Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,76

but returning to Pike as a washed-up has-been.

Nash groaned, wrenching open his heavy lids.

Dark. That was it. Just complete, utter darkness. What was going on? The garage didn’t have many windows, so it was always gloomy inside, but it usually wasn’t this thick, choking obscurity.

Wondering if he was in that weird place between waking and sleep, he blinked. Still dark. Had he gone blind? No. That was stupid. People didn’t go blind from drinking too much. Did they?

Unless he’d slept through the day and it was night.

With an effort, Nash cleared his mind of the lingering cobwebs and battled to recall where he’d been before blacking out.

He had a vague memory of spending the day at the bar fixing toilets. Hard to forget that disgusting task. And then he’d gone home to drown his sorrows in a bottle of vodka. And then . . . Oh yeah, Chelsea had barged in to yell at him. Stupid woman. Was it his fault he wasn’t some fairy-tale Prince Charming? It wasn’t like she was perfect. Besides, he could barely take care of himself, let alone anyone else.

Dismissing the memory of Chelsea, he tried to concentrate on what had happened after she’d left. He remembered going into the bathroom and then nothing.

No, wait. He’d been standing in front of the toilet when he’d felt a pain in the middle of his back. There’d been a blast of panic as he’d bent over to try and pull up his pants. That was when he’d hit his head on the corner of the vanity and knocked himself out.

Was he still in the bathroom? No. That room was too cramped for him to stretch out. And it felt like cement, not linoleum beneath him. Icy cold cement he could feel from head to toe because he was completely naked.

His heart thumped against his ribs. Shit.

Could he be in the morgue? He’d heard horror stories about people who died and then came back to life in the ambulance or even the emergency room. Maybe whoever found him assumed he was a goner and sent him straight to the death house. God knew the local authorities were a bunch of bumbling amateurs.

Then he gave a small shake of his pounding head. There was a sense of space around him. As if he was lying in the middle of a vast area, not in a cramped cubicle.

Nash was suddenly furious despite the shocking cold. Had someone snuck into his house while he was passed out and hauled him here as some sort of joke?

He was Nash Cordon. Star football player. Business owner. The man who could have any woman in town. The man everyone envied. Muttering a curse, Nash forced himself to a sitting position. He glanced around, unable to penetrate the shroud of darkness.

It was cold. Bone-deep cold, and the faintest hint of a breeze, but he didn’t think he was outside. There was the heavy sensation of a roof over his head. Besides, if he was in the open, he should be able to see the sky. Beneath his bare ass he could feel broken cement and a layer of grime. As if no one had been there for years.

Where was he?

Hell. The word whispered through the back of his mind. I’m in hell.

Shivering as much from the fear as from the cold, Nash shoved himself to his feet and started walking. If the devil wanted him, then he was going to have to catch him.

His bravado lasted for five minutes. The precise time it took for the brutal cold to sink through his bare skin to cramp his muscles. He stumbled, nearly falling. Crap, his feet were already numb, and he had a terrible fear that he was walking in a big circle.

Tilting back his head, he released a furious howl. The sound echoed eerily through the frigid darkness, masking the approaching footsteps. He had no clue that he wasn’t alone. Not until something smashed against the side of his head.

With a grunt he fell to his knees, the sensation of something warm trickling down the side of his neck. Blood? The thought was preferable to his brains leaking out.

“Who are you?” he screeched.

Was there a laugh? Nash panicked. He didn’t know what was happening, but he was absolutely certain that he was going to die if he didn’t get out of there.

Trying to rise to his feet, he felt something slide over his head.

“Where are you going, Nash?” a voice whispered as a thin wire