Die Trying by Lee Child

Holly had planned for that. It left his throat open to her elbow.

Reacher saw it. Holly saw it. She lined it up. The killing blow. A

vicious arcing curve. It was going to rip his head off. She swung it

in. Then her chain snapped tight and stopped her short. It clanked

hard against the iron ring and jerked her backward.

Reacher’s grin froze on his face. The guy staggered out of range.

Stooped and panted and caught his breath. Then he straightened up and

hitched his belt higher. Holly faced him, one-handed. Her chain was

tight against the wall, vibrating with the tension she had on it.

“I like a fighter,” the guy gasped. “Makes it more interesting for me.

But make sure you save yourself some energy for later. I don’t want

you just lying there.”

Holly glared at him, breathing hard. Crackling with aggression. But

she was one-handed. The guy stepped in again and she swung a stinging

punch. Fast and low. He crowded left and blocked it. She couldn’t

deliver the follow-up. Her other arm was pinned back. He raised his

foot and kicked for her stomach. She arched around it. He kicked out

again and stumbled straight into an elbow, hard against his ear. It

was the wrong elbow, with no force behind it because of her impossible

position. A poor blow. It left her off-balance. The driver stepped

close and kicked her in the gut. She went down. He kicked out again

and caught her knee. Reacher heard it crunch. She screamed in agony.

Collapsed on the mattress. The driver breathed fast and stood there.

“I asked you a damn question,” he said.

Holly was deathly white and trembling. She was writhing around on the

mattress, one arm pinned behind her, gasping with the pain. Reacher

saw her face, flashing through the bar of bright moonlight.

“I’m waiting, bitch,” the guy said.

Reacher saw her face again. Saw she was beaten. The fight was out of

her.

“Want another kicking?” the driver said.

There was silence in the barn again.

“I’m waiting for an answer,” the guy said.

Reacher stared over, waiting. There was still silence. Just the

rasping of three people breathing hard in the quiet. Then Holly

spoke.

“What was the question?” she said, quietly.

The guy smiled down at her.

“You wearing anything under that suit?” he said.

Holly nodded. Didn’t speak.

“OK, what?” the guy said to her.

“Underwear,” she said, quietly.

The guy cupped a hand behind his ear.

“Can’t hear you, bitch,” he said.

“I’m wearing underwear, you bastard,” she said, louder.

The guy shook his head.

“Bad name,” he said. “I’m going to need an apology for that.”

“Screw you,” Holly said.

“I’ll kick you again,” the guy said. “In the knee. I do that,

you’ll never walk without a stick, the whole rest of your life,

you bitch.”

Holly looked away.

“Your choice, bitch,” the guy said.

He raised his foot. Holly stared down at her mattress.

“OK, I apologize,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

The guy nodded, happily.

“Describe your underwear to me,” he said. “Lots of detail.”

She shrugged. Turned her face away and spoke to the wooden wall.

“Bra and pants,” she said. “Victoria’s Secret. Dark peach.”

“Skimpy?” the driver asked.

She shrugged again, miserably, like she knew for sure what the next

question was going to be.

“I guess,” she said.

“Want to show it to me?” the guy said.

“No,” she said.

The driver took a step closer.

“So you do want another kicking?” he said.

She didn’t speak. The guy cupped his hand behind his ear again.

“Can’t hear you, bitch,” he said.

“What was the question?” Holly muttered.

“You want another kicking?” the guy said.

Holly shook her head.

“No,” she said again.

“OK,” he said. “Show me your underwear and you won’t get one.”

He raised his foot. Holly raised her hand. It went to the top button

on her suit. Reacher watched her. There were five buttons down the

front of her suit. Reacher willed her to undo each of them slowly and

rhythmically. He needed her to do that. It was vital. Slowly and

rhythmically, Holly, he pleaded silently. He gripped his chain with