Chapter 1.
Jake's Pov.
I sat there in Ms. Thompson's dimly lit office, my wrists bound painfully tight with that coarse, scratchy rope looped around a sturdy metal hook bolted into the wall above the old wooden chair.
My arms were stretched high overhead, pulling my shoulders taut and making every muscle in my upper body ache from the strain.
The chair was unforgiving hardwood, its seat digging into my ass cheeks through my thin jeans, forcing me to shift uncomfortably just to ease the pressure.
My shirt hung half-open, buttons undone down to my navel because I'd been too lazy, or maybe too defiant, to button it properly during her boring-ass history lecture.
At 19, I knew I was pushing boundaries, but f**k it, who cares about ancient wars when there's t****k and sports scores?
My
