Chev Chelios woke up to a pounding headache and a pounding truth. A DVD sat on his coffee table, marked in black ink: “Play Me.” He hit play, and the smirking face of Ricky Verona filled the screen.

“Morning, Chelios,” Verona sneered. “You’ve been injected with the Beijing Cocktail. If your heart stops pumping adrenaline, you’re dead. Tick-tock.”

The screen cut to black, and Chev’s chest tightened—not from fear, but from the drug taking hold. His pulse quickened. His instincts kicked in.

He grabbed his leather jacket and stormed out the door. If the clock was ticking, he wasn’t wasting a second.