Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Samson raises his ass a few inches off the steel bench as if to lunge at me, but the chains don’t let him do shit and he just struggles against them as I laugh.
One of the guards gets up. “That’s enough—!”
The driver starts honking. There’s a screech of tires and gravity suddenly shifts, throwing us around like a bunch of trainers in a washing machine. I grab the bars my chains are attached to, and they prove to be a blessing as my long brown hair flies in my face, obscuring most of my vision. The guards, who were sitting without seatbelts, get smashed against the metal walls, just two sacks of bones and flesh.
The tumble ends in a sudden collision, and I tense every muscle, holding on to the handles by my seat as two bodies fly past me and land on the wall separating this compartment from the cab with a dull thud.
The seatbelt that held me secure now digs into my stomach, reminding me of the ordeal I’ve been through since the shanking, but I open my eyes, trying not to succumb to the sense of nausea pooling in my stomach as the world comes to a halt around me.
The scent of blood is tart in the air as I take in a bloodstained face. The young guard with the protruding canine has his eyes open, but there’s no life behind them anymore. A bundle of keys shines by his belt, and I grab them, elated that they’re close enough.
My mind explodes with promises of freedom, of an escape from the madness of spending the rest of my days behind bars and thick walls, so I ignore the grunting close by and skim through the keys, locked in a state of absolute focus.
Only when I slide the right key into the padlock keeping me chained do I spot a booted foot twitching helplessly.
Fuck.
I look up to spot Samson, blood dripping from his nose and off his bald head. He’s choking the life out of the other guard. I have sympathy for the guy, but my much bigger concern is Samson grabbing the dead guard’s gun.
I open the padlock and pull on the chain.
He aims my way.
I rip one hand free.
He shoots and… misses.
My ears ring from the loud bang, but I grin like a madman and launch myself at Samson, flinging my leg his way. The firearm goes off again, and I feel a rush when gun smoke-scented air swishes all too close to my head, but then my foot collides with the fucker’s head. I slam it against the wall with all the strength I have. The pistol clutters to the floor as Samson attempts to grab my calf, but I flex my entire body and kick his face again and again, seeing red as the side of the truck dips at the impact.
“Don’t even need a shank!” I yell at him, consumed by my fury. The need to end him is so much greater than even finding out if we’re hanging off a cliff.
I know it’s done when he stops moving, his head a stew made of bone, blood, and brains. I’m heaving as I take in the destruction around me. The floor under my feet is uneven, and one of the walls is bent out of shape. I glance through the bars between the back and the cab to confirm that the driver isn’t moving either.
Am I like a cat? Was this my sixth life granted?
Shock slowly leaves my body, replaced by a weakness in every limb, and I stare at the carnage around me, exhausted as if I’d been digging graves all day.
What. The. Fuck.
Not that I’m complaining.
A switch flips in my head and prompts me to free myself from the remaining cuffs and chains. For all I know, the cops are already en route, and as lucky a bastard as I am, opportunities like this one don’t just fall into a prisoner’s lap every day.
I’m meant to spend the rest of my life in prison, with the possibility of parole coming only once I’m old and hopeless. I don’t fucking deserve that. So maybe I’ve made mistakes, and disagreed with the law many times, but my intentions have always been good, and I should get a second chance.
Today, this damn sardine is swimming free.
I’m about to climb out through the wrecked back door, but then go back to pick up the guard’s wallet. It’s not like he’s gonna need it. I’m sorry for him, but it’s not my fault fate had this freak accident in store for him.
A quick browse through his pockets leaves me with some cash, mints, and two condoms. I leave the phones, too worried there might be some tracking apps on there that I don’t know how to disable. I’ve been in the can for five years, and technology has never been my strong suit.