Page 4 of His Fury

You stupid bastard.

If I got out of this, I’d kill him myself.

But first, I had to escape.

The darkness was suffocating—thick and impenetrable, pressing in from all sides. I forced a breath through clenched teeth, my fingers trembling as they brushed against the cold concrete floor, searching for anything I could use. My nails scraped futilely against the smooth, empty ground, and the terror I’d been shoving down flared hotter.

There was nothing. No windows, no cracks of light beneath the door, and no sound beyond my own ragged breathing. They shoved me into a room meant to contain, to crush my hope and my spirit.

I finally managed to stand, my body vibrating with fear, my legs shaky. I stumbled through the darkness to the door. I hadn’t heard it lock. Had they been so sure there was nowhere to run that they left it open?

The door didn’t budge. I pushed against it harder. Nothing.

I was trapped in here. I bit down hard on my lip to stop the scream from escaping. The metallic tang of blood didn’t help ground me.

Think, Isla. You’re not dying here. You’re not.

CHAPTER 2

ISLA

I feltthe fight leave me.

My body slumped, and I threw one hand against the wall for balance before my legs completely gave out. The air was cold and stale, biting through the thin fabric of my pants and lightweight summer jacket. I forced my breathing to slow and even, measuring each inhale and exhale until the panic faded into a dull roar in the back of my mind.

I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear anything—voices, footsteps, a clue about where I was or how many of them were out there. But the silence stretched, thick and endless.

I stepped back, my chest heaving. My fingers itched to pull out my phone to call—who? Zayn? Or Julian? Searching my pockets, I couldn’t find my phone. On my hands and knees, I searched the floor, which came up empty. Rocking back on my heels, I remembered I sent the text to Julian, and then I turned around, and the guy was there.

And…I dropped my phone.

Fuck.

Who the hell was going to notice me missing? Julian? No.I’d told him that Zayn wasn’t there, so he would think I was at home. If he responded to my text the way we’d left it earlier, he wouldn’t be expecting a call. And he knew me better than to try to talk tonight without me telling him that he was an idiot. Again.

Zayn? He might send a follow-up text, but would he panic if I didn’t answer? No, I hadn’t texted him in weeks. God knows I’d wanted to, I missed him so much.

Not the time, Isla.

My parents? Another big fat zero. I rarely called them midweek.

I had absolutely no one who would notice I was gone—not until tomorrow morning when Gerard might wonder where his in-house event planner was. But even then, would he actually be concerned? Christ, with Gerard, I wondered if he would even notice. Never mind raising an alarm.

There was no one who would miss me.

Shut up. I gritted my teeth, forcing the surge of hysteria back. I’d been too busy trying to fight them off to think of it before, but my purse was gone. Had they taken it—or had I left it behind? If the latter, a small kernel of hope bloomed. Someone would see it in the street, wouldn’t they?

In my bag were my keys, my wallet, and even the small can of mace I carried—which had proven my dad right that I would never use it when I needed it—was gone. I had no phone. Right now, all that mattered was that every lifeline I needed was gone.

I let out a sob, my hands clamping over my mouth to stop any more from escaping as I blinked rapidly to clear the blur of tears. This wasn’t the time to fall apart or to rage, cry, and curse every decision that led me here.Later. I could fall apart later when I was out of this hellhole.

The only way out was through. Iwouldget through this.

The door was a bust, but this black room had to have something. My fingers skimmed the wall, searching for anything—a vent, a crack, something I could use. Rough concrete scraped my knuckles, and I hissed, pulling back. Determined to continue, I cautiously reached out again. I had a brief flare of hope when I felt the slick moisture. Water? Halfway to my mouth, my hand froze. Too thick and sticky for water.

The sickening realization of what else this could be staining the walls twisted my gut, and I fought down the nausea.

Was it blood? I was terrified to sniff it, both in case it was and in case it was something worse.

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