Page 67 of Fury

My words shock me, and seemingly him, because he jerks back a little, and his eyes widen.

“I mean,” I say quickly, “will someone find it and think it was me?”

Another thought that has crossed my mind, over and over again. What if his body is found, and the police think I did it? With a little searching, could they link me to it and then assume I killed Ella, too? If that is the case, my life is over before it has begun. Not once have I thought about Ethan’s death with sadness. No, only relief. But that doesn’t take away the fear of being caught out.

“If your bikers give me my money, I assure you, nobody will ever find his body.”

“The police will think it was me regardless, when he goes missing.”

Marek grins, that same, cold, terrifying grin. “Trust me, nobody is going to come for you, unless, of course, you give me reason to ensure they do.”

That’s not going to happen.

Come on, Fury.

Please come for me.

14

They didn’t come for me.

It has been three days.

The pain consuming my heart and wrapping its angry fingers around my stomach are enough to send me over the edge.

It hurts.

More than I ever thought it would.

I haven’t been told anything.

Marek hasn’t come in for days.

We’ve been crammed in these cages, left with nothing. I’m hungry, thirsty, and scared. Ellie told me it’s strange for him not to come in, and that something must be wrong. Has he gone after the club? Did they come after him? Has something happened and we’ll be left here to die? The thought is beyond terrifying, and it scares me in a way that has me chilled to the very bone.

Some of the girls in here are crying out, pleading and begging, yelling all night to be let free. I don’t know if they’re new, or if they’re simply hungry and want someone to come in. Either way, it means there has been no rest. Not a single moment of it. I’m soaked from sweat, the lack of airflow in this tent making it hard to breathe. My stomach gave up rumbling yesterday, and I’m exhausted.

“Something is wrong,” Ellie whispers, scooting as close to the edge of her cage as she can, so she can see me.

Yesterday, she stretched her fingers through.

I stretched mine back and our fingertips grazed.

It was the only kind of connection I’ve had in days.

A slight comfort.

“We need to get out of here,” I say to her. “There has to be a way.”

“Believe me, there isn’t. I’ve tried.”

“We’ll die,” I whisper, my eyes narrowing in fear.

“Someone will come,” she murmurs, “they will.”

But what if they don’t?

Shuffling, I curl on the flattened piece of grass and close my eyes, praying for a moment of sleep. Strangely, it comes. I know it’s because my body is exhausted, and combined with the heat, I am unable to keep myself awake. My sleep is restless, though, and I wake covered in sweat. Moving, I groan, and my back aches, but it’s the sharp pain that shoots through my stomach that has me pausing, fear gripping my chest.

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