Pain arrives before consciousness. It throbs behind my forehead in slow, relentless pulses, each one sharper than the last. Something warm slides down my temple, slipping across my cheek before dripping onto my shoulder.
Blood.
My stomach rolls.
The last thing I remember is Grant's truck. His hand wrapped around the back of my neck.
Then darkness.
I force my eyes open. Firelight flickers across rough-hewn log walls, stretching long shadows across a wide plank floor. Somewhere nearby, wood pops inside a stone fireplace, filling the room with the scent of burning pine.
My vision swims. Nothing looks familiar.
Where am I?
My tongue tastes like copper, and my wrists ache. My spine lets out a small shiver, my coat gone.
When I try to move, metal digs into my skin. Confused, I twist as far as the cuffs will allow. Both wrists are locked together around a thick cedar support post in the middle of the room.
Panic claws its way into my throat. “No...”
The movement sends another wave of dizziness crashing over me. I squeeze my eyes shut until the room steadies again.
Across from me, boots scrape against the wooden floors. Someone stirs the fire.
Grant.
He crouches beside the hearth with his back to me, using an iron poker to shift burning logs deeper into the flames. Sparks swirl up the chimney while orange light dances across the shoulders of his heavy coat.
Without turning around, he says over his shoulder, “Morning, Jelly Bean.”
A shiver runs through me.
His voice is so normal.
Like, we’re meeting for lunch instead of…here.
I swallow hard.
Grant rises to his feet and faces me. His eyes linger on the blood running down the side of my face. “You hit your head pretty good.”
I narrow my eyes. “You slammed it into the dashboard.”
He shrugs. “You wouldn't stop fighting.”
“Fuck you.” My cheeks flame.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “There's the Blake I remember.”
I tug uselessly against the handcuffs. The steel bites into my wrists.
“You know,” I mutter, “this would've been a lot easier if you’d just asked me to coffee.”
Grant laughs. Actually laughs. “I missed your sense of humor.”
“I can't say the same.” My lips draw taut into a thin line.
Grant’s smile fades, looking over my face.
