Die Trying by Lee Child

both hands. Four feet from where it looped into the iron ring on the

back wall. He tightened his hands around it.

She undid the top button. Reacher counted: one. The driver leered

down. Her hand slid to the next button. Reacher tightened his grip

again. She undid the second button. Reacher counted: two. Her hand

slid down to the third button. Reacher turned square-on to llfi face

the rear wall of his stall and took a deep breath. Turned his head and

watched over his shoulder. Holly undid the third button. Her breasts

swelled out. Dark-peach brassiere. Skimpy and lacy. The driver

shuffled from foot to foot. Reacher counted: three. He exhaled right

from the bottom of his lungs. Holly’s hand slid down to the fourth

button. Reacher took a deep breath, the deepest breath of his whole

life. He tightened his hold on the chain until his knuckles shone

white. Holly undid the fourth button. Reacher counted: four. Her

hand slid down. Paused a beat. Waited. Undid the fifth button. Her

suit fell open. The driver leered down and made a small sound. Reacher

jerked back and smashed his foot into the wall. Right under the iron

ring. He smashed his weight backward against the chain, two hundred

and twenty pounds of coiled fury exploding against the force of his

kick. Splinters of damp wood burst out of the wall. The old planks

shattered. The bolts tore right out of the timber. Reacher was hurled

backward. He swarmed up to his feet, his chain whipping and flailing

angrily behind him.

“Five!” he screamed.

He seized the driver by the arm and hurled him into his stall. Threw

him against the back wall. The guy smashed into it and hung like a

broken doll. He staggered forward and Reacher kicked him in the

stomach. The guy jackknifed in the air, feet right off the ground, and

smashed flat on his face on the cobblestones. Reacher doubled his

chain and swung it through the air. Aimed the lethal length at the

guy’s head like a giant metal whip. The iron ring centrifuged out like

an old medieval weapon. But at the last second Reacher changed his

mind. Wrenched the chain out of its trajectory and let it smash and

spark into the stones on the floor. He grabbed the driver, one hand on

his collar and one hand in his hair. Lifted him bodily across the

aisle to Holly’s mattress. Jammed his ugly face down into the softness

and leaned on him until he suffocated. The guy bucked and thrashed,

but Reacher just planted a giant hand flat on the back of his skull and

waited patiently until he died.

Holly was staring at the corpse and Reacher was sitting next to her,

panting. He was spent and limp from the explosive force of tearing the

iron ring out of the wall. It felt like a lifetime of physical effort

had gone into one split second. A lifetime supply of adrenalin was

boiling through him. The clock inside his head had exploded and

stopped. He had no idea how long they had been sitting there. He

shook himself and staggered to his feet. Dragged the body away and

left it in the aisle, up near the open door. Then he wandered back and

squatted next to Holly. His fingers were bruised from his desperate

grip on the chain, but he forced them to be delicate. He did up all

her buttons, one by one, right to the top. She was taking quick short

breaths. Then she flung her arms round his neck and held on tight. Her

breathing sucked and blew against his shirt.

They held each other for a long moment. He felt the fury drain out of

her. They let each other go and sat side by side on the mattress,

staring into the gloom. She turned to him and put her small hand

lightly on top of his.

“Now I guess I owe you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Reacher said. “Hey, believe me.”

“I needed help,” she said quietly. “I’ve been fooling myself.”

He flipped his hand over and closed it around hers.

“Bullshit, Holly,” he said, gently. Time to time, we all need help.