TATE
I WOKE UP sore. Every inch of me ached like I’d been shoved through a meat grinder and spit back out, and my body wasn’t helping. Bare skin stuck to the sheets, hips stiff, chest tight. I groaned, dragging a hand across my face and cussing under my breath. f**k me. Literally.
For a second, I didn’t move, just lay there, staring at the ceiling like maybe it’d give me answers. It didn’t. All I got was the reminder of where the hell I was—and whose bed I was in.
Enzo’s. Yeah. That part hit like a brick to the teeth. My kidnapper. My nightmare. The last guy I’d probably let touch me, and yet here I was, body throbbing from exactly that.
“Brilliant, Tate,” I muttered, shoving off the covers. My legs protested when I stood, every muscle bitching at me, but I forced myself upright. The
