Page 46 of Fear

But what if he wasn’t? What if he never found this new place? What if Jason killed her before Goliath ever got the chance to hold her again? Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.

She wouldn’t cry in front of him. She wouldn’t give him that. But the weight of the unknown—the terror clawing at her chest—was unbearable.

In the back of the SUV, Jason leaned in, his breath too close.

“You think he’s coming, don’t you?” he murmured. “This… biker boyfriend of yours.” Her jaw tightened as she didn’t answer.

“I’ve seen men like him,” Jason continued. “Brutish. Loud. Possessive.” His smile turned cold. “They burn hot, but they burn out. And when he realizes he can’t find you, when it’s been too long, he’ll move on. He’ll fuck someone else. You’ll be a memory.”

Sofia’s fingernails dug into her palms. She wanted to scream at him. You don’t know him, you don’t know Goliath. He was more than muscle and rage. He was hers. And if he was breathing, he was looking for her.

And if he found her—

God help anyone in his way.

The SUV bumped over a gravel road, the tires crunching beneath them as the trees outside grew thicker—denser. They were leaving the world behind, taking her somewhere even more isolated, and Sofia’s stomach twisted tighter with every turn.

Jason sat across from her, legs casually crossed, as if they weren’t dragging a woman to a hidden prison in the woods.

She watched him through her lashes, every inch of her screaming to memorize everything—the direction they were heading, the way the road curved, the smell of pine in the air. She didn't know if she’d get another chance to escape.

He caught her staring. Smiled like he already knew what she was thinking.

“Don’t bother,” he said, his voice smooth as venom. “You won’t find your way back out. No signal, no roads. Just trees and wolves.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Fitting, considering the company you’ve kept.”

Sofia stayed quiet, but her heart pounded so loud it was all she could hear. If he didn’t kill her, the silence might. But under thatsilence, under the fear, under the panic—there was fire. A flicker. A pulse. A tether that ran through her bones and beyond.

Goliath.

It was like a whisper against her skin, a warmth through the dark. She didn’t know how. Didn’t know why. But she could feel him. Somewhere far off, something inside her pulled taut, a thread straining in her chest. He was close, he had to be.

The SUV slowed as they reached a tall steel gate that stood like a scar in the middle of the woods. Cameras watched from the trees. Motion sensors blinked red against the brush. It wasn’t just a safehouse—it was a fortress. Jason leaned forward, his tone casual. “Welcome home.”

The gate opened, and the vehicle rolled through into a gravel courtyard surrounded by towering pines and reinforced fencing. A two-story cabin stood in the centre—beautiful, rustic... and built like a bunker.

They yanked her out of the SUV again. Sofia didn’t fight, but her legs felt like lead as they dragged her inside. There were no windows on the lower floor. Just stone, metal, and locks.

They brought her to a small, sterile room at the back. Steel walls, a cot, a bolted-down chair, and a camera in the corner.

She was shoved inside and then the door slammed shut behind her. The locks clicked. And just like that—she was alone again.

Sofia sat on the edge of the cot, her lip still split, her ribs bruised, her pride scraped raw. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fear began to bleed in around the edges. She dropped her head into her hands. What if he didn’t find her in time? What if Jason had planned this all too perfectly? What if the last face she ever saw was the one that smiled while hurting her?

“No,” she whispered it to the cold room. “No, he’s coming. I know he is.”

And if he didn’t? Then she’d find a way to fight, even if it meant dying on her feet. Because she wasn’t Jason’s. She never had been. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to die quietly, she wasn’t going to wait to die.

The moment the door clicked shut, Sofia's eyes scanned the room like a woman already planning her next move. The fear was there—tight in her throat, thick in her chest—but she shoved it down.

Fear kept people still. And still meant dead. She stood slowly, forcing her battered body to move, to cooperate. Her ribs screamed. Her lip throbbed. Her shoulder ached from where she’d been slammed against the SUV door—but she didn’t stop.

Every inch of this room was a trap. No windows. One camera. One door. She walked to the walls first running her fingers over the edges of the metal panels, checking for seams, weaknesses. There were none.

She moved to the camera next. It was high in the corner, fixed at an angle that caught the whole room. There was no blinking red light, no indicator, but she didn’t need one to know someone was watching, probably him.

Jason. That smug bastard with his suits and threats and fake charm. He was probably sitting somewhere sipping whiskey, watching her through the lens, waiting for her to cry or scream or crumble. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

She dragged the metal chair toward the corner, positioned it under the camera, and climbed up. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she steadied herself with one hand on the wall.

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