Page 35 of Dublin Beast

Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting.

Because therealproblem is that my hands are bound with plastic ties and secured to the headboard of a bed. My ankles are bound together as well.

Panic spikes, but my body is too heavy, too slow to react properly. My limbs don’t want to cooperate, my breath coming in shallow pants.

The drug they used on me is still in my system, weighing me down. I close my eyes for a second, fighting to push through the fog. I need to focus. Need tothink.

Footsteps.

I freeze, every nerve in my body snapping to attention. The room spins and the next thing I know, I get a slap to the cheek and two men are standing beside the bed. Their shapes blur at the edges, but I blink hard, forcing myself to see them.

One is broad, heavyset, the buttons of his shirt straining against his gut. The other is leaner, his presence exudingauthorityrather than brute force.

The second one speaks first. A voice smooth as oil, threaded with amusement. “Time to wake up, sweetheart.”

I know that voice.

Even through the haze in my head, my gutknows.

Eddie Mason.

A slurred noise escapes my throat as I fight to form words, to dosomething, but my tongue feels like it’s been dipped in cotton.

Mason chuckles. “Still a little out of it, I see.”

I try to move, tofight, but my limbs are useless—rubber and dead weight.

“Let’s not waste time,” the other man says impatiently. “We need her compliant.”

Before I can react, there’s a sharpprickin my arm.

Another injection.

A fresh wave of warmth spreads through my veins, sinking into my muscles, making my body goboneless.

My pulse pounds, my brain screaming at me tofight, fight, fight?—

But I can’t.

I can’t move.

I can’tdoanything.

My body floats, my mind slipping under, sinking fast.

The last coherent thought I have before the darkness swallows me whole is that I’m in trouble.

Big trouble.

* * *

I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when a voice cuts through the fog.

Steady, rhythmic,relentless.

Talking, talking,never stopping.

I can’t follow the words at first. They blend together, a murmur against the roar in my skull, but the cadence—fast, clipped, andpracticed—crawls under my skin.

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