The first thing Matt became aware of was the faint tick tick tick of an analog clock. His neck felt bruised, his tongue swollen; his chin rested against his chest and a vein in his temple pulsed with a pounding rush of blood that Matt thought he could hear, it seemed so loud. It beat in time with the second hand of the unseen clock, like a referee counting out as Jordan pinned Matt down. Only Jordan no longer strangled him—Matt sensed he was alone, and he opened one bleary eye to be certain.
He sat on the bar stool, legs tied to the foot rest and arms bound behind the back slats of the stool, perched like an exotic bird in the middle of a bedroom he didn’t recognize. The open door showed a length of dark hallway that ended in Kyle’s bright chrome and white kitchen. This was the guest roo
