I’m not sure why. Maybe from the pain, or the confusion that leaves me disoriented for a moment. There’s a dull, brutal throb pulsing behind my eyes, and it spreads through my skull with every beat of my heart.
I groan softly and try to move, but the second I lift my head, a wave of nausea crashes through me so violently I almost choke on it.
What the hell?
I force my eyes open anyway.
Darkness blurs around me at first. Shapes swim in and out of focus until the room slowly sharpens.
Slowly, I cock my head to the side, scanning my surroundings: plain concrete walls with only one small window close to the roof, and an overly bright light bulb hanging high in the center of the ceiling.
“Christ…” I murmur.
The overwhelming urge to cry hits me again, but I refuse to let the tears fall.
The air smells damp and stale, layered with mildew and a metallic stench that makes my stomach churn. I don’t even want to guess what that odor is.
Nothing about this place screamsfive-star resort.
I’m lying on a thin mattress shoved into the corner of the room. The fabric beneath me is rough, stained, and smells old enough to make my skin crawl.
My sweater is twisted halfway off one shoulder, and cold bites instantly at my bare legs.
Fear jolts through my heart, and I jerk upright too quickly.
Pain explodes through my head.
“Oh, God!”
Hot, burning tears sting at the back of my eyes.I clutch my temples and suck in a shaky breath as dizziness pitches the room sideways.
Then memories hit me in irregular flashes, starting with the phone call with Henry, the suspicious movement on C-17,and finally the masked men in black chasing me, not letting up until I slipped into unconsciousness.
My pulse spikes, racing with adrenaline and apprehension.
No.
The tears push forward, threatening to slip down my cheeks. I whimper, “No, no, no…” and scramble off the mattress, stumbling toward the heavy metal door across the room.
My legs are wobbly and weak, barely cooperating with me, but panic drives me forward.
I grip the handle with all the strength I have left, and my breath catches in my throat when the rusty knob doesn’t move.
It’s locked.
Locked!
My breathing turns ragged instantly, but I struggle to contain it, to choke down my fear and prioritize being rational in this moment.
It’s a far stretch, but hope is the only thing I can hold onto right now. Maybe there’s someone out there who has the answers. Someone who could find kindness in his or her heart to help me get out of here.
“Hello?” My voice comes out hoarse and dry. “Hey! Somebody, please! I need help!”
The bulb behind me zaps, momentarily flashing off, then on again.
But no one answers.
Terror creeps in, making me more irrational, and I shove the door harder. “Help! Get me out of here!”
