Chapter 12
The white mist had lasted longer this time.
Brett lay on his back as the last of his murderous rage drained away. He felt empty. Drained. Every last drop of his energy had dissipated with his anger, and every cell in his body ached as though he’d gone on a three-day bender, followed by a hundred mile route march, and then taken the mother of all beatings. While he had man flu, which was like the bubonic plague and the hangover from hell all rolled into one.
“How long was I out?” he asked with a groan, lifting his hand to rub through his hair. His arm stopped halfway, pressure around his wrist and the clank of chain warning him that all was not well.
His eyes shot open. Chains bound his wrists, rattling when he yanked on them. More chain wrapped around his body, securing him
