Marcus's POV
Consciousness returns like a train hitting my skull. My head feels like someone's been using it for drumming practice, and there's a taste in my mouth like I've been chewing on pennies. But I'm awake, I'm alive, and I can hear Damon tearing s**t apart somewhere nearby.
"s**t," I mutter, trying to move my arms. They're strapped down tight to whatever table or chair I'm stuck on.
My vision clears slowly, revealing white walls, white floor, white ceiling - everything designed to make you feel like you're going crazy. Classic psychological warfare bullshit. These assholes really think they're clever.
Through our pack bond, Damon's rage hits me like a physical force. Wild and barely controlled, like a hurricane trapped in a bottle. He's pissed, he's fighting, and he's getting c
