When my eyes finally forced themselves open, the world violently shattered. I felt like I had been hit squarely by a freight truck, every single bone in my body aching with a deep, hollow resonance. My head was splitting open, a sharp, white-hot spike of pain driving directly behind my eyes with every throb of my pulse.
I blinked against the stark, bright light, realizing I wasn't on the hard leather couch of Mason's office, nor was I in my cramped, dark bedroom at home. I was lying in an impossibly soft, king-sized bed wrapped in crisp, high-thread-count white linens. A luxury hotel room.
The memory of the bar, the predatory man, and the horrifying, helpless fog of the spiked drink rushed back into my mind. Panic suddenly seized my throat.
Fearing the absolute worst, my hands instantly
