Page 47 of Fear

She stared directly into the lens, and then…she flipped it off. Not subtle. Not delicate. Just her middle finger, raised with purpose and hate. “Watch this,” she muttered.

Then she tore the chair away and slammed it into the wall. The echo was deafening in the metal room, but she didn’t care. She slammed it again. And again.

Something cracked—not the wall, but one of the chair’s legs. It bent, weak now—but sharp. That would do.

She pulled the broken piece free and shoved it under the mattress. Just in case. If they came back in, she might not win. But she wasn’t going quietly.

Hours passed, she didn’t know how many. Her stomach growled. Her throat was dry. There was no water, no food—nothing except silence. Silence that clawed at her like fingers on a coffin lid.

She lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, holding the jagged metal shard in one hand, tucked along her ribs.

Goliath. Where was he? Was he looking? Did he even know she was still alive? Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She focused instead on that pull—that thread in her chest that hadn’t snapped yet. That bond.

Sometimes, she swore she could feel it. Like a faint whisper against her skin. A pulse in her veins that didn’t belong to her. Come for me, she thought. Please, Goliath… come for me.

They were soft. Deliberate. And they stopped right outside her door.

Sofia sprang to her feet, pressing back against the wall beside the frame, the metal shard in her hand. The locks turned, she gripped the weapon tighter. Her heart thundered.

This was it. Either they were moving her again— Or this was her one chance to fight. The final lock clunked, and the heavy steel door creaked open. Sofia didn’t breathe.

She pressed flat against the wall, the jagged chair leg clenched in her bruised hand, every muscle tight with adrenaline. A shadow moved into the room. One man. Tall. Broad. Armed.

Not Jason. Not one of the thugs from the SUV. This guy was younger, cleaner, trying to look professional in a jacket too tight across his shoulders, like he hadn’t expected guard duty to involve dragging bleeding women into cages.

He took two steps in and reached behind the door to pull a tray of food inside. His gun was slung lazily at his hip, a mistake he didn’t even know he was making.

Sofia didn’t hesitate, she moved, fast, silent. Every ounce of pain in her body drowned by the blinding need to survive. She swung the broken chair leg hard—jagged metal catching him across the back of the neck.

He dropped the tray with a curse, staggering forward as it clattered to the floor, soup and bread flying everywhere.

He whirled around, hand going for his weapon…Too late. Sofia slammed into him, driving the metal into his side with everything she had. He screamed as they both went down. The impact knocked the wind out of her, but she didn’t let go. She rolled, scrambled over him, reaching for the gun at his waist.

His fist caught her jaw hard, her head snapped to the side, the room spinning. She tasted blood again, but she didn’t stop as she bit him. Her teeth sank into his forearm as he reached for the gun. He howled in rage, and she used the moment to yank the weapon free.

She stumbled back, gun shaking in her hands, breathing hard. “Don’t move.” He froze, clutching his bleeding side. Her voice was shaking. Her aim wasn’t. “On your knees.” The man hesitated, then slowly sank down.

Her pulse was a drumbeat in her ears. Every inch of her was shaking…from pain, from fear, from the overwhelming realization that she had just fought a man with a fucking weapon and won.

But she didn’t have time to celebrate. She needed to get out. Now. She backed toward the door, keeping the gun on him, her knuckles white on the grip.

"If anyone else is outside," she said, voice low and deadly, "you better pray they don’t try to stop me."

She slipped out, kicking the door shut behind her. The hallway was empty. for now. She looked around desperately before she ran.

Sofia sprinted down the corridor, bare feet slapping against the cold concrete floor, the stolen gun clenched tight in her trembling hands. Her breath came in gasps, ribs screaming with each inhale, but she pushed through the pain. No time to feel it, no time to think, just move.

She turned the first corner and found another hallway, longer, dimly lit. Doors on either side. No windows. She kept running until a green exit sign glowed at the end like a promise.

She surged toward it, heart pounding like a war drum. Somewhere behind her, shouting echoed, distant but closing in. She didn’t look back. If she looked back, she’d slow down. If she slowed down, she’d die.

The emergency exit door was heavier than it looked, rusted at the hinges. She slammed her shoulder into it…once, twice…untilit groaned and gave way. Cold air hit her like a slap. Trees. She was at the edge of the forest. The compound behind her was mostly hidden now, tucked behind hills and fencing.

Sofia stumbled into the woods, branches clawing at her arms and face, feet slipping on pine needles and rocks, she kept going. Just a little farther. Just a few more steps and maybe, maybe she’d be close enough for someone to find her. For him to find her.

She made it twenty feet. Thirty. Then—

"There! She's out!" The voice came from the treeline.

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