Page 80 of Fury
Car doors slam nearby, cutting off my question. Greyson is on his feet in an instant, pulling me up beside him. "Run," he orders, pushing me toward the trees that line the road. "Now!"
I stumble forward, but before I can reach the tree line, a figure steps out to block my path. The man from the SUV, his suit now dusty but his expression coldly professional.
"Olivia Bennett." His accent is vaguely Eastern European. "We've been looking for you."
Greyson lunges at him with a roar of fury, but a second man appears, swinging something that catches Greyson across the temple. He staggers, blood streaming down his face.
"Stop!" I scream as the first man grabs me, pinning my arms behind my back. "Don't hurt him!"
Greyson recovers, his eyes murderous as he charges again. This time he connects, his fist driving into the second man's solar plexus with enough force to lift him off his feet.
A brutal fight ensues, Greyson moving quickly despite his injuries. He's holding his own against both men when a third emerges from the SUV, this one pointing a gun directly at my head.
"Enough," the gunman says calmly. "Mr. Reed, please stop, or I will be forced to kill Ms. Bennett."
Greyson freezes mid-swing, his eyes finding mine with agonizing clarity. I can see the calculation in them, the desperate search for a way out that doesn't end with a bullet in my brain.
"What do you want?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet as he slowly raises his hands.
"Both of you," the man replies. "My employer has questions that only Ms. Bennett can answer. You are… insurance that she will cooperate."
"If you touch her—" Greyson begins, but the man presses the gun harder against my temple.
"Please, Mr. Reed. No threats. They are tedious and unnecessary." He gestures toward the SUV. "Shall we go? I promise we will make this as civilized as possible."
The other two men, now recovered, approach Greyson with zip ties. He allows them to bind his hands, his eyes never leaving mine, silently promising that this isn't over.
"I'm sorry," I whisper as they push us both toward the vehicle.
"Don't be," Greyson replies, his voice steady despite the blood dripping down his face. "We're going to get through this. Together."
As they force us into the back of the SUV, I catch a glimpse of our surroundings, desperately trying to memorize landmarks, anything that might help if we manage to escape. But the roads here are isolated, rarely traveled at night. By the time anyone finds Greyson's abandoned bike, we could be anywhere.
The man with the gun slides in beside us, keeping the weapon trained on me as the other two take the front seats. The engine starts, and we pull away from the scene of the crash.
"Where are you taking us?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Somewhere quiet," the gunman replies with a thin smile. "Somewhere we can have a long, detailed conversation about your friend Diane, the information she stole, and exactly what you know about it."
My blood turns to ice. "Diane? What have you done to her?"
His smile widens, revealing teeth too perfect to be real. "Ms. Mercer has been most… informative. But we have reason to believe she has not been entirely truthful. Perhaps you can help us separate fact from fiction."
Beside me, Greyson has gone utterly still, his expression unreadable. But I can feel the fury radiating from him, see the calculation in his eyes as he studies our captors, looking for weaknesses.
"My father will find us," I say, more confident than I feel. "And when he does?—"
"Please, Ms. Bennett," the man interrupts with a dismissive wave. "Spare me the threats about your motorcycle club. By the time they realize you're missing, our business will be concluded."
The SUV turns onto a dirt road, heading deeper into the forest that surrounds our small town. I exchange a glance with Greyson, trying to communicate without words. He gives me an almost imperceptible nod—a promise that he has a plan, that we'll find a way out of this.
As the trees close in around us, blocking out the moonlight and any hope of being seen from the main road, I cling to that promise like a lifeline. Because the alternative, that these men will do to us what they've clearly already done to Diane, is too terrifying to contemplate.
The SUV bounces over ruts and potholes, each jolt sending fresh pain through my bruised body. But I force myself to stay alert, to memorize every turn, every landmark we pass. If we get a chance to escape, I need to know which way leads back to civilization.
"Almost there," the driver announces, his voice oddly cheerful. "Mr. Volkov will be pleased we found you so quickly."
Volkov. The name means nothing to me, but I feel Greyson tense beside me at the mention of it. He knows something, something he hasn't shared with me.
