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I hiss at the sting and notice that my eye feels like it's the size of a golf ball.

Is it swollen?

A searing pain throws my head to the side, and a loud smack fills the room, wherever that is.

“Open your eyes.”

I push to open my eyes again—this time slower—so that I can see where the fuck I am and why I’m tied up to this chair when I should be out there looking for Camila.

I’m coming to myself a little bit now, body aching, registering that throb in my head as being knocked out. All feelings of rage come rushing to the surface, and I yank myself to stand. Or at least try to. My hands are tied behind my back, and my legs are bound to the bottom of a wooden chair. So as soon as I make an attempt at lunging out of it, I fall forward, my head hitting cold concrete, blasting a scorching pain through my head and my knees that are trapped between the chair and the floor.

Groaning, I roll myself onto my side, trapping my arm beneath me in the process.

“Don’t fancy helping me anymore?” I cough out.

How ironic that Nova took me in when I went off the rails. It was all a ploy to get me right here. To get Camila to Luke.

I pry my eyes open to a silhouette of a woman with long, brown hair. Her face comes into focus, and it’s like my brain is trying to make sense of this woman in a pristine, white suit squatting in front of me with a scowl.

“It’s nice of you to finally be awake, Alexander.” She gives me a sinister smile.

I squint when she moves to the side, revealing the single bulb of white light and concrete walls. Concrete walls that I’m all too familiar with.

I’m inside the DL basement.

Where the hell is Jac?

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. You should’ve known this was coming.”

“What— Who the fuck are you?” I croak. It’s not Nova. This woman is too pale. Too hard-looking. Nova may have a hard exterior, but her eyes are soft.

“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” she asks as she steps to the side towards Jac’s table of torture equipment, and my eyes focus on multiple other men dressed in all-black suits, along with another woman dressed in that signature red she always wears.

“Penelope?” I grunt, my breaths coming in short pants. She looks guilty as sin standing in the shadows, clutching a tablet to her chest.

How the fuck did she escape Nova?

“Bring him up,” the woman commands, and two men hook their arms under each of my armpits, heaving me upright in the chair. Pain coats my body as they slide their arms out, making me slump down.

Have they fucking beaten me?

All events prior to me getting knocked the fuck out start gushing back in.

Camila. Her phone. The texts. Luke.

“Where the fuck is Camila?” I heave through the soreness.

“And there it is,” the woman chuckles.

She looks so familiar, but not. Dark hair, brown eyes, and an aged face.

“Who is this bitch?” someone slurs.

My eyes snag on a large frame slumped in a chair beside me.

Jac.

Though he’s not tied, nor does his face look like it wears any bruises. His head swivels from side to side with his chin pressed to his chest, and his black shirt has a small hole in the side of his torso.