Page 2 of His Fury

What had Zayn done, and how did it involve me?

The unspoken question tightened my throat, suffocating, pressing against my ribs with every breath. I was in over my head. And I had no idea how I was going to get out of this.

The car sped through Gracemont, shadows twisting outside the tinted windows. My wrists ached where rough hands had grabbed them, and my nails bit half-moon imprints into my palms as I held my hands in fists at my sides.

The men didn’t speak, and I was too scared to utter a word. The silence was oppressive—punctuated only by the rumble of the engine and my own shallow breaths. The driver’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror once, twice, as if to check I wasn’t about to do anything stupid.

I hadn’t even made it far when I ran, but what did he think I was going to do? Lunge myself out of a moving vehicle? As if I would even get that far.

It was completely ludicrous, but that didn’t stop me eyeing the door handle and wondering if I could make it….

“I wouldn’t.”

I met his cool stare in the rearview mirror and said nothing. I didn’t confirm or deny, and I saw the gleam in his eye, which told me that my silence told him everything.

I forced my breathing steady, pressing my back into the leather seat, my jaw clenched tight enough to hurt. Panicking would do nothing but fuel their satisfaction.

Stay calm. Breathe.Think.

They hadn’t tied my hands or blindfolded me. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Hope flickered for a moment and then fizzled out. They hadn’t tied me because they weren’t worried about me getting away.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let these bastards see me cry.

I focused on the driver’s side profile. From the stares in the rearview mirror, I knew he had cold blue eyes. Shifting slightly in my seat, I turned to face him better. He had a scar on his jaw, and the flesh was puckered, which meant it was either old or larger than I could see. I repeated the few characteristics I could see, light-blond hair, blue eyes, and a scar; he was so stereotypically a bad guy that I was sure the police sketch artist would draw him better than I could describe if I made it out of this.WhenI made it out of this.

The car turned sharply, the wheels squealed in protest, and I was thrown against the door with a muffled gasp. My shoulder throbbed, but I bit down on the pain, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing my discomfort or my panic.

I glanced outside at the street, and while the landmarks were familiar, it was not an area I visited often. Abandoned warehouses with chain-link fences topped with barbed wire came into view. My heart rate picked up until I was sure I was having palpitations. This was not the kind of place you came to at night if you valued your life.

“We’ve got her.”

I turned my attention back to the driver as he spoke into his phone, his voice low and gravel rough. “Yeah, ten minutes. Is he waiting?”

He?He?Who the fuck washe?

My heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest. Was it… Could it be? Zayn was many things—reckless, ruthless, a liar when it suited him—but he wouldn’t do this to me. Would he?

No.

Never.

Except…who else would wantme? Had Zayn done something that taking me was the only option? God, it sounded so preposterous.

It might sound it, but it didn’t stop the fear inside me, uncoiling, hot and raw, and burning my insides, threatening to claw its way up my throat. I stared at my reflection in the window, with wide eyes and parted lips I looked like someone ready to pass out. I needed to be stronger.

The car slowed, engine growling low as it pulled through a gated entrance, and I was sure I was going to be sick. As the gate slid shut behind us with a hollow clang, I knew there was no way out. I was sealed inside with three men and had no clue what was waiting for me.

The car came to a stop. The warehouse looked abandoned, the windows dark and empty looking, and metal panels stained with rust added to the abandoned appearance. The guy in the passenger seat twisted to look at me, his smirk cruel. “Be smart,” he warned, his voice harsh. “Don’t scream. Don’t run. We don’t want this to get…unpleasant.”

“Because it’s been so charming up until now,” I snapped. Despite the tremor beneath, I glared at him, forcing ice into my tone. “Lead the way.”

The guy in the back with me pulled me out, his hands rough but not cruel, and he guided me across cracked asphalt toward the warehouse. The door creaked open, and every horror movie I had ever seen flashed across my mind’s eye.

This was not going to be good.

Inside, dim lights shone over hundreds of piled-high boxes. The men led me through them like it was theirpersonal maze until we had the boxes behind us. As we got deeper into the warehouse, the lights buzzed brighter, casting eerie shadows over crates and stacks of wooden pallets.

The air was cold, tinged with old oil and rusted metal.

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