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“Hello?” It feels like talking to the void; there’s nothing around me, and my voice echoes.

Panic starts to settle in, replacing the previous symptoms, realisation washing over me like a tidal wave.

Luke.

He used Xander as a trap to lure me out.

Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

As usual, I fell for his lies. Xander won’t even know I’m missing until he returns.

I prop myself against a wall, my head banging against metal.

I’m inside a fucking container, wearing nothing but a pair of pants and an oversized t-shirt. In the middle of November.

A manic laugh bubbles out of me.

He won. He finally caught up to me. That life I was trying to escape caught up to me.

I slide down onto the cold floor, still berating myself for fooling myself into thinking there was ever a way out of this. I tremble with slowly rising rage.

No.

I can’t fucking give up now.

Not now that I’ve come this far.

I need to get out of here.

I need to get to Xander.

I shoot up on my feet again, pressing myself against the back wall of the container, facing where I think the door is. I sprint, throwing myself into it. I connect with the door and let out a grunt as I bounce off it and onto the floor, pain shooting through my side.

The door creaks open, and the red hue from early dawn floods inside—a tall, slender, dark figure stands in the middle of the door. He closes the door behind him, shrouding us in darkness. I grit my teeth, propping myself up on my arms into a seated position, breaths swishing in and out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Angel.” Luke’s voice stuffs the container.

My heart lurches into my mouth at the sound.

Not. Right. Now.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I spit.

“Oh,” he laughs, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Did the little doe finally find her feet?”

“She bites too,” I remark, my legs gearing up to pounce on him.

For once, I don’t allow myself to feel fear around him. Just years of pent-up anger and hurt and damage. My arms tense with the urge to scratch at him, punch him—do anything to get the fuck out of here.

He inches closer, squatting down in front of me. My lips quiver as I bite them into a tight line of rage, angry tears threatening to spill.

“It’s been a while, Chicken,” he deadpans.

I’m surprised at the lack of fear within me. This isn’t how I imagined coming face to face with my abuser—but I revel in it. I revel in the anger flowing through me, using it to fuel my impending fight.

“Enjoy it while you can.” I know it’s hard to see, but I grin at him all the same.