The Fear: The sensational new thriller from the Sunday Times bestseller that you need to read in 2018

‘It’s you.’

It’s not the tone of his voice that makes me scrabble to my feet, run out of the cage and slam the door shut. It’s the hate in his eyes.

I grab at the padlock, dangling from the catch, but I’m shaking so much I drop it. As I crouch down to pick it up, Mike presses his hand to the back of his head and rolls onto his side. He groans as he gets to his knees.

‘Lou! What the fuck are you doing, you stupid—’

He slams up against the door and tries to grab my hand through the bars but he’s too slow.

Click.

I squeeze the lock shut and jump away from the cage.

Mike grabs hold of the bars and shakes the door. All six cages rattle and shake and, for one horrible moment, I think the whole thing is going to tip over and pin me to the ground, but it holds firm. It must be bolted to the floor.

‘Open the fucking door!’ Mike shouts. He reaches a hand behind his head, then looks at his fingers. They’re slick with blood. There’s blood on one of the bricks in the pile in the corner too. He sees me looking and picks one up.

‘The police are going to have a field day with you,’ he says as he walks back to the door. ‘Assault and imprisonment. Five years is nothing compared to what you’re going to get.’ I inch to my left, preparing to run. He’s going to push the brick through the bars and try and smash the lock off.

But the brick won’t fit between the bars, no matter which way he turns it. The gap is too small.

‘Fuck’s sake!’ He takes two steps back, then hurls the brick at the door. It bounces straight off, narrowly missing his foot as it lands.

Mike launches himself at the door. SMASH! He drives his shoulder into the bars. The padlock swings back and forth, but it doesn’t open.

‘Open the fucking door!’ He grips the bars and shakes the cage. ‘Lou … Louise … what are you fucking doing? Just open the fucking door.’

I’m as far away from him as I can get, backed up against the barn wall, my hands pressed against the wood. Rough, spiky splinters scratch at my fingertips.

‘Lou, please.’ He softens his tone. ‘Just open the door. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. I promise,’ he holds up his hands, palms out, ‘I won’t lay a finger on you. I’ll just get back in my van and go home. Neither of us need ever mention this again.’

‘You’ll go to the police.’

‘I won’t. I swear. I know what it’s like inside. I wouldn’t put you through that.’

‘Yes you would.’ I’m surprised to hear myself laugh.

‘I really wouldn’t …’ he tails off as he looks me up and down. His eyes linger on my small breasts, then drift southwards. ‘You’ve changed.’