Ryker threw open a white steel door. I tightened the belt on my robe as my eyes scanned the room. No window. White walls. Narrow bed. White coverlet. White linens. Painted white concrete floors. I always liked the perceived elegance and simplicity of white, but right then I promised myself a life full of color when I escaped. Not if, but when, because there wasn’t an alternative. I refused to die at the age of twenty-four in the middle of nowhere before I had the opportunity to do anything with my life. And when I got my life back, I wouldn’t cave to my parents’ demands or expectations…ever. “It’s like my private padded cell minus the padding,” I mumbled under my breath. If he heard me, he didn’t care. “Most of the items from your suitcase are on the shelves in the closet.” His arm waved in the direction of the door at the far end of the room. “Most?” I questioned, brushing my damp hair behind my ears.
