Consciousness returned to me in painful pieces.
First came the smell, stale grease, damp concrete, and the metallic tang of rust. Then came the sensation of restricted movement. I opened my eyes, taking a look at my current state. My wrists were raw, chafed by the thick plastic zip-ties anchoring me to a cold metal chair. My ankles were similarly bound, and a rough strip of duct tape sealed my mouth, pulling painfully at the corners of my lips.
What the hell?
I tried to suck in a breath, but the tape made every lungful a struggle.
My clothes, the professional blouse and skirt were torn at the shoulder, a sleeve hanging by a thread. I was shaking, a deep tremor that I couldn't suppress no matter how hard I clenched my jaw.
Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. You can not cry, Alexandra. Remain strong, I commanded myself. But the darkness of the warehouse was suffocating.
