“The smelling salt didn’t work?”
A woman’s voice, calm but annoyed, cuts through the fuzz in my head. A man replies, but I can’t hear him clearly. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.
My eyes sting as I try to open them. Where the hell am I?
“She’s awake. Great. Hey, wake up.”
Cold fingers grab my jaw, tilting my head up. I try to open my eyes again, but the light burns. Everything is too bright. There’s a weird prickling sensation on my left leg, and I want to reach down and scratch it. But I can’t. My arms won’t move.
My wrists are tied.
The memories crash into me all at once. The container. Jake. My clothes. The needle. The rope.
“b***h, wake the f**k up. Geez.”
That same cold hand smacks lightly against my face. Then I smell it—salt. Sharp and bitter. I cough and jerk back,
