Four friends…

The identity of the sleeping woman hit her like a slap in the face. “Gillian!” How could she not have recognised her best friend? What the hell was going on here?

Dropping to her knees at the side of her friend’s bed, she shook her vigorously. Gillian Cole’s head lolled from side to side, her eyes flickering open for the briefest of seconds, then she lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

“Gillian, wake up. Wake up!”

Gillian’s mouth opened, but only for her tongue to run once over her lower lip.

Celine shook her friend violently but failed to elicit any further response. Looking once more around the room she noticed another three forms huddled in the beds, all as still as Gillian. Moving as quickly as her unsteady legs would allow, Celine tried to wake the next person.

The girl in the bed had mocha-coloured skin and a close-cropped hairstyle. She too was unresponsive to Celine’s efforts.

Celine bent at the waist as vomit forced its way from her mouth. Waves of panic swept through her. She stumbled to her knees as foul-smelling liquid splattered onto the floor. Tears streamed down her face as her body was racked with powerful heaves.

“They drugged us. Poisoned us,” she whispered as the remnants of her stomach dribbled from her mouth. But who were “they”?

Staggering on unsteady legs, Celine made for the only door in the room. The handle turned a quarter-turn, but the door held fast. A heavy sob escaped from her chest. She had known it would be locked even before she had tried, yet the barrier added a tangible weight to her diaphragm. Gasping for breath, she pushed and pulled at the handle and when that proved fruitless, tried ramming her shoulder against the door.

Pain shot through her upper arm as she rebounded from the unyielding barrier. Celine staggered back, clutching her shoulder. Her legs seemed determined to conspire against her and again she found herself on the floor, her left knee bent painfully beneath her.

A surprised yelp caught in her throat as the door opened suddenly. A man filled the doorway. He was tall and heavily muscled, his hair so blond it looked bleached. He wore an expression of mild amusement.

“You’re awake again, huh?”

Celine stared up at the man from the floor. “Where am I?”

The man gave only a sneer in response.

“Who are you? Where are the rest of my friends? What the hell do you want from us?” Each question was delivered with an increasing intensity.

But in answer the big man reached down and clamped Celine’s arm in a vice-like grip, yanking her unceremoniously to her feet. His other hand closed around her throat. Dark spots whirled in her vision as the big man lifted her up. The arm that she wrestled with might as well be a steel girder. As she stared back at her captor, a vague sense of recognition flared inside her head. She’d seen this man before… but where? His hands all over her… inside her? Bile rose in her throat with the thought. No.

Before she could reach any definite recall, the man threw her back onto the floor. The air exploded from her lungs as she hit the ground.

“If you’re going be trouble you won’t last another day here.” He sounded European, the way he flattened his vowels.

Coughing and fighting the urge to vomit again, Celine sat up as best she could. Darts of pain assailed her.