Consciousness returned like a faulty elevator, lurching and unpleasant.My first sensation wasn’t sight or sound, but smell.A thick, cloying, nauseating stench of petrol that saturated the air, my clothes, my skin, my hair. It was in my nostrils, my throat, a toxic perfume that promised nothing good.My head throbbed in protest, and a sharp, specific pain pulsed at the base of my neck.I frowned, forcing my eyes open against the gloom.I was sitting on something soft, my wrists and ankles bound tightly with what felt like industrial-grade tape.As my vision adjusted, familiar shapes emerged from the darkness. The huge expanse of the front window, the specific angle of the sofa, the placement of the doorway. A cold, sickening recognition dawned.This was the house I’d shared with Cary.I’d lived here for three years. I knew the creak of every floorboard, the stubborn lock on the patio door.Could it be Cary who’d orchestrated this?But the man who’d grabbed me in the car park didn’t mo
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