NICHOLAS'S POV
I woke to gunfire and screaming.
The sound cut through whatever chemical fog they had been pumping into my veins. How long had I been out? Time felt distorted, fractured.
My chest felt like someone had driven a hot poker through it. The bullet wound throbbed with each heartbeat, but pain meant I was alive.
Pain meant I could fight.
The drugs made my movements clumsy. My vision kept sliding in and out of focus.
Carlos appeared beside my bed, his face grim. Blood splashed his tactical gear. Dark circles under his eyes told me he had been fighting for hours.
"Four days," he said, reading my confusion. "You've been out four days. Whatever they pumped into you was designed to keep you down."
He tossed me a black t-shirt and my Glock. "We have a situation
