Page 22 of His Fury

But he was dangerous.

If I’d doubted it before, I knew it for sure tonight. The way he had looked in that warehouse. That look in his eyes as he spoke to the man who took me. The calm, measured way he conducted himself. He’d looked at me as if I were a stranger.

Indifferent.

But I knew better. And what scared me the most was how easily he could hide his emotions.

Even out in his apartment just now, he had looked at me with a sense of…certainty. The quiet promise that I would be back in his arms.

I hated that he thought that.

I hated it more that he was right.

My fingers trembled as I turned on the water, and thick, heavy steam curled around me. I stripped quickly, stepping under the spray, and let the scalding heat burn away everything I wanted to feel.

But it wasn’t enough.

Nothing was enough.

As the water ran over me, I pressed my hands against the tile, my head dropping forward as a shuddering breath ripped through me.

And then—finally—I let go.

The first tear slipped down my cheek, then another, and another. Until the dam broke, and I gasped for air, my body shaking under the weight of it all. It was too much—this entire day, especially the last twelve hours. The terror ofbeing taken, my anger toward Julian. Knowing that the only person I wanted to see when it was over was the same man I had walked away from weeks ago.

I remembered the panic that I was alone, that no one knew where I was. My hands stung where the hot water ran over them, cleansing them of blood.

Not all of the blood was mine.

I remembered the bloodstained walls. More tears fell as my body shook from the weight of my terror and tears.

Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me tight into a warm embrace. Asafeembrace. Part of me registered that Zayn was still dressed, but that didn’t matter as I let him pick me up and cradle me in his arms.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Zayn murmured as I cried into his chest. “Let me help you.” Zayn tried to put distance between us, reaching for something, but my whimper and fingers desperately clutching at him made him hesitate. “Okay, that’s enough for the shower tonight,” he told me, turning it off and carrying me out.

I was bundled in a soft towel and then carried to his bed. Gently, he placed me on the covers, ignoring my effort to get my wet hair off the pillow.

My eyes were tightly screwed shut. I didn’t want to look at him. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes as he saw me break. I felt his hand run over my wet hair.

“You’re okay, Is,” he told me. “You’re safe. Get some rest.”

I felt him move away, and my hand darted out, grabbing his wet clothing. “Stay with me.”

I didn’t look up. I didn’t open my eyes. I hated being weak and vulnerable.

Nothing was said, and then I felt him carefully break my hold. Despair rose in me again, and I felt the tears well. Then, I heard movement. It sounded like clothes were being takenoff. The bed dipped, and I was being pulled back into his chest. He pressed a kiss to the back of my head, his strong arms encircling me.

“I’m here.”

Two simple words broke me. Tears fell freely, and I turned in his arms, clinging to him as I cried out my fear. He held me through it all, and he never spoke. He never asked questions; he just let me cry until, eventually, I wore myself out, and I lay in the dark, exhausted, secure in his arms.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but the slow and measured breathing of his body, along with his grip that had loosened slightly, told me he was asleep. The room was dark. I might have zoned out, or maybe I’d also been asleep, but I no longer knew. All I knew was that in his arms, I felt safe even though I was aware on so many levels that this was wrong for us.

For me.

Despite all that, I snuggled in deeper. I could ignore the voice in my head as much as I wanted because the truth was Zayn made me feel protected, and tonight, I needed that.

The irony.

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