Chapter 67
sixty-seven
MAVERICK
What did I drink last night? I don’t remember a thing.
When did I even start drinking? Must have been early with the way I feel right now.
My head is throbbing and my stomach is rioting.
I think if I move, I might be sick all over the bed.
I take slow, deep breaths until my body settles enough to crack my eyes open.
It’s not the first time I’ve woken up in a foreign bed, but it hasn’t happened in years. I try to wipe the sleep crust away from my eyes, but I’m stopped by something.
Fuck. I’m chained to a bed by my wrists and ankles. Not the first time that has happened either. Slowly moving my head so I don’t get sick, I take in my surroundings. At least I try to, but the room is really dark. It’s night, or this place has some high-quality blackout curtains.
The moment I try to push myself up into a sitting position, I realize my feet are chained, too. What the fuck did I get myself into? I close my eyes again and resume my deep breathing. I don’t know how long it takes, but eventually the memories slowly trickle in.
The cliff house. Ezra and Jo. The phone call I overheard.
Fuck. I yelled at Jo. I blamed her, and nothing was her fucking fault.
My head throbs as I try to work out how I ended up here, but it’s blank.
I only remember screaming at Jo and then storming out of the house.
It’s blackness after that. There wasn’t enough alcohol in the house for me to be feeling like this.
Something else must have happened. The short moment of clarity I had is slipping away.
Whatever substance my body is fighting to get rid of is winning, and my eyes close.
I fight to open them again, but sleep and darkness pull me under.