Die Trying by Lee Child

out of range. His bright eyes traveled up from the handcuff on

Reacher’s wrist, along the chain, and rested on the iron ring in the

wall. Then he smiled.

“You watch if you want to,” he said. “I don’t mind an audience. And

you might learn something.”

Holly stirred and woke up. Raised her head and glanced around,

blinking in the dark.

“What’s going on?” she said.

The driver turned to her. Reacher couldn’t see his face. It was

turned away. But he could see Holly’s.

“We’re going to have us a little fun, bitch,” the driver said. “Just

you and me, with your asshole friend here watching and learning.”

He put his hands down to his waist and unbuckled his belt. Holly

stared at him. Started to sit up.

“Got to be joking,” she said. “You come near me, I’ll kill you.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” the driver said. “Now would you? After I gave

you a mattress and all? Just so we could be comfortable while we’re

doing it?”

Reacher stood up in his stall. His chain clanked loudly in the silent

night.

“I’ll kill you,” he called. “You touch her, you’re a dead man.”

He said it once, and then he said it again. But it was like the guy

wasn’t hearing him. Like he was deaf. Reacher was hit with a clang of

fear. If the guy wasn’t going to listen to him, there was nothing he

could do. He shook his chain. It rattled loudly through the silence

of the night. It had no effect. The guy was just ignoring him.

“You come near me, I’ll kill you,” Holly said again.

Her leg was slowing her down. She was trapped in an awkward struggle

to stand up. The driver darted into her stall. Raised his foot and

stamped it down on her knee. She screamed in agony and collapsed and

curled into a ball.

“You do what I tell you, bitch,” the driver said. “Exactly what I tell

you, or you’ll never walk again.”

Holly’s scream died into a sob. The driver pulled his foot back and

carefully kicked her knee like he was aiming for a field goal right at

the end of the last quarter. She screamed again.

“You’re a dead man,” Reacher yelled.

The driver turned round and faced him. Smiled a wide smile.

“You keep your mouth tight shut,” he said. “One more squeak out of

you, it’ll be harder on the bitch, OK?”

The ends of his belt were hanging down. He balled his fists and

propped them on his hips. His big vivid face was glowing. His hair

was bushed up like he’d just washed it and combed it back. He turned

his head and spoke to Holly over his shoulder.

“You wearing anything under that suit?” he asked her.

Holly didn’t speak. Silence in the barn. The guy turned to face her.

Reacher saw her tracking his movements.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he said. “You want another kick?”

She didn’t reply. She was breathing hard. Fighting the pain. The

driver unzipped his pants. The sound of the zip was loud. It fought

with the rasping of three people breathing hard.

“You see this?” he asked. “You know what this is?”

“Sort of,” Holly muttered. “It looks a little like a penis, only

smaller.”

He stared at her, blankly. Then he bellowed in rage and rushed into

her stall, swinging his foot. Holly dodged away. His short wide leg

swung and connected with nothing. He staggered off-balance. Holly’s

eyes narrowed in a gleam of triumph. She dodged back and smashed her

elbow into his stomach. She did it right. Used his own momentum

against him, used all her weight like she wanted to punch his spine

right out through his back. Caught him with a solid blow. The guy

gasped and spun away.

Reacher whooped in admiration. And relief. He thought: couldn’t have

done it better myself, kid. The guy was heaving. Reacher saw his

face, crumpled in pain. Holly was snarling in triumph. She scrambled

on one knee after him. Going for his groin. Reacher willed her on.

She launched herself at him. The guy turned and took it on the thigh.

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