information.
Definitely something like… fumes. Motor oil?
Ugh.
I had no idea.
So… on to something else.
I wiggled my hands.
Yep.
Tied up.
But not with handcuffs or zip ties, rather…. Was that a belt?
I wiggled my hands again.
Yeah.
That felt like leather. Sturdy, smooth leather. And there was a metal buckle for sure.
I placed my hands on the floor behind me. There was still a bit of space left, so I rocked back, back, back until my fingertips met the wall.
Good.
Now to sit up.
My whole world shifted; the pain stole my breath for a while as I tried righting myself.
Holy fucking shit.
Like fuck.
Was the floor moving?
