Hard Times by C. Hallman

9

When I was eighteen, I had to get all my wisdom teeth taken out at once. It’s the only time I was put under general anesthesia. I remember the oddity of being put to sleep and then waking up the next instant, like no time at all had passed.

That is exactly how I feel right now.

I’m about to open my eyes when I hear Hunter and Ryker’s hushed voices on the other side of the room. I keep my eyes shut and concentrate on breathing evenly so they don’t suspect I’m awake yet.

“The longer we keep her here, the worse it’s going to get when it’s time to kill her. We need to end this, especially now with Derik going insane.”

“I don’t give a fuck what Derik wants. He better be glad he is still alive,” Ryker growls.

“Do you think I give two shits about Derik? I don’t. But we need him and I do care about the rest of us… you, me, Lincoln, Eli, and Delilah,” Hunter speaks softly. I store the name Delilah in the back of my mind for a later time. “We’re putting everyone at risk by keeping her alive. We both know we’re just elongating the inevitable.”

“Fine. Sunday.” Ryker sighs. “Give me to the end of the week, and I’ll do it Sunday night after she falls asleep.”

At once, I get the days in order. I’ve been here for one night. The transport happened yesterday–Wednesday, which means today is Thursday.

Three days… I’ve got three days left.

Until now, I thought I was okay with dying, but now that my life has a solid end date, I’m not sure anymore. I might have nothing to live for, but there are possibilities of the future.

I haven’t let myself dream of a happy and fulfilled life often, but a few times I imagined having a family of my own. Imagined building a new life.

Most important, I have unfinished business. The reason I wanted to become a cop in the first place. I swore to find him, make him pay, but I won’t be able to do that when I’m dead.

The profound urge to break free from this prison surges through me. A newfound vigor.

I need to find a way out of this, so I can finish what I’ve started.

I need to stay alive.

I need to fight.

The room quiets for a long time, and I almost fall back to sleep when the bed dips. My eyes flutter open and I’m greeted by Ryker’s handsome face.

“Hey, Sugar. How are you feeling?”

“Um…” I do a mental check of my body before I look at my hands. Both wrists are bandaged and my left hand is wrapped in a brace. My ring finger sticks out straight with a splint on either side. “Fine, I guess.”

The pain is minimal, probably due to whatever drug they’ve given me. I glance up to find Hunter has left the room. I didn’t even hear him leave. Maybe I dozed off again after all.

“I’m going to help you sit up so you can get something to eat.” Ryker slides an arm under my back and lifts me. The movement clarifies that more than my hand is battered. I groan in pain.

As I stretch my legs out, I notice a weird sensation between my thighs as well. Wetness clings to my skin and for a moment I think I’m on my period. I reach between my legs with my uninjured hand, but Ryker blocks me.

“It’s just ointment,” he explains. “Derick scratched you.”

“Oh,” I pull my hand back, forcing the image of Derick on top of me–violating me with his finger–from my mind. I replace it with Hunter and Ryker, tending to my unconscious self with care.

That should appall me, but knowing they tended to my injuries soothes me. Which is mind boggling since I know they’re planning on killing me in my sleep.

Everything they do is a contradiction, and everything I feel is a paradox. Even knowing that Ryker is planning on taking my life in three days to come, I feel safe with him at this moment. I feel taken care of in the most peculiar way.

There must be something fundamentally wrong with me.

Ryker places a pillow on my lap and sets a bowl of soup on top. He hands me a spoon and I eat. I’m glad it’s chicken noodle soup, because honestly, I don’t know if I could stomach anything else right now.

“Why did you want to become a cop so badly?” he asks when I’m halfway done with my soup.

I shrug. “It was dumb.”

“I still want to know,” he presses.

“I guess I wanted to help people who can’t help themselves. Put away bad people,” I explain. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth either.

“Bad people like me?” I glance over at him, finding a tiny smirk tucking on his lips.

“Yes… and worse. I used to think everything is black and white, good and bad.”

“Then you realized everything is gray?”

“No, there are definitely bad people in the world, pure evil. But I don’t think you are one of those people.”

“I think you might be wrong about that,” Ryker says, and I recall what I’ve read in his file. Based on the crimes he committed, I would have made him out to be pure evil. I know now that he is planning on killing me on Sunday, and yet, I still don’t find him evil. There is a light in him, deep inside, that shines through the cracks occasionally.

“I think good exists in you, even if you don’t see it yourself.”

“You’re naïve,” he tells me, but not in a demeaning or patronizing way. His voice is soft, as if he wants to make me understand why I’m wrong.

“Possibly.”

“Tell me about your life before you became a cop.” He is trying to change the subject, but that’s one conversation I don’t want to have.

“I don’t enjoy talking about my past.” I continue eating, keeping my eyes on the food in front of me.

Luckily, he takes the hint. “I get it. I don’t like the past either.”

“Do you have any family?” I ask, wanting to keep him talking for two reasons. One, the silence is uncomfortable. Two, the more we get to know each other, the more the connection grows, the higher the chance is that he won’t go through with killing me. Although that chance is still low knowing his history. He knew the men he tortured as well.

“My mom died of cancer a few years ago. I never met my dad, and my brother has been in prison since I was eighteen.”

“I’m sorry your mom died,” I say honestly, knowing the pain of losing a mother. “Why is your brother in prison?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’ve read your file, Ryker. Not much shocks me.”

“This might…” A shiver runs down my spine. He tortured two men to death. What the hell could his brother do that is worse? “He was part of a gang in our neighborhood. Some guy had stolen some money from them and they went to his place to get it back. The guy barricaded himself inside his house, so my brother set the backdoor on fire to smoke him out.”

Ryker pauses, as if he doesn’t want to finish the story. I wait patiently, not wanting to push him. After a few moments, he continues.

“The fire spread quickly. So quickly that the guy didn’t make it out, and neither did his pregnant girlfriend.”

My mouth opens in shock, and I draw in a shaky breath. Ryker was right. That is worse. All crime is terrible, but the ones involving women and children are the most heinous.

Every death is heartbreaking, but none as much as a life taken before it lived. Ryker must be reading my facial expression.

“I told you it was worse.” I don’t disagree with him this time. He takes the bowl from my lap and sets it on the nightstand. “Hunter has a bathtub in his bathroom. I thought you might like to soak in it tonight.”

“Tonight? Isn’t it nighttime right now?” Between taking those drugs and not having access to sunlight, my inner clock is completely out of whack.

“It’s only noon.”

“But I went to sleep around noon.”

“Yes, yesterday. You’ve slept almost twenty-four hours.”

Shit, shit, shit!

I slept a fucking day away. That means today is Friday and I’m supposed to die in two days. That only leaves me forty-eight hours to find a way out of here.

“A bath sounds wonderful.” I force a smile, trying to hide my dismay about the timeline being moved up. “So, what are we are doing the rest of the day?” I ask casually.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?”

“A walk?” I echo nervously. “Yeah, why not…”

Unless take a walk is code for killing me?