I wake up choking on my own vomit. I think I over did it last night.

My situation merits it.

My situation merits more than chugging from a bottle of Jack and hoping for the best.

I didn't get the best.

I got dizzy.

I got sick.

I almost choke to death.

And now I'm hungover.

I scramble out of bed and charge for the washroom. I don't think my insides are done battling with the alcohol in them.

I throw up again and groan, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I look like death.

If death had an image, my face would be the cover of it. Bags under my hazel eyes, red and watery. Puke is still caked to my neck and in my brown hair.

I'm a mess.

I stumble into the shower and let the water run, pouring over me in bursts of cold at first to wake me the heck up. Now it's warm, soaking into my chilled skin. I don't undress when I get in. I sit down and watch the water.

It's crazy how the past twenty-four hours can change my life.

Snap of a finger.

Flip of a dime.

Everything is different.

I don't know how long I'm in here but the tiny bathroom is fogged. I take this as my cue to bathe. Washing this vomit from myself and this disturbance lurking over me.

I'm still trying to figure out how in the hell I ended up here.

All my wrongs doings catching up with me.

It's deserved, though. We reap the consequences we make. Someone once told me that. They said it and it had no meaning then. It sure does now. It has more meaning than I can even fathom.

I wrap a towel around my chest and make my way into the room, stopping dead in my tracks when he's leaning on the doorframe, smirking at me. The mysterious giant of a man who scares me half to death.

"Good shower?" he asks, his piercing blue eyes scanning me. Robustly tall. Broad chest. Tattoos and piercings. He looks dangerous. Screams violence.

I nod, tightening the towel around my chest. The way he's looking, I'm sure he wants me to drop it. Just for a taste. A peek. Eyes scrolling up and down, lingering on my chest and legs a moment longer than I like. Men, all the damn same, aren't they?

He points at the bed. "Clean that up, breakfast is ready."

Breakfast, ugh.

Just the thought of food is turning my stomach.

But I do as I'm told.

I take the sheets off the bed, toss them in the laundry and make for the kitchen.

It's so quiet here.

Too quiet.

Last night he had music playing, and a fire burning. We arrived at the cabin and I went straight for the booze, drowning myself in it so the thought of being here wouldn't be so bad. It'd be lost in a drunken daze. It didn't work, did it? I'm stuck in this cabin and now I'm so hungover the thought of alcohol is making me nauseated.

This morning, only the fire cracks in the living room.

Pancakes are at the table. Coffee and orange juice, too.

Coffee won't kill me.

Unless he spiked it.

He shakes the bottle of Jack Daniel's. "Little hair if the dog?"

Ugh, God, thinking of alcohol right now makes me want to gag. I shake my head, slowly sitting in one of the grey fabric chairs. The cabin is beautiful. Rustic yet modern, and bright. So damn bright. The entire back wall is windows and glass. Open kitchen to the living room with the table in between. If it wasn't for this predicament I found myself in, this place could be a fun getaway.

He sits at the head of the table to my left, waggling his eyebrows at me when he passes me some syrup. "Eat up, we got a busy day today."

I sip my coffee. "What're we doing?"

He chuckles, a smug grin spreading to his face. "Nothing."

"Nothing as in you won't tell me, or nothing as literally, nothing."

His mouth is full, pancakes no syrup. "The latter."

I scoff. "Why the fuck am I here? I have nothing to do with this."

He grunts, chewing with his mouth open like a rabid dog. "You think I wanted to babysit you while your boyfriend—"

"—ex-boyfriend—"

"—is paying us back? This ain't some game he's involved in. This is life or death, Zay. It's not my fault he shoved you in the middle of it."

I growl, banging my fists on the table. "I didn't want to be dragged into this mess. You fucking assholes broke into my dorm and kidnapped me."

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "With good reason, I assure you."

I hate how nonchalant he's being. It's pissing me off and scaring the crap out of me. "What reason can that be, huh? Because as I see it, holding me captive in some cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere isn't reason enough."

He pushes the syrup forward, urging me to eat without saying it. I'm too angry to eat. To nauseated and hungover to eat. I want answers, I want Adam, and I just want to go home.

"You should feel lucky that I'm the one watching you."

I roll my eyes. "Because of your handsome charm? Please, save it."

He laughs, point his fork at me before taking a savage bite. "If it were any other of my guys, they'd have tried something. If you said no, they'd have tried again and again until you weren't able to say no anymore. Catch my drift?"

"What, like rape me?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "You said it."

Tears well in my eyes, looking at this man who can snap me in half with one hand. "I just wanna go home."

"You'll go home, just not today."

"And if Adam can't get the money?"

He shrugs again. "Let's hope that doesn't happen, yeah?"

My breathing wavers as I stare at this man with dark tattoos on his arms.

I'm going to die here.

In this shitty cabin.

And it's all Adam's fault.