Hard Times by C. Hallman

2

Time moves differently when you are somewhere you’d rather not be. We’ve been on the road for two hours, but it feels like two years.

Jeff has already gone through his stash of junk food, which I’m more than glad about. He made a point of chewing with his mouth open, spitting food all over the dash every time he made a dirty joke or an inappropriate comment.

“You know you can get more comfortable, Annie. Relax, lean back your seat a bit and take your uniform blouse off. I don’t mind.” Jeff winks and I suppress the urge to gag.

“I’m good,” I murmur, looking out the window. My back is ramrod straight, barely touching the seat. I’m hyperaware of the men sitting behind me. Men who are criminals. Men who have killed. “Relaxing is the furthest thing from my mind.”

“Suit yourself.” Jeff shrugs. “I guess you like that stick up your ass. Or did you forget to take the butt plug out last night?” He laughs like he just told the funniest joke of the year. Without looking over at him, I know his fat gut is shaking. Fucking creep.

From the side-view mirror, I catch Hunter looking at my reflection. I almost expect him to be laughing it up too, or at least grinning. He does neither. He actually stares at me with kindness in his gaze, almost compassionate. I must be imagining things.

Men like him are not capable of compassion. All they care about is themselves. Their needs.

The trees buzz by us, and I keep my eyes at the window, pretending I’m not here. My bubble of imagination bursts when Jeff switches lanes and takes the exit.

“Where are you going? This is not the way.”

“Calm your tits. Just stopping to take a piss.”

“We’re not supposed to make stops.”

“God, Annie, stop being such a fucking stickler. I just got to take a piss,” Jeff grumbles as he pulls into the rest area parking lot.

As soon as the car is in park, I rip the door open and bolt out. Fuck, I’m so angry. I slam the door shut and glare at Jeff as he gets out with a grin plastered all over his face.

“I’m going to report this,” I tell him, but his smirk just widens.

“You do what you got to do, rookie.” He closes his door and locks the car. “I’ll be back.”

“Unlock the damn car! You didn’t even leave the window open.” It’s over 100 degrees and with the car turned off and windows closed, it’s going to be a sauna in there within minutes.

“They’ll be fine,” Jeff yells before disappearing into the building.

Closing my eyes, I lean against the side of the car and rein in my anger. When I open my eyes a few moments later, I peer into the backseat.

Both Ryker and Hunter are already red in the face. Sweat drips from their foreheads. I know I don’t owe them an apology, but I mouth the word sorry anyway.

Ryker winks at me, while Hunter gives me a tiny smile as if he is trying to tell me it’s okay.

Jeff of course takes his sweet time, returning more than ten minutes later, walking like he has all the time in the world. Fake smiling at me, he unlocks the car. I rip both the back and the front door open, letting the guys breathe in fresh air until Jeff brings himself to turn on the engine.

I’m still livid when I get back into the car. This fucking asshole has nerves. “You do what you got to do, rookie.” His words ring in my ear. I don’t care how many years of experience he has on me. I’ll report his ass.

“After we drop the inmates off, you wanna get some dinner on the way back?” Jeff asks. His casual tone implies the last thirty minutes didn’t happen at all. Is he delusional?

“I’d rather take the bus home,” I say, making Hunter chuckle in the back.

“I don’t think she likes you, pig,” Ryker says.

“What did you call me?” Jeff growls.

“A pig. A nasty, fat, fucking pig,” Ryker says, annunciating every word so there is no doubt what he means.

Jeff turns bright red, and a vein pops out of his forehead.

“I’ll beat the shit out of you when we get there.” His hands white knuckle the steering wheel. “You’ll regret ever opening that mouth of yours, you crazy sick fuck.”

“We’ll see.” Ryker laughs, seemingly not worried at all.

Jesus, I can’t wait for this day to end.

The car falls into an uncomfortable silence. Not that it was comfortable before.

Other than the low rumble of the engine, the only sound filling the cab is the occasional rattling of chains every time one of the guys moves.

The road is pretty empty now, so when I see two black SUVs approaching in the mirror, my alarm bell goes off.

“What the fuck–” Jeff doesn’t even get to finish before Ryker and Hunter move with lightning speed and precision. I don’t know how they got out of their cuffs, but they did.

The last thing I see is the light reflecting on the chain Ryker wraps around Jeff’s throat. Then two powerful arms grab me from behind. One wraps around my neck, the other around my face. Hunter pulls me back, trapping me to the seat with my cheek pressed against the headrest.

I claw at his arms, trying to get him away from me, but his iron grip never loosens.

The crash that follows is so loud, I fear my eardrums burst. Metal bends, tires squeal, glass breaks, and a loud scream fills my ears. Only when I feel the burn in my throat, do I realize the scream is mine.

The car jerks around violently, spinning us over the road, before crashing into what I assume is the guardrail.

If Hunter wasn’t holding my head so tight, I’m sure my skull would have cracked the windshield by now.

We finally skid to a halt, and I’m now clawing into Hunter’s arm for dear life instead of trying to push him away.

For a moment, my mind goes black. Absolutely blank. I don’t move. I don’t think. With my eyes closed and the arms still slung around my face and neck, I stay in the darkness.

It’s the out of place gurgling sound that slingshots me back into reality.

Jeff, Ryker, Hunter, accident…

Shit, Ryker is killing Jeff.

As soon as I struggle against Hunters hold, he tightens his grip.

“Relax,” he whispers into my ear. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Fine?I’m not fine. I’m the furthest away from fine. Anger at his words clears my mind enough to remember the gun in the glove box.

Disoriented, I release his arms and reach ahead of me, trying to find the latch to unlock the compartment. Blindly I feel along the glove box, when both front doors open. Humid air from the outside blows into the car, and I sense and hear people move around us. Instinctively, I pull my arms back and grip Hunter’s forearm.

The sound of gunfire is deafening.

One shot.

Then a second.