He was lying on something cold and uncomfortable – hard like cement – but his brain wasn’t functioning well enough to realize it was cause for concern. In fact, it wasn’t until Micah tried to move – to stretch his arms, to scratch a persistent itch on his nose – that he realized his shoulders were on fire.

Not literally.

They’d just been forced at such an uncomfortable angle that his muscles were all but screaming at him to move. But he couldn’t. Because his arms were tied behind his back with something coarse – a rope, his brain dazedly suggested – that was also connected to his ankles. Much like his wrists, they were tied behind his back, his thigh muscles sore as he was forced to keep such an unnatural position.

It took him longer than it should have to comprehend the fact he’d been hogtied.

The realization was finally enough to power on his brain.

Micah felt his pulse increase immediately, tendrils of terror latching onto him and threatening to drag him down into a panic attack. But Micah forced the feeling away, along with the impulse to open his eyes.

There was no point in letting whoever had done this to him know he was awake.

Instead, Micah focused on keeping his breathing even as he fought to remember how he’d gotten here – wherever “here” was.

He remembered dropping Damon’s clothes off at a men’s shelter and wandering into El Taco Rosa in a pathetic attempt to feel closer to Damon, only to immediately regret it when he’d been accosted by Adella.

He’d run away like an idiot and ended up at a bar – Artie’s Pub – and in yet another poor decision in a long line of them, he’d decided to get drunk. He hadn’t gotten completely plastered – not like the time he’d attempted to suck Damon off through his pants – but enough that his senses had been dulled and that he’d grown careless. Leaving himself vulnerable to deranged kidnappers that enjoyed wearing old lady sweaters.

Micah remembered Ren – if that was even his real name – and how he’d tricked him into wandering into a dark alley, and felt like an absolute dunce.

Micah couldn’t hear anything to give away the fact he wasn’t alone over his carefully controlled breathing, and knowing he needed more information – like where he was, or a clue as to why he’d been taken – he opened his eyes.

He was right. The floor was cement.