I jolted awake, coated in cold, dank sweat. Daylight sliced through the gaps between the broken blinds. A tight band gripped my forehead and my pounding heartbeat seemed to echo through the sparse, familiar-looking room.
A beat.
I adjusted to the wan light. I was tied to a chair, and I was n***d.
Sam Newley was staring at his reflection in the smudged mirror that hung above his dressing table, and really, he didn’t seem particularly pleased with what he saw. It was fair to say that Sam really hadn’t taken his tumble over the precipice into middle-age particularly well. He’d recently taken to wearing a blond toupee which was annoyingly ill-fitting, and far from convincing. His penchant for wearing red leather had become more than a tad overbearing, too. I could see that he was also getti
