The smell of dark roast coffee couldn't completely mask the phantom scent of chemical solvent lingering in the back of Ryan's throat.
He stood at the kitchen counter, the ceramic mug burning against his palms. He hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes, the halogen lights of the basement pierced the back of his eyelids, accompanied by the heavy, rolling syllables of the Italian accent.
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the dull ache in his ribs where the thick arm had crushed the air out of him. Beneath the cuffs of his dark, long-sleeved shirt, the skin around his wrists was scraped raw and purple from the zip ties. The fabric chafed against the friction burns with every movement, a sharp, constant reminder of the ticking clock.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb hovered over the screen.
All hands meeting. My apartment. 10 AM. Mandatory.
He hit send.
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