Chapter 19
Dakota
He considered himself to be fairly resilient to pain. But the assholes who held him captive were much better at causing it than he was at withstanding. They’d already covered his torso in cigar burns and small cuts, broken two of his fingers, and applied at least two or three dozen punches to his face, gut, and shoulders.
He felt like he might pass out again when one of the men pulled off the sweat and blood-soaked pillow case that covered his head. Wet locks of his hair fell into his eyes as he squinted in the dim light. It looked to be some kind of warehouse or shack. Tin walls. Floor a mix of dirt and cement. Hanging bulbs provided the only light. He could see nothing beyond the room through cracks and holes in the walls. Only darkness. But he had no idea whether it
