Page 13 of Quiet Rage (Wicked Falls Elite #5)

It all happens so fast. I don’t know who’s doing it at first—there’s nothing but arms and hands grabbing me, shoving me backward, forcing me into a corner while laughter echoes until it’s louder than the sudden pounding of my heart.

“What the fuck is this?” I shout, which only gets them laughing louder.

Tiana’s friends. I should’ve known.

What I didn’t know, what I couldn’t have known, is what they plan on doing to me.

They’re like vultures picking at me, tearing off my clothes while I fight.

Yanking my leggings down to my ankles, tugging at my T-shirt while I try and fail to slap their hands away.

One of them groans when I drive an elbow into her ribs, but all that gets me is the rest of them working harder and faster than ever.

I don’t know what to do or how to fight, overwhelmed and way outnumbered.

Tiana moves past us, giggling, poking her head out into the hall.

“Okay, now!” she whispers, waving us on.

One of the girls grabs me from behind and clamps a hand over my mouth while the others pull me along by my wrists.

They have me down to my bra and panties, without my backpack, without my phone.

I’m not even wearing my shoes as they pull me from the bathroom, then across the hall where a door sits open.

It doesn’t matter what I try to do. I plant my feet, twist, and writhe, but it’s no use. It all happens so fast. I barely have a chance to fight before they throw me into a dark closet hard enough that I stumble across it and end up landing against a row of metal shelves against the opposite wall.

By the time I catch my balance, the door slams shut.

But it’s the click of a lock that turns my blood to ice.

“No!” I shriek, throwing myself against the door, pounding it with both fists. “This is enough! Let me out of here! Are you fucking insane?”

“Have a nice weekend,” somebody calls out. It’s Tiana. It has to be. Nobody could sound that joyful at a time like this but her.

A nice weekend? Something heavy squeezes inside my chest and makes it almost impossible to draw a breath when I realize what she means. They’re going to leave me here. They plan on leaving me here all weekend.

Sheer terror rises like a tidal wave, rushing out all at once in a primal scream. “Help me! Please, somebody!” Pounding on the door with both fists, I scream as loud as I can. “Please! Let me out!”

They can’t keep me in here. Not for that long.

“Let me out! I don’t know what this is supposed to be, but I won’t tell anybody,” I shout with my mouth close to the door so they can hear me if they’re standing out there.

They probably are, too. For all I know, they are recording my screams to listen to and laugh at later.

To hell with my pride. “I swear, I won’t!

Nobody will know. Just please, let me out now! ”

Nothing. That’s what I get in return.

Pressing my ear to the door, I close my eyes and listen hard for anything. Giggling, snorting, footsteps.

They can’t.

They wouldn’t.

Dropping to my knees, I lower my head until my ear almost touches the floor, so I can peer out through the inch or so of space between the door and the cold, dirty floor. From here, the hallway looks empty. I don’t hear any footsteps out there. No echoes of voices. Just silence.

“Help me!” Who am I talking to? There’s nobody to hear. It seems like everybody rushed out, the way I was trying to.

The cold, hard truth is in front of me. I can’t escape it no matter how my brain tries. Nobody knows I’m here.

Panic even more intense than what was already tearing through me forces me to my feet, so I can try the handle again and again. So I can throw myself against the door until my shoulder screams almost as loudly as I do.

I have to get out. I have to. I’ll die here if I don’t.

It’s only Friday afternoon—I can’t wait until Monday!

I’ll never make it. I’m already freezing, shaking, choking on my sobs while the strength leaves my body.

“Please,” I whimper, touching my forehead to the door, tears flowing down my cheeks. What did I do to deserve this? What have I ever done?

It’s dark, so dark. My eyes are starting to adjust, though, thanks partly to that gap between floor and door. I can barely make out a wheeled bucket, shelves of supplies. Sliding my hands along the wall helps me find a light switch, which I gratefully flip. Nothing.

A choked sob tears its way from my scratchy, sore throat, but I keep flipping the switch up and down anyway, like that will do anything. For all I know, they took the lightbulb out to make sure I wouldn’t have even an overhead light to help me cling to sanity.

“Why?”

The last of my strength leaves me all at once, and I slide down the door until I’m on the floor, shivering, with nothing to keep me warm but the arms I wrap around my knees.

I can barely breathe. Each breath I manage to pull in is shakier than the one before, panic threatening to sink its claws in deep.

I could die here. Don’t they understand that? I could die, cold and hungry and thirsty. All alone, with nobody to know or even care. And they’ll go on with their lives, and it won’t be long until I’m forgotten. Just another casualty, chewed up and spat out by a bunch of soulless people.

I would tell myself not to let it break me down, to fight, to find a way… But I don’t think there is a way, and if there was, I don’t think I’m strong enough anymore to hold on.

What is there to hold onto?

There’s no hope left. Not while I’m shaking with cold and wishing harder than I ever have that I had never been born.

When my eyes start to close, I let them. Sleep has to be better than the torture of being awake. Maybe I’ll get lucky and die in my sleep.

But who am I kidding? I’ve never been lucky a day in my life. Why would I start now?