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“Shit,” I gritted out, yanking harder this time. Pain shot up my shoulders, white-hot and immediate, forcing a strained groan from my chest. “Hey!” My voice cut through the dark, spearing the heavy silence. “Hey, you bastard!” I shouted, my voice bouncing off unseen walls and fading into nothingness. “Think,” I muttered to myself. “Just…fuck!” I thrashed violently, trying to pull my wrists free from the restraints.

“Don’t even bother, mate…you’ll only tear your shoulders out.”

I jerked as the voice came from beside me in the dark. “Who’s there?” My voice came out low, despite the way my heart was trying to punch through my ribs.

“My name’s Christopher.”

I zeroed in on the sound, squinting into the pitch black. “What the fuck is this?” I demanded as anger crept in, clawing over the fear.

“You don’t wanna know,” he said, almost gently.

My jaw clenched. “This isn’t a fucking joke.”

A wheezing laugh broke out of him, dissolving into a cough that rattled in his chest. Chains clanked with the movement. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I said that too.”

I ignored him. Tested the restraints again, feeling for weakness. There wasn’t any, just cold metal and something bolted into brick.

“Better start thinking of something else,” Christopher added. “Because getting out isn’t one of them.”

“Bullshit.”

“Alright,” he rasped. “Rip your hands off then. See how far you get.”

I stilled again, forcing my breathing to slow. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way I used to do as a kid when things got bad. When panic meant pain.

“Name,” he said after a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Jackson,” I responded. “Jackson Easton.”

Another short laugh came from him.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m not fucking around.”

“No shit?” His voice sharpened slightly, something like interest cutting through the exhaustion. “You’re the Jackson Easton?”

I didn’t answer. I didn't have the fucking energy for it.

“Fuck…” he breathed. “My kid loves you, mate. Loves the Kangaroos. We watched every game together,” he said, his voice cracking.

“How long have you been here?” I asked him.

“I’ve been here…just about two months?”

“Two months?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, the sound broken and dry. “Every day’s the same,” he continued. “You wake up, and you hope today’s the day he just ends it.”

Jesus fucking Christ. I turned my head and stared into the darkness, trying to pull some air into my lungs, but that disgusting, rotten stench filled them instead.

“What’s that smell?” I asked, even though I already knew I didn’t want the answer.

“Oh…that’s Liam. He was here before you.”

The words hit like a punch to the ribs. My stomach lurched violently, bile clawing its way up my throat. I twisted to the side as much as the restraints allowed and vomited, the acid burning through my mouth as it splattered onto the mattress below. Christopher didn’t stop talking, like he was used to it.

“He lasted…longer than I thought he would,” he murmured. “He fought him hard. But he was too sick in the end.” I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing harshly through my nose, trying not to gag again.