When I came too, I felt a pain in my neck and upper back. I couldn't move my feet much, and my arms felt unnaturally held back. When I tried to move them, my wrists rubbed up against the coiled rope. Before my eyes fully focused, someone slapped me.
Teeth clenched, I glared at Alonso, trying to bury the raw, stinging ache on my cheek behind defiant anger.
"There's mi diablillo," Alonso said. "I was tired of waiting."
"Where's Clint?" I asked, fighting to keep my voice steady.