1
Miri
Cold, musty, damp—those were the first things I noticed.
Next came the pain. Excruciating, skull-splitting, breath-stealing pain. Sitting was not an option. Even rolling from my back to my side sent a tidal wave of nausea crashing over me, rushing up my throat along with bile and the meager remains of the last thing I ate. Vomit continued dribbling from my mouth as I lay on the hard floor, the sharp stabbing pains forcing me to take quick, shallow breaths. My body continued purging until I was empty and even then, dry heaves kept wracking my stomach over and over again. Each spasm sent a white-hot knife through my head.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, the violent vomiting settled into dull queasiness. It didn’t feel good, but it was tolerable. My head was a whole other story. The pressure inside made it feel as if my skull had shrunk two sizes too small for my brain. I had no clue how long I lay on the floor, in a heap like a limp rag. Minutes, hours, days… I drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time I woke, the suffocating nausea sent my body into another long round of useless, excruciating dry heaves. I think I might have blacked out once or twice from the torturous agony that accompanied the vomiting. My entire existence narrowed down to waking to insufferable pounding in my head, which brought on a bout of vomiting, after which I’d thankfully pass out when the pain flared to levels no human could withstand.
It was a vicious, unrelenting cycle.
At some point, I roused and stayed awake long enough to scoot into a semi-sitting position against the wall without the added benefit of my brain trying to break out of my skull. Eyes shut, I panted like a dog, swallowing down saliva until the urge to vomit finally, thank God, went away. When I managed to keep my eyes open longer than a blink and you missed it moment, my head became the pole in the middle of a tilt-a-whirl, the world spinning off its axis while I was stuck watching it go by. I forced back the bubbling bile and waited for the nausea to pass. For the first time since I regained consciousness, I was able to look at my surroundings.
And immediately wished I hadn’t.
The rest of my senses dulled while I slumped helplessly back to the floor, everything drowned out by the nonstop cycle of pain and nausea. I hadn’t paid attention to my environment before now, and once I did, the horror of my reality smacked me like a backhand to the temple by the devil himself. Suddenly, I was freezing, shivering from bone-chilling terror. Unable to get warm, I wrapped my scrawny arms around my legs, pulling them to my chest. The room was lit by a single dim bulb recessed in the ceiling, no doubt to cast a super-creepy shadow of my slumped over form across the walls. Liquid terror, pure and black, pumped in and out of my heart. Every single wall, including the floor and ceiling, was dull, gray, unbroken concrete. No windows, no furniture, no blankets—not a single other item in the maybe six-by-six-foot space.
Only me.
Panic slithered up from the base of my spine, coiled its slimy tendrils around my neck, and slid into my mouth, down my throat. My lungs protested the intruder as it constricted the flow of air, my poor, overworked heart hammering in the tightening confines of my ribcage. Hot tears stung my eyes and flowed uselessly down my face to drip off my chin. Sniffing in a sob, I was hit upside the head from the overpowering scent of urine. Oh my God. The crotch of my cotton sleep shorts was wet. At some point, I must have pissed myself.
Left like a filthy animal in a cage. A stark, barren, freezing cage.
I had to get out of here.
Head throbbing, nausea welling, and every muscle trembling, I staggered to my feet and dragged my ass to what had to be the exit. The only interruption in the lifeless room was a single narrow door breaking the uniformity of one dull gray wall. Vertigo threatened to knock me down the second I became stood, vision spinning wildly. I stumbled against the door, nails scrabbling to keep my balance. Weak, my skull exploding with pain, I slapped my palm against the door. Holding down the nausea, I tried the knob. Nothing. Locked. Sealed tight.
“Help!”
I was so hoarse my voice wasn’t anywhere near the level needed to be loud enough for anyone to hear. The effort, combined with a dry mouth, had me choking and I began to cough, my throat and vocal cords stripped raw from the vomiting. Coughing, of course, brought on a fresh bout of vertigo, which resulted in another agonizing fit of dry heaves. Cold, but sweat-slicked, my hand slipped off the knob and I collapsed to the floor. The crack of my skull hitting cement sent a shockwave of pain radiating through my head, piercing the backs of my eyes until thankfully, I passed out to blessed nothingness.
* * *
“At last, you are awake.”
My fuzzy eyesight became clearer with each rapid blink. Once focused, a sharp, radiating pain blinded me, as if a rubber band was snapped around my head and left in place to cut off circulation. The accompanying nausea brought back the horrific memories and with it… reality.
Trapped. Injured. Captive.
Desperate for answers, I slapped my palms on the cold concrete, braced my arms, and shoved my upper body off the ground. Immediately, I gagged from the queasiness that arose. My brain quadrupled in size inside my skull, an overinflated balloon ready to pop. Desperate to get some sort of idea of where I was, I ignored the pain. Rolling my eyes side to side, my blurry gaze locked onto two men—one a normal height and weight, the other an enormous monster, both with the russet skin indicative of Mexican descent, and deep brown eyes that glittered with lethal darkness. I was no longer alone. Panicked, my pulse skyrocketed and I scooted on my ass to the furthest corner.
“Raoul,” the smaller man said, his voice and demeanor that of one who was used to being obeyed.
One word spoken and the giant erased the distance between us with two long strides. Without warning, he lifted me by my arms, spun us both around, and shoved me to my knees in front of his boss. My kneecaps cracked on the cement and I cried out. My stomach did a stop, drop and roll, forcing me to bite back tears and nausea. If nothing else, I’d rather be dead than show weakness in front of these two fucking assholes.
Months ago, I stood up to Jag, and he was way, way more intimidating than both the daunting boss and the beast using his huge hands to keep me on my knees. Of course, I was high on heroin when I challenged Jag, but still. These guys had nothing on Jag at his worst.
“Wha—” My throat seized up, larynx shredded. Probably from the nonstop vomiting.